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•      * 

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•  •  •  ••  ••:  .*•*•!  1    1  •°' 

•  •••*:•«!•  •  •! .    •  ••• 

•  ••••    •••    • 


CLOE. 


THE    POETICAL   WORKS 


or 


THOMAS  MOORE. 


^  llehj  (Sbitbn, 


FROM    THE    LAST    LONDON    EDITION. 


COMPLETE    IN    ONE    VOLUME. 


ELEGANTLY  ILLUSTRATIW. 


BOSTON  : 

LEE     AND     SHEPARD, 

NEW   YORK: 

*JEE,  SHEPARD,  &  DILLINGHAM. 

1876. 


A:l;i  vi*  ;  •: 


TO  THE 


MARQUIS  OF  LANSDOWNE, 

IN  GRATEFUL  REMEMBRANCE  OF 

KXAELY  FORTY  TEARS  OF  MUTUAL  ACQUAINTANCE 

AND  FRIENDSHIP, 


THIS    VOLUME  ^^ 


IS   INSCRIBED, 

WlXn  THE  8INCEREST  FEELINGS  OF  AFFECTMMi 

AND  RESPECT, 

THOMAS    MOORFu 

» 

4388'i2 


CONTENTS. 


P>ir4CB  7-'  THi  FiMT  VoLrm. 


FAOa 

..  17 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 

Preface,  by  the  Editor 22 

Deilicatioii  Id  JiHieph  Atkinson,  Esq. 24 

Prnpiiieiits  or  College  Exercifteg 24 

Is  (here  no  call,  no  consecrating  cause 24 

Variety 24 

To  a  Uoy,  with  a  Watch.    Written  for  a  friend 25 

B.>nz 25 


I'o    . 

8.ing. 
Song. 


25 

2C 

26 

Reuben  and  Rose.    A  tale  of  ronuince 26 

Did  not 27 

To 27 

r>)  Mr!< ,  on  ROHM  calumnies  against 

her  rliaracter 28 

Anacreontic 26 

To  Julia,  in  allusion  to  some  illiberal  criticisma 28 

ToJiilia 28 

The  Klirine.    To    29 

fu  a  lately,  witli  some  manuscript  Poems,  on  leaving  the 

couiiiry 29 

To  Julia 29 

To    30 

Nadire'K  Labels.    A  fragment 30 

TuJiiliiu    Un  her  birtJiday 30 

A  ItcHeclion  at  Sea 30 

Cl.rlsand  Fanny 31 

Tlie  Shield 31 

To  Julia,  weeping 31 

Dreams.    To 31 

I'o  ilo!>x    (N'ritten  during  illneaa 32 

bong 33 

T.le  ^aloof  I/ove< 32 

Vi 33 

Ii 33 

On  the  Deatli  of  a  Lady 33 

(nconstniiry 34 

Hip  Nai.il  (Genius.     A  dream.    To ,  the 

niornini!  of  her  birthday 34 

Elesiar  KiaM7..i:<,  ^<llpposcd  to  N>  written  by  ^ulia,  on  the 

deatli  of  her  brother 34 

To  the  larve  and  beautiful  Miss ,  in 

ailnsKin  to  sum*  partnership  in  a  lottery  tbare.    Iro- 

lirompiu 35 


rioi 

ADream 32 

To    35 

Anacreontic 33 

To  Julia 38 

Hymn  of  a  Virgin  of  Delphi,  at  the  tomb  of  her  mother. .  3C 

Sympathy.    To  Julia 36 

The  Tear 37 

The  Snake 37 

To  Rosa 37 

Elegiac  Stanzas 37 

Love  and  Marriage ...  37 

Anacreontic 38 

TheSiirprise 3? 

To  Miss ,  on  her  asking  the  author  why 

she  had  sleepless  nights 3H 

The  Wonder 3a 

Lying 


XI 

Anacreontic .- '. 3U 

The  Philosopher  Aristippus  to  a  Lamp,  which  bad  been 

given  him  by  Lais 39 

To  Mrs. ,  on  her  beautiful  translation  of  Voiiure'a 

Kiss 41 

Rondeau 41 

Song 41 

To  Rosa 41 

Written  in  a  commonplace  book,  called  "The  Book  of 

Follies" 41 

ToRoaa 4^" 

Light  sounds  the  Ilarp 49 

From  the  Greek  of  Meleager 43 

Song 4.1 

The  Resemblance 4.1 

Fanny,  dearest 4.'! 

The  Ring,  to 411 

To  the  Invisible  Giri 41 

The  Ring,  a  tale ^ *^ 

To ,  on  seeing  her  witk  a 

white  veil  and  a  rich  girdle ii 

Written  in  the  blank  leaf  of  a  lady's  commonplace  boik  4f 

To  Mrs.  Bl ,  written  in  her  album if 

To  Cara,  after  an  interval  of  ab^nce 49 

To  Cara,j9n  the  dawning  of  a  new-year's  day 49 

To ,1801 50 

The  Genius  of  Harmony,  an  irregular  ode 50 

I  found  her  not —  the  chamlier  seemed 59 

To  Mrs  Henry  Tiehe,  on  reading  her  "  Psvche"  ......  53 

Froni  the  High  Priest  of  Arrllo  to  a  Virgin  of  Delphi. . .  St 

Fragment 54 

A  Night  Thought 54 

TheKiss 51 

(7) 


CONTENTS. 


fAom 

Bong 55 

The  Catalogue 55 

Imitation  of  Catullus  to  himself 55 

O  woman,  if  through  sinful  wile 56 

Nonsense '. 56 

Epigram,  from  the  French 56 

On  aSquinting  Poetess 56 

To 56 

To  Rosa 56 

ToPhillis 57 

To  R  Lady  on  her  singing 57 

Bong.    On  the  birthday  of  Mrs.  ^-^    Written  in  Ire- 
land, 1799 57 


6ong 


57 


Moralit}^    A  familiar  epistle.    Addressed  to  J.  Atkinson, 

Esq.,  M,  II.  I.  A 58 

The  Telltale  Lyre 59 

Peace  and  Glory.  Written  on  the  approach  of  war 59 

Bong 60 

Love  and  Reason 60 

Nay,  do  not  weep,  my  Fanny  dear 61 

Aspasia 61 

The  Grecian  Girl's  Dream  of  the  Blessed  Islands.    To 

her  lover 61 

To  Cloe,  imitated  from  Martial 63 

The  Wreath  and  the  Chain ^ 63 

To 64 

To 's  Picture 64 

Fragment  of  a  Mythological  Hymn  to  Love 64 

To  bis  Serene  Highness  the  Duke  of  Montpensier,  on  his 

portrait  of  the  Lady  Adelaide  Forbes 65 

The  Fall  of  Hebe.    A  dithyrambic  ode 65 

Rings  and  Seals 68 

To  Miss  Susan  B — ckf— d.    On  her  singing. . . . : 66 

Impromptu,  on  leaving  some  friends 69 

A  Warning.    To 69 

To 69 

Woman 70 

To 70 

A  Vision  of  Philosophy 70 

To  Mrs 73 

To  Lady  Heathcote,  on  an  old  ring  found  at  Tunbridge 

Wells 74 

Tbe  Devil  among  the  Scholars.    A  fragment 74 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 

nUIfSLATED   INTO    ERGUSH    TERSE,   WITH    ITOTEi 

Itedication  to  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of  Wales. .  77 

Advertisement 77 

Index  to  the  Odes 77 

An  Odo  by  the  Translator 78 

Oorrections  of  the  preceding  Ode,  suggested  by  an  emi- 
nent Greek  Scholar, 78 

Kcnarks  on  Anacreon 79 

ODES. 

a  I  saw  the  smiling  bard  of  pleasure 84 

II  Give  me  the  harp  of  epic  song 85 

III  Listen  to  the  Muse's  lyre 85 

rV.  Vulcan !  hear  your  glorious  task 85 

V.  Sculptor,  wouldst  thou  glad  my  soul 86 

VI.  As  late  I  sought  the  spangled  bowers 86 

VII.  The  women  tell  me  every  day 87 


fAOM 

Vm.  I  eaie  not  for  the  idle  state 87 

IX.  I  pray  thee,  by  the  gods  above 88 

X.  How  am  I  to  punish  thee 89 

XL  "Tell  me,  gentle  youth,  I  pray  thee"....    88 

XII.  They  tell  how  Atys,  wild  with  love 89 

XIII.  I  will,  I  will,  the  conflict's  past 89 

XIV.  Count  me,  on  the  summer  trees 90 

XV.  Tell  me  why,  my  sweetest  dove 91 

XVI.  Thou,  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues 99 

XVII.  And  now  with  all  thy  pencil's  truth 93 

XVIIL  Now  the  star  of  day  is  high 01 

XIX.  Here  recline  you,  gentle  maid 95 

XX.  One  day  the  Muses  twin'd  the  hands 96 

XXI.  Observe  when  mother  earth  is  dry 96 

XXII.  The  Phrygian  rock,  that  braves  the  storm,    ff* 

XXIII.  I  often  wish  this  languid  lyre 9S 

XXI  V<  To  all  that  breathe  the  air  of  heaven 98 

XXV.  Once  in  each  revol-^ng  year 99 

XXVI.  Thy  harp  may  sing  of  Troy's  alarms. ....    99 

XXVII.  We  read  the  flying  courser's  name........  100 

XXVIII.  As,  by  his  Lemnian  forge's  flame 100 

XXIX  Yes  — loving  is  a  pamful  thrill '....  101 

XXX.  "Twas  in  a  mocking  dream  of  night 101 

XXXI.  Arm'd  with  hyacinthine  rod lOS 

XXXII.  Strew  me  a  fragrant  bed  of  leaves lOQ 

XXXin.  'Twas  noon  of  night,  when  round  the  pole  103 

XXXIV.  O  thou,  of  all  creation  blest 103 

XXXV.  Cupid  once  upon  a  bed 104 

XXXVI.  If  hoarded  gold  possess'd  the  power 105 

XXXVII.  'Twas  night,  and  many  a  circling  bowl . . .  105 

XXXVIIL  Let  us  drain  the  nectar'd  bowl 106 

XXXIX.  How  I  love  the  festive  boy 106 

XL.  I  know  that  Heaven  hath  sent  me  here. . .  107 

XLI.  When  Spring  adorns  the  dewy  scene 107 

XLIl.  Yes,  be  the  glorious  revel  mine 107 

XLIIL  While  our  rosy  fillets  shed 108 

XLIV.  Buds  of  roses,  virgin  flowers 108 

XLV.  Within  this  goblet,  rich  and  deep 109 

XLVI.  Behold,  the  young,  the  rosy  spring 109 

XLVII.  'Tis  tme,  my  fading  years  decline IIC 

XLVin.  When  my  thirsty  soul  I  steep IIC 

XLIX.  When  Bacchus,  Jove's  immortal  boy IIC 

Ii.  When  wine  I  quafl',  before  my  eyes Ill 

LL  Fly  not  thus  my  brow  of  snow lU 

LII.  Away,  away,  ye  men  of  rules 119 

LIIL  When  I  behold  the  festive  train 1 13 

LIV.  Methinks,  the  pictur'd  bull  we  see 113 

LV.  While  we  invoke  the  wreathed  spring....  113 

LVI.  He,  who  instructs  the  youthful  crew 115 

LVII.  Wliose  was  the  artist  hand  that  spread. . . .  115 

LVIII.  When  Gold,  as  fleet  as  zephyr's  pinion. ...  116 

LIX.  Ripen'd  by  the  solar  beam 117 

LX.  Awake  to  life,  my  sleeping  shell 1J7 

LXI.  Youth's  endearing  charms  are  fled ,  118 

LXII.  Fill  me,  boy,  as  deep  a  draught 118 

LXIII.  To  Love,  the  soft  and  blooming  child 119 

LXIV.  Haste  thee,  nymph,  whose  well-aimed  spear  119 

LX  V.  Like  some  wanton  filly  sporting 1 19 

LXVI.  To  thee,  the  Queen  of  nymphs  divine  ....  120 

LXVII.  Rich  in  bliss,  I  proudly  scorn 120 

LXVIII.  Now  Neptune's  month  our  sky  deforms...  120 

LXIX.  They  wove  the  lotus  band  to  deck 120 

LXX.  A"broken  cake,  with  honey  sweet IP". 

LXXI.  With  twenty  chords  my  lyre  is  hung 121 

LXXII.  Fare  thee  well,  perfidious  maid 121 

LXXIII.  A  while  I  bloom'd,  a  happy  flower 121 

LXXI V.  Monarch  Love,  resistless  boy 121 


CONTENTS. 


rAOB 

LXXV.    Spirit  of  Lot*,  whoc«  locks  unroll'd 122 

LXXVI.    Kiilier,  gentle  Mum  o.' niin« 122 

LXXVU.    Would  that  I  we»e  a  turefil  lyw 129 

ULXVin.    When  Cupid  MM  how  thickly  now 123 

Cupid,  whose  lamp  has  lent  tlie  ray 139 

Let  me  renigT  this  wretched  breatk     12X 

.  know  thou  l>v'tt  a  brimming  roea8u> J 1S9 

I  fear  Ih&t  love  disturbs  my  rest 139 

Prom  dread  Leucadia'H  frowning  steep 133 

Mil  me,  chi<d,  a  cup  divine 133 

EPiaiUMS   FBOK  THB  ANTHOLOQIA. 

Nodc« 123 

AvriTrarpot)  XiSuvtov,  €tf  AKUx/xoyra 133 

T>v  utirov,  ti!  rov  avTOv 134 

F»t  avruti,  ffi;  toy  atirov 134 

Tot  jVTuv,  til  TOv  avT»»..., 135 

fksr  A  CB   TO   THB   Sir    ^D  VoLXTMB 136 

POEMS  RK  ^TINO  ru   AMERICA. 

Dedication  to  Francis,  Earl  of  Moira 130 

Preface 131 

To  Lord  Viscount  tsuangtbrd.  Aboard  tb*  Phaeton  frig- 
ate, off  the  Azores,  by  moonlight 139 

Btanzas 133 

To  the  Flying  Fish 133 

To  Miss  Moore.    From  Norfolk,  in  Virginia,  Nov.  1803  134 
A  Rallad.    The  Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp.    Written 

at  Norfolk,  in  Virpnia 135 

To  the  Marchioness  Dowager  of  Donegall.     From  Ber- 
muda, January,  1804 136 

To  George  Morgan,  Esq.,  of  Norfolk,  Virginia.    From 

nennuda,  January,  1804 137 

Lines  written  in  a  storm  at  sea 139 

tides  to  Nea :  — 

Nay,  tempt  me  not  to  love  af^in 139 

I  pray  you,  let  us  roam  no  more 140 

You  read  it  in  tliese  spell-bound  eyes 140 

A  Dream  of  Antiquity 141 

Well  —  peace  to  thy  heart,  though  another's  it  be. . . .  143 

If  I  were  yonder  wave,  my  dear 142 

The  .Snow  Spirit 143 

I  stole  along  the  flowery  bank 143 

A  Study  from  the  Antique 144 

There's  not  a  look,  a  word  of  thine 144 

T-j  Josoph  Atkinson,  Esq.   From  Bermuda 145 

The  .''tPiT'nian'9  Song.   Written  aboard  the  Boston  frig- 
ate, 28th  April 146 

To  the  Firefly  ...   146 

To  the  Lord  Viscount  Forbes.     From  the  city  of  Wash- 
ington    147 

To  Thomas  Hume,  Esq.,  M.  D.   From  the  city  of  Wash- 
ington   149 

I.tnes  wrinen  on  leaving  Philadelphia 151 

Lines  written  at  the  Cohos,  or  Falb  of  tlM  Mohawk 

River 151 

Bong  of  the  Evil  Spirit  of  the  Woods 153 

To  the  Honorable  W.  R.  Spencer.    From  Bufliilo,  upon 

Lake  Erie •^.•.  153 

Ballad  Stanzas 154 

«  Canadian  Boa:  Song.  Wntten  on  the  Blver  St.  Law- 

TCMS 155 

2 


rAM 

To  the  Lady  Chariotte  Rawdon.  From  the  banks  of  tbe 
St.  Lawrence ;j| 

Impromptu,  after  a  visit  to  Mrs.  ,  of  Montreal ....  151 

Written  on  passing  Deadnian's  Island,  in  the  Gulf  of  St 
Lawrence,  late  in  the  evening,  September,  1804 151 

To  the  Boston  Frigate,  on  leaving  Halifax  for  England, 
October,  1804 1SI 

PUBFACB  TO  THB  ThIBO  VoLUMB Itf 


CORRUPTION  AND  INTOl  EHANCE : 

TWO    rOBMS.      ADOBBUBD  TO   All    BBOUSNIIAa   BT    tB 
IBI«HMAII. 

Preface Mi 

Comiption,  an  Epistle 164 

Intolerance,  a  Satire 101 

Ap|)endiz 173 

THE  SCEPTIC,  A  PMiLotoniioAi.  Satiu 

Preface 178 

The  Sceptic 17! 


TWOPENNY  POST  BAG. 

BT   THOMAS   BBOWIf   THB    TOOROBB. 

Dedication.    To  Stephen  Woolriche,  Esq. 171 

Preface  ,. IM 

Preface  to  the  Fourteenth  Edition.  By  a  Friend  of  the 
Author W 

INTEBCEPTBD   LETTEBS,  BTO. 

Lbttbb  I.    From  the  Pr—nc—aa  Ch — rt— eofW    I    ■ 

to  the  Lady  B— rb— a  AshI— y IM 

Lbtteb  II.    From  Colonel  M'M— b— n  to  O— Id  Fr— n- 

c — s  L — ckie.  Esq 181 

Postscri  pt 1K« 

Letter  in.    From  O— ge  Pr— ce  R— g— t  to  the  E— 

of  Y th IM 

Lbttei  IV.  From  the  Right  Hon.  P— tr— ck  D— fen—  a 

to  the  Right  Hon.Sir  J— hn  N— ch— 1 181 

Letter  V.    From  the  Countess  Dowager  of  0— rk  to 

Lady IM 

Postscript 187 

Letter  VI.    From  Abdallah,  in  London,  to  Mohaann 

in  I.'ipahan 187 

Gazel 188 

Lbtteb  VII.    From  Meaars.  I^^k— gt— n  aad  Co.  to 

.Esq. 181 

Lbtteb   VIII.      From   Colonel  Tb— 16— •  to  — — . 

8k— (T— ngt-n,  Esq IM 

ArrBitoii m 

Letter  IV.    Page  185 ; •» 

Utter  VIL    Page  188. •.»' 

SATIRICAL  AND  ITOMOEOUS  POEM* 

The  Insnrrection  of  the  PapeiB.  A  Dreaa IK 

Parody  of  •  celebrated  Letter IM 


PAOI 

Anacreontic  to  a  Plumassier 196 

Extracts  from  the  Diary  of  a  Politician 197 

Epigram 197 

King  Crack  and  his  Idols.  Written  after  the  late  Nego- 
tiation for  a  new  M— n — stry 197 

What's  my  Thought  like 198 

rpigram.    Dialogue  between  a  Catholic  Delegate  and 

His  R— y— 1  H— ghn— ss  the  D— e  of  C— b— 1— d 198 

Wrealhs  fur  the  Ministers.    An  Anacreontic 198 

Epigram.    Dialogue  between  a  Dowager  and  her  Maid 

on  the  Night  of  Lord  Y— rm— th's  F6to 199 

Uorace,  Ode  XI.  Lib.  IL      Freely  translated  by  the 

ir— ce  R— g— t 199 

Horace,  Ode  XXII.  Lib.  I.    Freely  translated  by  Lord 

Eld— n 200 

The  New  Costume  of  the  Ministers 201 

Correspondence  between  a  Lady  and  Gentleman,  upon 
the  advantage  of  (what  is  called)  "  having  Law  on 

one's  Side  " 202 

Occasional  Address  for  the  Opening  of  the  New  Thea- 
tre of  St  St— ph — n,  intended  to  have  been  spoken  by 
the  Proprietor  in  full  Costume,  on  the  24th  of  Novem- 
ber, 1813 202 

The  Sale  of  the  Tools 203 

Little  Man  and  Little  Soul.    A  Ballad 204 

Reinforcements  for  Lord  Wellington 204 

Horace,  Ode  L  Lib.  II L    A  Fragment 205 

Horace,  Ode  XXXVIII.  Lib.  I.  A  Fragment.  Trans- 
lated by  a  Treasury  Clerk,  while  waiting  Dinner  for 

the  Right  Hon.O— rge  R— se 205 

Impromptu.  ITpon  being  obliged  to  leave  a  pleasant 
Party,  from  the  Want  of  a  Pair  of  Breeches  to  dress 

tor  Dinner  in 205 

Lord  Wellington  and  the  Ministers 206 


IRISH   MELODIES 

Dedication  to  the  Marchioness  Dowager  of  Donegall.  206 

Preface 206 

Go  where  Glory  waits  thee 2:16 

War  Song.     Remember  the  Glories  of  Brien  the  Brave  207 

Erin  !  the  Tear  and  the  Smile  in  thine  Eyes  . . .' 207 

O,  breathe  not  his  Name 208 

When  he,  who  adores  thee 208 

The  Harp  that  once  through  Tara's  Halls 208 

Fly  not  yet 208 

O,  think  not  my  Spirits  are  always  as  light 208 

Though  the  Inst  Glimpse  of  Erin  with  Sorrow  I  see. ..  209 

Rich  and  rare  were  tho  Gems  she  wore 209 

As  a  Beam  o'er  the  Face  of  the  Waters  may  glow 210 

The  Meeting  of  the  Waters 210 

How  iear  to  mo  the  Hour 210 

I'akebick  the  Virgin  Page.    Written  on  returning  a 

tlank  Book 210 

The  Legacy 211 

Uovt  o!»  has  the  Banshee  cried 211 

We  may  roam  through  this  World 21 1 

Kvelcen'k  Bower 212 

Let  Erin  remember  the  Days  of  oW 212 

The  Song  of  Fionnuala 213 

Come,  send  round  the  Wine 213 

fitiblime  was  the  Warning 213 

Believe  me,  if  all  those  endearing  young  Charms 214 

Erin.O  Erin 214 

Dri  nk  to  her 214 

3.  blam»  not  the  Bard 215 


1  rAoi 

While  gazing  on  the  Moon's  Light 91S 

111  Omens ; 21(1 

Before  the  Battle 216 

After  the  Battle 217 

'Tis  sweet  to  think - ,..,,  217 

The  Irish  Peasant  to  his  Mistress ,       217 

On  Music 215 

It  is  not  the  Tear  it  this  Moment  shed 91g 

The  Origin  of  the  Harp 218 

Love's  Young  Dream 318 

The  Prince's  Day , , , ,  2.9 

Weep  on,  weep  on 21S 

Lesbia  hath  a  beamin;  Eye ,  220 

I  saw  thy  Form  in  youthful  Prime ,     ...   i>0 

By  that  Lake,  whose  gloomy  Shore , . . .  Xis. 

She  Is  far  from  the  Land ,' , . .  221 

Nay,  tell  me  not,  dear 221 

Avenging  and  bright 221 

What  the  Bee  is  to  'lie  Floweret 222 

Love  and  tho  Nov.ce 222 

This  Life  is  all  checker'd  with  Pleasures  and  Woes  ...  223 

0  the  Shamrock , 223 

At  the  mid  Hour  of  Night 223 

One  Bumper  at  Parting 224 

'Tis  tho  last  Rose  of  Suirmer 224 

The  young  May  Moon 224 

The  Minstrel  Boy 2ft) 

The  Song  of  O'Ruark,  Prii  ce  of  Breffht 225 

O,  had  we  some  bright  Illtir  Isle  of  our  own 225 

Farewell !  —  But  whenever  j-ou  welcome  the  Hour 226 

O,  doubt  me  not 226 

You  remember  Ellen 2ii6 

I'd  mourn  the  Hopes 227 

Oome  o'er  the  Sea 297 

Has  Sorrow  thy  young  Days  shad^l 227 

No,  not  more  welcome 228 

When  first  I  met  thee 228 

While  History's  Muse 229 

The  Time  I've  lost  in  Wooing 229 

Where  is  the  Slave 229 

Come,  rest  in  this  Bosom 230 

Tis  gone,  and  forever 230 

1  saw  from  the  Beach 230 

Fill  the  Bumper  fair 231 

Dear  Harp  of  my  Country 231 


Preface  to  the  Foubth  Volvme. 


839 


My  gentle  Harp 339 

In  the  Morning  of  Life 2S9 

As  slow  our  Ship' 239 

When  cold  in  the  Earth 240 

Remember  thee ,  240 

Wreathe  the  Bowl 240 

Whene'er  I  see  those  smiling  Eyes 241 

If  thou'lt  be  mine 24? 

To  Ladies'  Eyes 241 

Forget  not  the  Field 24a 

They  may  rail  at  this  Life 249 

O  for  the  Swords  of  former  Time 243 

St.  Senanusand  the  Lady 943 

Ne'er  ask  the  Hour 243 

Sail  on,  sail  on 943 

The  Parallel 944 

Drink  of  this  Cup M4 


Jl 


CONTENTS. 


11 


FAOB 

Hie  Fortune  T«Uer S45 

O,  ye  Dead 245 

O'Oonoliue's  MutreM 945 

Echo S46 

O,  banquet  not S4G 

Tliee,  tliee,  only  thee S46 

8hill  the  Harp  then  be  silent S47 

0  Uie  Siglil  entrancing SM7 

Snreet  Innisfalle^. 346 

Twa.s  one  of  those  Dreami 248 

Fiir<;8t'.  put  on  a  while 249 

Uuirk  !  we  liave  but  a  Second S49 

And  doih  not  a  Meeting  like  this 249 

riie  Mo-iutain  Sprite 250 

Ad vaiiquish'd  Erin 350 

Desmond's  Song 251 

They  know  nut  my  Heart 251 

1  wish  I  was  by  that  dim  Lake 251 

Bhe  sung  of  Love 253 

Biiig  —  sing  —  Music  wai  i  ven 253 

Though  humble  the  Danv)"! 253 

Sing,  sweet  Harp 253 

Bong  of  the  Uatlle  Evo 253 

riie  wandering  Bard . . .   254 

Alone  in  Crowds  to  wvAn  on 254 

IVea  Secret  to  tell  tbet 254 

Bong  of  Innisfail 255 

The  Night  Dance 255 

There  are  Sounds  of  M'rth 255 

O,  Arranmore,  loved  Arranraore 255 

Lay  his  Sword  by  bio  Side 256 

0,  ciMild  we  do  wi'.n  this  World  of  oura 25G 

The  Wine  Cup  is  circling 25G 

The  Dream  of  those  Days 257 

rom  this  Hour  the  Pledp:c  is  given 257 

ilence  is  in  our  festal  Halls 257 

■LrrcTfvtT  : 
Advenisement  prefixed  to  the  Fintt  and  Second  Num- 
bers    258 

Advertisement  to  the  Third  Number 259 

Letter  to  the  Marchioness  Dowajjer  of  Donegall,  pre- 
fixed to  the  Third  Number 259 

Advertisement  to  the  Founh  Number 2G3 

Advertisement  to  the  Fifth  Number 2C3 

Advertisement  to  the  Sixth  Number 264 

Advertisement  to  the  Seventh  Number 2C5 

Dedication  to  the  Marchioness  of  Headfort  prefixed  to 
the  Tenth  Number 365 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 

Adrertisement S66 

A  Temple  to  Friendship.    (Spanish  Air.) 2G6 

Flew  on,  thou  shining  River.    (Portugneae  Air.) 266 

All  that's  bright  must  fade.     (Indian  Air.) 266 

Bo  warmly  we  met.    (Hungarian  Air.) 267 

These  Evening  Bells.    (Air.  — The  Bells  of  St.  Peters- 
burp.) 267 

Should  those  fond  Hopes.    (Portuguese  Air.) 967 

Reason,  Fully,  and  Beauty.    (Italian  Air.) 967 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one  !     (Sicilian  Air.) 268 

fV'sl  thou  remember.    (Portuguese  Air.) 968 

.,.  Come  to  me  when  Daylight  sets.    (Venetian  Air.). .  268 

Uft  m  the  stilly  Night.    (Scotch  Air.) 269 

Sark  !  tlie  Vvsjwr  Hymn  is  stealing.    (Russian  Air.). .  369 
U>Te  and  Hope.    (Swiss  Air.) 969 


rtoi 

There  comes  a  Time.    (Cerman  Air.) JTI 

My  Harp  has  one  unchanging  llieme.  (Swedish  Air.)  270 
O,  no—  not  e'en  when  first  we  loved.  (Canhnierian  Air.)  B7< 

Peace  be  around  thee.     (Scotch  Air  ) 27( 

Common  Sense  and  Genius.    (French  Air.) H7C 

Then,  fare  thee  well.    (Old  English  Air.) S7I 

Gayly  sounds  the  CasUnet    (.Maltese  Air.) B7I 

Love  is  a  Hunter  Boy.    (Languedocian  Air.) 27i 

Come,  chase  that  starting  Tear  away.    (French  Air.)..  27^ 

Joys  of  Youth,  how  fleeting  !    (Portugueae  Air.) ttQ 

Hear  me  but  once.    (French  Air.) STJ 

When  Love  was  a  Child.    (Swedish  Air) 979 

Say,  what  shall  be  our  S()ort  to-day?    (Sicilian  Air.)..  87S 

Bright  be  thy  Dreams.    (Welsh  Air.) B73 

Go,  then — 'tis  vain.    (Sicilian  Air.) S7J 

The  Crystal  Hunters.    (.Swiss  Air.) 973 

Row  gently  here.     (Venetian  Air.) 274 

O,  Days  of  Youth.    (French  Air.) 274 

When  first  tJiat  Smile.     (Venetian  Air.) 274 

Peace  to  the  Sluml)erers.    (Catalonian  Air.) 871 

When  thou  Shalt  wander.    (Sicilian  Air.) 274 

Who'll  buy  my  Love  Knots?    (Portuguese Air.) 273 

See,  tlie  Dawn  from  Heaven.  (To  an  Air  sung  at  Rom* 

on  Christmas  Evo.) S75 

Nets  and  Cages.    (Swedish  Air.) 979 

When  through  the  Piazzetta.    (Venetiau  Air.).. 278 

Go,  now,  and  dream.    (Sicilian  Air.) 270 

Take  hence  the  BowL    (Neapolitan  Air.) 27d 

Farewell,  Theresa.    (Venetian  Air.) 27tl 

How  oft,  when  watching  Stars.    (Savoyard  Air.) 977 

When  tlie  first  Summer  Bee.    (German  Air.) 27* 

Though 'tis  all  but  a  Dream.    (French  Air.) 97i 

When  tlie  Wine  Cup  is  smiling.    (Italian  Air.) 9r> 

Where  shall  we  bury  our  Shame.  (Neapolitan  Air.)  ..  97b 
Ne'er  talk  of  Wisdom's  gloomy  Schools.     (Maliratta 

Air.) 278 

Here  sleeps  the  Bard.    (Highland  Air.) 97* 

Do  not  Kay  that  Life  is  waning 978 

The  Gazelle 978 

No  —  leave  my  Heart  to  rest 279 

Where  are  the  Visions 979 

Wind  thy  Horn,  my  Hunter  Bojr 279 

O,  guard  our  Aflection 279 

Slumber,  O,  slumber 371 

Bring  the  bright  Garlands  hither 27t 

If  in  loving,  singing • SM 

Thou  lov'st  no  more 2^ 

When  abroad  in  the  World 9M 

Keep  those  Eyes  still  purely  mine 909 

Hope  comes  again 9BI 

O  say,  thou  best  and  brightest 981 

When  Night  brings  the  Hour 881 

Like  one  who,  doom'd SKI 

Fear  not  tliat,  while  around  tliee 9EI 

When  Love  is  kind 9M 

The  Garland  I  send  ttie* ^ • HI 

How  shall  I  woo? 9H 

Spring  and  Autumn MS 

Love  alone • 989 


SACRED  SONOa 

Dedication  to  Edward  Tuite  Dallon,  Esq 9U 

Thou  art,  O  God.    (Air.— Unknown.) 98! 

The  Bird,  let  loose.    (Air.  — Beeitooren.) G8« 

Fallen  is  thjr  Throna.    (Aic  — MaitiaL) M 


12 


CONTENTS 


FAOB 

*Vho  is  tJie  Maid  '   St.  Jerome's  Lova    (Air.— Beetho- 
ven.)  284 

This  World  is  all  a  fleeting  Show.    (Air.  —  Stevenson.)  285 
O  Thou  wlio  dry'st  the   Mourner's  Tear       (Air.  — 

Haydn.) 235 

Weop  not  for  those.     (Air.  —  Avison.) 285 

Tn«  T  , rf  shall  be  my  Tragrant  Shrine.    (Air.  —  Steven- 

•t:i.; 286 

Bound  the  loud  Timbrel.    Miriam's  Song.    (Air.  —  Av- 

i*<jn.) 286 

Cki,  let  me  weep.     (Air. —  Stevenson.) 286 

Cone  not,  O  Lord,    (Air.  —  Haydn.) 287 

VVarc  not  the  sinful  Mary's  Tears.   (Air.— Stevenson.)  287 
As  down  in  the  sunless  Retreats.    (Air.  —  Haydn.)....  287 

But  who  shall  see.     (Air.  —  Stevenson.) 287 

Almighty  God.    Chorus  of  Priests.    (Air.— Mozart.)..  288 

0  fair  !  O  purest !    St.  Augustine  to  his  Sister.    (Air.  — 
Moor's.) 288 

Angel  of  Charity.    (Air.— Handel.) , 288 

Behold  the  Sun.    (Air Lord  Mornington.) 289 

Lord,  who  shall  bear  that  Day.    (Air.  —  Dr.  Boyce.)  . .  289 

O,  teach  me  to  love  Thee.     (Air.  —  Flaydn.) 289 

Weep,  Children  of  Israel.    (Air.  —  Stevenson.) 289 

1  like  Morning,  when  her  early  Breeze.   (Air.  —  Beetho- 

ven.)   290 

Come,  ye  Disconsolate.    (Air.  —  German.) 290 

Awake,  arise,  thy  Light  is  come.    (Air.  —  Stevenson.).  290 

There  is  a  bleak  Desert.    (Air.— Crescentini.) 291 

Bince  first  thy  Word.    (Air Nicholas  Freeman.)....  291 

Hark  !  'tis  the  Breeze.    (Air.  —  Rousseau.) 292 

Where  is  your  Dwelling,  ye  sainted .'    (Air Ilasse.).  292 

How  lightly  mounts  the  Muse's  Wing.    (Air Anon- 
ymous.)  ^....  292 

Go  forth  to  the  Mount    (Air.  —  Stevenson.) 293 

Is  it  not  sweet  to  think  hereafter.    (Air. —  Haydn.)...  293 

War  against  Babylon.    (Air.  —  Novello.) 293 

The  Summer  Fete 294 

Dedication  to  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Norton 294 

WsrACx  TO  THE  Fifth  Volume 304 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 

Ftat  Evening 308 

■•ooDd  Evening 315 


LEGENDARY  BALLADS. 

D^ication  to  the  Miss  Feildings 335 

fill*  Voice 325 

Pnpid  and  Psyche 326 

Hero  and  Leander 326 

The  i^eaf  and  the  Fountain 327 

Cephalus  and  Procris 3'27 

Youth  and  Age 328 

The  Dying  Warrior 328 

Tlie  Magic  Mirror 328 

The  Pilgrim 329 

The  high-bom  Ladye 329 

The  Indian  Boat 329 

The  Stranger 330 

k  M?lologue  upon  National  Music 331 

Advertisemert 331 


SET  OP  GLEES. 

iroSIC   BT   HOOBB. 

PAO» 

The  Meeting  of  the  Ships 33a 

Hip,  hip,  hurrah  ' 339 

Hush,  hush  ! 33} 

The  Parting  before  the  Battle ...  333 

The  Watchman.    A  Trio 33J 

Say,  what  shall  we  dance.'........., 334 

The  Evening  Gun 334 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS,  ET(. 

To-day,  dearest !  is  ours 334 

When  on  tlie  Lip  the  Sigh  delays 334 

Here,  take  my  Heart 335 

O,  call  it  by  some  better  Name 335 

Poor  wounded  Heart 335 

The  East  Indian 335 

Poor  broken  Flower 336 

The  pretty  Rose  Tree 336 

Shine  out.  Stars! 336 

The  young  Muleteers  of  Grenada 336 

Tell  her,  O,  tell  her 337 

Nights  of  Music 337 

Our  first  young  Love 337 

Black  and  Blue  Eyes 337 

Dear  Fanny 337 

From  Life  without  Freedom 338 

Here's  the  Be wer 338 

I  saw  the  Moon  rise  clear.    (A  Finland  Love  Song.)  . .  338 

Love  and  the  Sundial 338 

Love  and  Time 339 

Love's  light  Summer  Cloud 339 

Love,  wand'ring  the  golden  Maze 339 

Merrily  every  Bosom  boundetii.    (The  Tyrolese  Song 

of  Liberty.) 339 

Remember  the  Time.   (The  Castilian  Maid.) 340 

O,  soon  return 340 

Love  thee .' 340 

One  dear  Smile 340 

Yes,  yes,  when  the  Bloom 341 

The  Day  of  Love 341 

Lusitanian  War  Song , ,,  34] 

The  young  Rose 341 

When  'midst  the  Gay  I  meet 341 

When  Twilight  Dews 343 

Young  Jessica 343 

Hew  happy,  once 342 

I  love  but  thee 349 

Let  Joy  alone  be  remember'd  now 343 

Love  thee,  dearest !  love  thee .' 343 

My  Heart  and  Lute 343 

Peace,  peace  to  him  that's  gone  ! 343 

Rose  of  the  Desert 343 

'lis  all  for  thee 344 

The  Song  of  the  Olden  Time 344 

Wake  thee,  my  dear 344 

The  Boy  of  the  Alps 344 

For  thee  alone 343 

Her  last  Words,  at  parting 34) 

Let's  take  this  World  as  some  wide  Scene 345 

Love's  Victory 346 

Song  of  Hercules  to  his  Daughter 346 

The  Dream  of  Home 341 


CONTENTS. 


11 


fnam 

fhejr  tell  me  ibou'rt  the  favored  Gueet Ml 

Fhe  young  iiidiiia  Maid 347 

The  HomewiLrd  Mirch 347 

Wak«  up,  sweet  Meiodjr 347 

Calm  be  thy  Sleep 348 

The  Exile 348 

rhe  Fancy  Fair 346 

li*  tliou  wuuld:<t  have  m«  sing  and  play 348 

0(ill  wlien  Daylight 349 

The  Summer  Webs 349 

Mind  not  though  Daylight 349 

They  met  but  once - 349 

With  Moonlight  beaming 349 

Child'itSong.     From  a  Mask 350 

The  Hal  :yon  hangs  o'er  Ocean 350 

nir  World  was  hush'd 350 

The  two  Loves 350 

lbs  Legend  of  Puck  the  Faiijr 351 

Be.iutyand  Song 351 

When  thou  art  nigh 351 

Bong  of  a  Hyperborean 352 

Tlxiu  bidd'it  me  sing 353 

Cupid  armed 353 

Round  the  World  goes 352 

O,  do  not  look  so  bright  and  blest 353 

The  Musical  Box 353 

When  to  sad  Music  silent  you  listen 353 

The  Language  of  Flowers 354 

The  Dawn  is  breaking  o'er  us 354 


BONGS  FROM  THE  GREEK  ANTROLOGT 

Here  at  thy  Tomb.    (By  Meleager.) 354 

Bale  of  Cupid.    (Dy  Meleager.) 355 

To  weave  a  Garland  for  the  Kose.  (By  Paul,  the  Silen- 

tiary.) 355 

Why  does  she  so  long  delay }    (By  Paul,  the  Silen- 

tiary.) 355 

Twui'st  thou  with  lofty  Wreath  thy  Brow.    (By  Paul, 

tlie  Silentiary.) 356 

When  the  sad  Word.    (By  Paul,  the  Silentiary.) 356 

My  Mopsa  is  little.    (By  Philodemus.) 356 

Btiil,  like  Dew  in  silence  falling.    (By  Meleager.) 356 

Up,  Sailor  Boy,  lis  Day 357 

[n  Myrtle  Wnaths.    (By  Alccua.) 357 


UNPUBUSHED  SONGS,  ETa 

kt%  not  if  still  I  love 357 

Dear  .'yes 358 

Unbind  thee.  Love 358 

There's  something  strange.    (A  Buflb  Song.) 358 

Not  from  (hee .^. 358 

Sness,  giioss 358 

When  Love,  who  ruled 359 

Btill  Uioufliest 359 

Then  fint  from  Love 360 

Husii,  sweet  Lute 360 

Vright  tlonn 360 

long  Vears  have  (ass'd 360 

Dreaming  fi>re ver . .  360 

rhough  ligl  tly  sounds  the  Song  I  sing.    (A  Song  of  the 

Alpe.) 361 

riM  Suasiaa  Lovai Kl 


PacrACB  TO  TMB  Sixth  Vourm  . 


,.  SSI 


LALLA  ROOKH. 

Dedication 361 

The  Veiled  Prophet  of  Khoraasan 361 

Paradise  and  the  Peri iO% 

The  Fire  Worshippers 419 

PRSrACB  TO  TRK  Bbvbiith  yoLCTUi 438 

The  Light  of  the  Harem 444 


POLITICAL  AND  SATIRICAL  POEMa 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Mr.  P— re— v— 1 4^< 

Fum  and  Hum,  the  two  Birds  of  Royalty 458 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Sh — r — d — n 459 

Epistle  from  Tom  Crib  to  Big  Ben,  concerning  some  foul 
Play  in  a  late  Transaction 460 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS 

Preface 461 

Letter  I.    From  Miss  Biddy  Fudge  to  Miss  Dorothy 

,  of  Clonkiliy,  in  Ireland.. 461 

Letter  II.    From  Phil.  Fudge,  Esq.,  to  the  Lord  Vis- 
count C— St — r— gli 463 

Letter  III.    From  Mr.  Bob  Fudge  to  Richard ,  Esq.  465 

Letter  IV.    From  Phclim  Connor  to 467 

Letter  V.    From  Miss  Biddy  Fudge  to  Miss  Dorothy 

469 

Letter  VI.    From  Phil.  Fudge,  Esq.,  to  his  Brother, 

Tim  Fudge,  Esq.,  Barrister  at  Law 47) 

Letter  VII.    From  Phelim  Connor  to 474 

Letter  VIIL    From  Mr.  Bob  Fudge  to  Richard , 

Esq 478 

Letter  IX.    From  PhH.  Fudge,  Esq.,  to  the  Lord  Vis- 
count C—st gh 471 

Letter  X.    From  Miss  Biddy  Fudge  to  Miss  Dc^ithy 

4M 

Letter  XL    From  Phelim  Connor  to 48S 

Letter  XXL    From  Miss  Biddy  Fudge  to  Miss  Dorotliy 

— 4«e 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALUAIfCK 

Dedication.    To  Lord  Byron 49t 

Prefaie .• 483 

Fable  I.    The  Dissolution  of  the  Holy  AlliUK*     A 

Dream - 490 

Fable  IL    The  Looking  Glasses 491 

Fable  IIL    The  Torch  of  Liberty 493 

Fable  IV.    The  Fly  and  the  Bi.  lock 493 

Fable  V.    Church  and  St.ite 4<Ji 

Fable  VI.    The  Little  Grand  Lama 490 

Fable  VIL    The  Extinguishers 49» 

Fable  VIIL    Louis  Fourteenth's  Wix 4JM 


14 


CONTENTS. 


BHYMES  ON  THK  ROAD. 

PAOB 

f otroduetory  Bhymea 501 

Extract  1 502 

Kxtract  H 503 

Kitract  III 504 

l.vtratt  IV 504 

Extract  V 505 

Extract  VI 505 

Extract  VII 507 

Emract  VIII  508 

Extract  IX 509 

Extract  X 510 

Extract  XI 510 

Extract  XII 511 

Extract  XIII 512 

Extract  XIV  514 

Extract  XV 516 

Esuact  XVL 517 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMa 

Occasional  Epilogue,  spoken  by  Mr.  Corry,  in  the  Char- 
acter of  Vapid,  after  tlie  Play  of  ttie  Dramatist,  at  the 

Kilkenny  Theatre 518 

Baract  from  a  Prologue  written  and  s[K)ken  by  the  Au- 
thor, at  the  Opening  of  the  Kilkenny  Theatre,  Octo- 
ber, 1809 519 

r^e  Sylph's  Ball 519 

Remonstrance 520 

My  Birthday 521 

Fancy 521 

Bung.    Fanny,  dearest ! 522 

Translations  from  Catullus 522 

Pibullus  to  bulpicia 523 

Imitation.    From  the  French 323 

Invitation  to  Dinner,  addressed  to  Lord  Lansdowne...  523 
Verses  to  the  Poet  Crabbe's  Inkstand.     Written  May, 

1S32 524 

To  Caroline,  Viscountess  Valletort.    Written  at  Lacock 

Ab!  ey,  January,  1832 525 

A  Speculation 525 

To  M  y  Mother.    Written  in  a  Pocket  Book,  1822 525 

Love  and  Hymen 525 

Lines  on  Uie  Entry  of  tlie  Austrians  into  Naples,  1821.  526 

fUri  rz  TO  THE  ElOHTH  VoLUMB 527 


IHE  LOVES   OP  THE  ANGELS. 

freftice 530 

fiwt  i^ngel's  Story 532 

Berond  Angel's  Story 530 

riiird  Angel's  Story  ,  548 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

^epticism 551 

A  J'«ke  versified 552 

On  thi>  Death  of  a  Friend 552 


rAOi 
To  James  Corry,  Esq.,  on  his  making  me  a  Present  of  a 

Wine  Strainer 55S 

Fragment  of  a  Character /.....  5<9 

What  siiall  I  sing  thee .'    To 553 

Country  Dance  and  Quadrille 553 

Gazel 56J 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Joseph  Atkinson,  Esq.,  of  Dub- 
lin     Xt 

Genius  and  Criticism 550 

To  Lady  J*r**y,  on  being  asked  tc  write  something  in 

her  Album 55( 

To  the  same,  on  looking  through  her  Album 557 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 

To  Sir  Hudson  Lowe S57 

Amatory  Colloquy  between  Bank  and  Government....  557 
Dialogue  between  a  Sovereign  and  a  One-Pound  Note.  558 

An  Expostulation  to  Lord  King ' 558 

The  Sinking  Fund  cried 559 

Ode  to  tlie  Goddess  Ceres.    By  Sir  Th— m — s  L — th- 

br— e 560 

A  Hymn  of  Welcome  after  the  Recess 561 

Memorabilia  of  ^ast  Week , 5G2 

All  in  the  Familv  Way.    A  new  Pastoral  Ballad 5C2 

Ballad  for  the  Cambridge  Election 563 

Mr.  Roger  Dodsworth 563 

Copy  of  an  intercepted  Despatch.    From  his  Excellency 

Don  Strepituso  Dtabolo,  Envoy  Extraordinary  to  hia 

Satanic  Majesty £€4 

The  Millennium.     Suggested  by  ths  late  Work  of  the 

Reverend  Mr.  Irv— ng  "on  Prophecy" 565 

The  Three  Doctors 566 

Epitaph  on  a  Tuft  Hunter 5  '6 

Ode  to  a  Hat 5o7 

News  fur  Country  Cousins 5C7 

A  Vision.    By  the  Author  of  Christabel 568 

1'he  Petition  of  the  Orangemen  of  Ireland. 569 

Cotton  and  Corn.     A  Dialogue 570 

The  Canonization  of  Saint  B— tt— rw— rth  , 570 

An  Incantation.    Sung  by  the  Bubble  Spirit 571 

A  Dream  of  Turtle.    By  Sir  W.  Curtis 572 

The  Donkey  and  his  Panniers.    A  Fable 572 

Ode  to  the  Sublime  Porte 573 

Corn  and  Catholics 574 

A  Case  of  Libel 574 

Literary  Advertisement 575 

The  Irish  Slave .' 576 

Ode  to  Ferduiand 577 

Hat  versus  Wig 571 

The  Periwinkles  and  the  Locusts.    A  Salmaguihliaq 

Hymn •  378 

New  Creation  of  Peers.    Batch  the  First r$ 

Speech  on  the  Umbrella  Ouestion.    15y  Lord  Elil — n.     osC 

A  Pastoral  BUlad.    By  John  Bull 58C 

A  late  Scene  at  Swanage 581 

Woe!  woe! ••••  •  581 

Tout  pour  la  inpe 582 

Enigma 583 

Dog  Day  Reflections.    By  a  Dandy  kept  in  To  *n 583 

The  "Living  Dog"  and  "T'he  Dead  Lion" 584 

Ode  to  Don  Miguel 385 

Thoughts  on  the  present  Government  of  Ireland 565 

The  Limbo  of  lost  Reputations.    A  Dream  . , 58« 

How  to  write  by  Proxy 881 


CO:S  TENTS. 


u 


fAOB 

mitation  o/  tlie  Infemo  of  Danta 587 

Uanieiit  fur  the  Loss  of  Lord  B— tb— at'i  Tail £39 

The  Cherries.    A  I'arable 589 

Bunzaa  written  in  Anticipation  of  Defeat 590 

PaXFACa  TO  THB  tilftU  VOLDIIX ••  590 

'Jde  lu  tne  Woods  and  Forests.    By  one  of  the  Board. .  599 

Stanza*  Iruiri  the  liaiiks  of  tli4  Shannon 593 

llie  Annual  Pill 594 

■If  and  "  Terliaps" ^ 594 

A  rite  on,  write  on.    A  Ballad 595 

Bone  of  the  Jeparting  Spirit  of  Tithe 595 

The  Eutlianasia  of  Van 59G 

To  the  Kevereiid .    One  of  the  lizteen  Re<)ui8ition- 

ista  of  Nuttinghain .^ 597 

Irish  Antiquities 598 

A  curious  Fa«.t 598 

New-fashioned  Echoes 598 

Incant&tiun.    From  tlie  new  Tragedy  of  "The  Bruns- 

wickern 599 

How  to  make  a  good  Politician GOO 

Epistle  of  Condolence.    From  a  Slave  Lord  to  a  Cotton 

Lord 601 

Tlie  Ghost  of  Miltiades 601 

Alarming  Inteihgence  —  Revolution  in  tJie  Dictionary  — 

one  Oalt  at  the  Head  of  it 603 

Uesulutiuna  passed  at  a  Ute  Meeting  of  Reverends  and 

Right  Reverends 603 

Eir  Andrew's  Dream 603 

A  Blue  Love  Song.    To  Miss 604 

Bunday  Ethics.    A  Scotch  Ode 6P3 

Awflil  Event f,05 

The  Numbering  of  the  Clergy.    Parody  on  Sir  Charles 

III  II.  Williams's  famous  Ode 606 

A  sad  Case 606 

A  Dream  of  Ilindostan 607 

The  DninswickClub 607 

Proposals  for  a  Gynccocracy.  Addressed  to  a  late  Rad- 
ical Meeting 608 

Lord  II— nl— y  and  Sl  Cecilia 609 

Advertisement 609 

olisding 610 

The  Dance  of  Bishops  ;  or,  tlie  Episcopal  Quadrille.   A 

Dream 610 

Dick*  •  ♦  *.    ACharacter 611 

A  corrected  Report  of  some  late  Speeches 611 

Moral  Positions.    A  Dream 612 

The  Mad  Tory  and  tlie  Comet.    Founded  on  a  late  dis- 

tret'sing  Incident 613 

From  the  lion.  Henry  —  to  Lady  Emma  — 614 

Tdumpb  of  Bigotry 615 

^'racitatiun  from  the  Gull  Language 615 

Notiotis  on  Reform.    By  a  Modem  Reformer 616 

Tory  Pledges 617 

61.  Jerome  on  Earth.    First  Visit 617 

Et  Jerome  on  Earth.    Second  Visit 618 

Thoughts  on  Tar  Barrels.    (Vide  Description  of  a  late 

Fete.) 619 

1  he  Consultation 619 

To  Uie  Rev.  Ch— rl— •  Ov— rt— n,  Curate  of  Romald- 

kirk 630 

Scene  I'rcm  a  Play,  acted  at  Oxford,  called  "  Matricuia- 

Uoa" G31 


WAam 

Late  Tithe  Case 631 

FuoU' Paradise.    Dream  the  First. && 

The  Rector  and  his  Curate ;  or,  One  Pound  Two 62! 

Paddy's  Metamorphosis 63C 

Cocker,  on  Church  Reform.    Founded  upon  8)ine  late 

Calculations 03! 

Les  Ilommes  Automates 634 

Ilow  to  make  One's  Self  a  Peer.    According  to  the 

newest   Recei|)t,  as    disclosed  in    a    late    lieraldiu 

Work 0t25 

The  Duke  is  the  Lad 6SS 

Epistle  from  Erasmus,  on   Earth,  to  Cicero,  m    the 

Shades 026 

Lines  on   the  Departure  of  Lords  C— fit — I— gh  and 

St— w— rt  for  the  Continent 027 

To  the  Ship  in  which  Lord  C— st— r— gh  sailed  for  t'.ia 

Continent 6S8 

Sketch  of  tlie  First  Act  of  a  new  Romantic  Drama  . . . .  G39 

Animal  .Magnetism 6S9 

The  Song  o<°  the  Box 630 

Aniiouncemeni  of  a  new  Thalaba.    Addressed  to  Ro'w- 

crt  Southey,  Esq 631 

Rival  Topics.    An  Extravaganza 632 

The  Boy  Statesman.    By  a  Tor>- 639 

Letter  from  Larry  O'Branigan  to  the  Rov.  Hurtagh 

O'Mulligan 633 

M;ia:ngs  of  an  Uiiroformed  Peer CSS 

The  Rev.  Pnmphlctecr.    A  Romantic  Ballad 634 

A  Recent  Dialogue 639 

Tne  Wellington  Spa 639 

ACharacter 63S 

A  Ghosr  Story 638 

Thoughts  on  tlio  late  dr;structive  Propositions  of  the 

Tories.    By  a  Common  Councilman 637 

AMticipatod  Meeting  of  tlie  British  Association  in  th) 

Year2d36 SW 

d('n|;s  cf  r.'ie  Church.    No.  1 u39 

Epist'o  '.r  jni  Henry  f  f  Es--'.  -r  to  Jclin  of  Tuan. 639 

Song  or  Old  Puck 640 

Pol  if  0  Reports.    Cjitj  of  Impos.uro 611 

Reflections.    Addr^ied  Co  Oe  Author  of  the  Article  of 

the  Church  in  tlie  Itf*  iVamber  of  t'le  Quantrly 

Review f, 649 

New  Grand  Exhibition  of  Models  of  the  two  Houses  of 

Parliament O^S 

Announcement  of  a  rew  grand  Acceleration  Company 

for  tne  Promotion  of  the  Speed  of  Literature. .......  649 

Some  Account  of  the  late  Dinner  to  Dan 644 

New  Hospital  for  Sick  Literati 64S 

Religion  and  Trade 641 

Musings,  suggested  by  the  late  Promotion  of  Mrs.  Netb- 

ercoat 64e 

Intended  Tribute  to  the  Author  of  an  Article  in  the  la«t 

Number  of  the  Quarterly  Review,  entitled  "  Roman- 
ism in  Ireland  " , 647 

Grand  Dinner  of  T}-pe  and  Co.    A  poor  Poet's  Dream    648 

Church  Extension t'A 

Latest  Accounts  from  Olympus 649 

The  Triumphs  of  Farce 650 

Thoughts  on  Patrons,  PufTs,  and  other  Matters,    In  an 

Epistle  from  T.  M.  to  S.  R. 65- 

Thoiighls  on  Mischief.    By  Lord  St— nl — y.    (His  first 

Attempt  in  Verse.) 69Bi 

Epistle  from  Cainain  Rock  to  Lord  L— ndh— t bS3 

Captain  Rock  in  London.    Letter  from  the  Captain  to 

Terrjr  AitiEsq 654 


li 


CJOMTENTS. 


TH£  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND; 

•■(■a  A  »4UU.  TO  TBI   "rUOOl  FAMILT   Iir  fABIt." 

rAGB 

Preface 655 

(lener  I.  From  Patrick  Magan,  Esq.,  to  the  Rev.  Rich- 
ard   ,  Curate  of ,  in  Ireland 655 

Letter  II.  From  Miss  Biddy  Fudge  to  Mrs.  Eliza- 
beth  657 

Letter  III.    From  Miss  Fanny  Fudge  to  her  Cousin, 

Miss  Kitty .   Stanzas  (enclosed)  to  my  Shadow  ; 

or.  Why?  — What?  — How? 659 

Jitter  IV.  From  Patrick  Magan,  Esq.,  to  the  Rev 
Rlcliard 6C2 

Letter  V.  From  Larry  O'Branigan,  in  England,  to  his 
Wife  Judy,  at  Mullinafad C63 

Letter  VI.  From  Miss  Biddy  Fudge  to  Mrs.  Eliza- 
beth  6C5 

Letter  VII.  From  Miss  Fanny  Fudge  to  her  Cousin, 
Miss  Kitty .    Irregular  Ode 669 

Letter  VIII.  From  Bob  Fudge,  Esq.,  to  the  Rev.  Mor- 
timer O'Mulligan 670 

Letter  IX.    From  Larry  O'Branigan  to  his  Wife  Judy.  679 

Letter  X.  From  Uie  Rev.  Mortimer  O'Mulligan  to  the 
Rev. 074 

Letter  XL  From  Patrick  Magan,  Esq.,  to  the  Sev. 
Richard  .  675 

•ONQS  FROM  M.  P.;  OR,  THE  BLUE  STOCKINa 
■iwfl 677 


Cupid's  Lottery  . 
Song 


671 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEM& 

At  Night m 

To  Lady  Holland.    On  Napoleon's  Legacy  of  a  Snuff- 
box     C79 

Epilogue.      Written   for   Lady    Dacre's   Tragedy    of 

Ina 670 

The  Daydream 660 

Song 680 

Song  of  the  Poco-curante  Society 68i 

Anne  Boleyn.  Translation  from  the  metrical  "  Ili^toire 

d'Anne  Boleyn" 681 

The  Dream  of  the  Two  Sisters.    From  Dante G81 

Sovereign  Woman.    A  Ballad C89 

Come,  play  me  that  simple  Air  again.    A  Ballad 689 


Pkifaci  to  TBI  TixTB  youma 683 


THE  EPICUREAN:  a  Tau 603 


ALCIPBRON.       TMAommmw. 


GiKUAi.  Iron. 


790 


m 


THB 


POETICAL     WORKS 


or 


THOMAS    MOORE. 


PREFACE 

rO  THE  FIRST  YULUME. 

FixD.NO  it  to  be  the  wish  of  my  Publishers 
tnat  at  least  the  earlier  volumes  of  this  col- 
Icxjtion  should  each  be  accompanied  by  some 
prefatory  matter,  illustrating,  by  a  few  bio- 
gpraphical  memoranda,  the  progress  of  my  ntim- 
ble  literary  career,  I  have  consented,  though 
not,  I  confess,  without  some  scruple  and  hesita- 
tion, to  comply  with  their  request.  In  uo 
country  is  there  so  much  curiosity  felt  respect- 
ing the  interior  of  the  lives  of  public  men  as 
In  England ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  in  no 
country  is  he  who  ventures  to  tell  his  own  story 
BO  little  safe  from  the  imputation  of  vanity  and 
self- display. 

The  whole  of  the  poems  contained  in  the  first, 
as  well  as  in  the  greater  part  of  the  second, 
volume  of  this  collection  were  written  between 
the  sixteenth  and  the  twenty-third  year  of  the 
author's  age.  But  I  had  begun  still  earlier, 
not  only  to  rhyme  but  to  publish.  A  sonnet  to 
my  schoolmaster,  Mr.  Samuel  Whyte,  written 
in  my  foxirteenth  ye»j,  appeared  at  the  time  in 
k  Dublin  magazine,  called  the  Anthologia,  — 
the  first,  and,  I  fear,  almost  only,  creditable 
attempt  in  periodical  literature  of  which  Ire- 
land has  to  boay.t.  I  had  even  at  an  earlier 
period  (1793)  sent  to  this  magazine  two  short 
pieces  of  verse,  prefaced  by  a  note  to  the  editor, 
equcsting  the  insertion  of  the  ♦' fnUowins'  at- 


tempts of  a  youthful  muse ; "  and  the  fear  and 
trembling  with  which  I  ventured  upon  thi# 
step  were  agreeably  dispelled,  not  only  by  th« 
appearance  of  the  contributions,  but  still  mort 
by  my  finding  myself,  a  few  months  after,  hailed 
as  "  Our  esteemed  correspondent,  T.  M." 

It  was  in  the  pages  of  this  publication, 
where  the  whole  of  the  poem  was  extracted, 
that  I  first  met  with  the  Pleasures  of  Memory , 
and  to  tnis  ak»y,  v»hen  I  open  the  volume  of  the 
Anthologia  which  contains  it,  the  very  form 
of  the  type  and  color  of  the  paper  brings  back 
vividly  to  my  mind  the  delight  with  which  1 
first  read  that  poem. 

My  schoolmaster,  Mr.  Whyte,  though  amub- 
ingly  vain,  was  a  good  and  kind-hearted  man  . 
and,  as  a  teacher  of  public  reading  and  elocu- 
tion, had  long  enjoyed  considerable  reputation 
Nearly  thirty  years  before  I  became  his  pupil, 
Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan,  then  about  eight  ci 
nine  years  of  age,  had  been  placed  by  Mr» 
Sheridan  under  his  care ; '  and,  strange  to  My 
was,  after  about  a  year's  trial,  pronounced,  jnt); 
by  tutor  and  parent,  to  be  "an  incorrigible 
dunce."  Among  those  wno  took  lessons  fron, 
him  as  private  pupils  were  several  young  ladies 
of  rank,  belonging  to  the  great  Irish  familiea 
who  still  continued  to  lend  to  Ireland  the  en 

J  Some  confused  notion  of  this  fact  has  led  the  wrOr  i« 
a  Memoir  prefixed  to  the  "  Pocket  E<)itian  "  of  my  Pocmi, 
printed  at  Zwickau,  to  stale  that  Brinsley  Sheridan  «'ai>  my 
tutor!  — "  Great  attention  was  paid  to  his  educaoon  b%  n>« 
tcilor,  Sheridan." 

(W) 


II 


PREFArja. 


JTening  influenct  of  their  presence,  and  made 
their  country  seat^,  through  a  great  part  of  the 
year,  the  scenes  of  refined  as  well  as  hospitable 
festivity.  The  Mi»8  Montgomerys,  to  whose 
rare  beauty  the  pencil  of  Sir  Joshua  has  given 
immortality,  were  among  those  whom  my  worthy 
preceptor  most  boasted  of  as  pupils  ;  and,  I  re- 
n.cniber,  his  description  of  them  long  haunted 
my  boyish  imagination,  as  though  they  were 
not  earthly  women,  but  some  spiritual "  creatures 
of  the  element." 

About  thirty  or  forty  years  before  the  period 
of  which  I  am  speaking,  an  eager  taste  for 
private  theatrical  performances  had  sprung  up 
among  the  higher  ranks  of  society  in  Ireland ; 
and  at  Carton,  the  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Lein- 
eter,  at  Castletown,  Marley,  and  other  great 
houses,  private  plays  were  got  up,  of  which,  in 
most  instances,  the  superintendence  was  in- 
trusted to  Mr.  Whyte,  and  in  general  the  prol- 
ogue, or  the  epilogue,  contributed  by  his  pen. 
At  Marley,  the  seat  of  the  Latouchcs,  where 
the  masque  of  Comus  was  performed,  in  the 
year  1776,  while  my  old  master  supplied  the 
prologue,  no  less  distinguished  a  hand  than  that 
of  our  "  ever-glorious  Grattan,"  '  furnished  the 
epilogue.  This  relic  of  his  pen,  too,  is  the 
more  memorable,  as  bemg,  I  believe,  the  only 
poetical  composition  he  was  ever  known  to 
produce. 

At  the  time  when  I  first  began  to  attend  his 
school,  Mr.  Whyte  still  continued,  to  the  no 
small  alarm  of  many  parents,  to  encourage  a 
taste  for  acting  among  his  pupils.  In  this  line 
I  was  long  his  favorite  s/iow  scholar  ;  and 
among  the  playbills  introduced  in  his  volume, 
to  illustrate  the  occasions  of  his  own  jirologues 
and  C[ilogues,  there  is  one  of  a  play  got  up  in 
the  year  1790,  at  Lady  Borrowes's  private 
theatre  in  Dublin,  where,  among  the  items  of 
the  evening's  entertainment,  is  "  An  Epilogue, 
A  .\/uceze  to  Si.  Paul's,  Master  Moore." 

\\  ith  acting,  indeed,  is  associated  the  very 
first  attempt  at  verse  making  to  which  my 
memory  enables  me  to  plead  guilty.  It  was  at 
B  pci-iod,  I  think,  even  earlier  than  the  date  last 
mentioned,  that,  while  passing  the  summer 
holidays,  with  a  number  of  other  young  people, 
Bt  one  of  those  bathing-places,  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Dublin,  which  afford  such  fresh  and 
healthful  retreats  to  its  inhabitants,  it  was  pro- 
posed among  us  that  we  should  combine  to- 
j"ther  in  some  th eatrical  performance  ;  and  the 

>  Byron 


Poor  Soldier  and  a  Harlequin  Pantomime  being 
the  entertainments  agreed  upon,  the  parts  of 
Patrick  and  the  Motley  hero  fell  to  my  share. 
I  was  also  encouraged  to  write  and  recite  an 
appropriate  epilogue  on  the  occasion;  and  the 
following  lines,  alluding  to  our  speedy  return 
to  school,  and  remarkable  only  for  their  having 
lived  so  long  in  my  memory,  formed  part  of  thi* 
juvenile  effort :  — 

Our  Pantaloon,  who  did  so  aged  look, 

Must  now  resume  his  ytmth,  liis  task,  his  book  : 

Our  Harlequin,  who  skipp'd,  laugh'd,  danc'd,  and  died. 

Must  now  stand  trembling  by  his  master's  side. 

I  have  thus  been  led  back,  step  by  step, 
from  an  early  date  to  one  still  earlier,  with  the 
view  of  ascertaining,  for  those  who  take  any  in- 
terest in  literary  biography,  at  what  period  1 
first  showed  an  aptitude  for  the  now  common 
craft  of  verse  making ;  and  the  result  is  —  so 
far  back  in  childhood  lies  the  epoch  —  that  I  am 
really  unable  to  say  at  what  age  I  first  began  to 
act,  sing,  and  rhyme. 

To  these  different  talents,  such  as  they  were, 
the  gay  and  social  habits  prevailing  in  DubUn 
afforded  frequent  opportunities  of  display  ; 
while,  at  home,  a  most  amiable  father,  and  a 
mother  such  as  in  heart  and  head  has  rarelv  been 
equalled,  furnished  me  with  that  purest  stim- 
ulus to  exertion  —  the  desire  to  please  those 
whom  we,  at  once,  most  love  and  most  respect. 
It  was,  I  think,  a  year  or  two  after  my  entiance 
into  college,  that  a  masque  written  by  mjselfi 
and  of  which  I  had  adapted  one  of  the  songs 
to  the  air  of  Haydn's  Spirit  Song,  was  actsd, 
under  our  own  humble  roof  in  Aungier  StreH, 
by  my  elder  sister,  myself,  an'd  one  or  tMV) 
other  young  persons.  The  little  drawing  room 
over  the  shop  was  our  grand  place  of  representa- 
tion, and  young ,  now  an  eminent  professoi 

of  music  in  Dublin,  enacted  for  us  the  part  A 
orchestra  at  the  piano  forte. 

It  will  be  seen  from  all  this,  that,  howevei 
imprudent  and  premature  was  my  first  appear- 
ance in  the  London  world  as  an  author,  it  ii 
only  lucky  that  I  had  not  much  earlier  assumec 
that  responsible  character ;  in  which  case  tne 
public  would  probably  have  treated  my  nui-aerj 
productions  in  much  the  same  manner  ir.  which 
that  sensible  critic,  my  Uncle  Toby,  would  have 
disposed  of  the  "  work  which  the  great  Lipsius 
produced  on  the  day  he  was  bom." 

While  thus  the  turn  I  had  so  early  shown 
for  rhyme  and  song  was,  by  the  gay  and  socia- 
ble circle  in  which  I  lived,  called  so  encour 


PREFy..CE. 


11 


igingly  into  play,  a  far  deeper  feeling  —  and, 
[  should  hope,  power  —  was  at  the  same  time 
awakened  in  me  by  the  mighty  change  then 
working  in  the  political  aspect  of  Europe,  and 
the  stirring  influence  it  had  begun  to  exercise 
in  the  spirit  and  hopes  of  Ireland.  Bom  of 
Catholic  parents,  I  had  come  into  the  world 
with  the  slave's  yoke  around  my  neck  ;  and  it 
ABB  all  in  vain  that  the  fond  ambition  of  a 
aiolher  looked  forward  to  the  Bar  as  opening  a 
'.are'T  that  might  lead  her  son  to  affluence  and 
.»mor.  Against  the  young  Papist  all  such 
avenues  to  distinction  were  closed ;  and  even 
the  University,  the  professed  source  of  public 
education,  was  to  him  ••  a  fountain  sealed." 
Can  any  one  now  wonder  that  a  people  thus 
trampled  uiron  should  have  hailed  the  first  daz- 
sling  outbreak  of  the  French  revolution  as  a 
signal  to  the  slave,  wherever  suffering,  that  the 
day  of  his  deliverance  was  near  at  hand  ?  I  re- 
member being  taken  by  my  father  (1792)  to  one 
of  the  dinners  given  in  honor  of  that  great 
event,  and  sitting  upon  the  knee  of  the  chair- 
man vhile  the  following  toast  was  enthusiasti- 
cally sent  round  :  —  •'  May  the  breezes  from 
France  fan  our  Irish  Oak  into  verdure." 

In  a  few  months  after  was  passed  the  memo- 
rable Act  of  1793,  sweeping  away  some  of  the 
most  monstrous  of  the  remaining  sanctions  of 
the  penal  code ;  and  I  was  myself  among  the 
first  of  the  young  Helots  of  the  land,  who  has- 
tened to  avail  themselves  of  the  new  privilege  of 
being  educated  in  their  country's  university,  — 
though  still  excluded  from  all  share  in  those 
college  honors  and  emoluments  by  which  the 
ambition  of  the  youths  of  the  ascendant  class 
was  stimulated  and  rewarded.  As  I  well  knew 
that,  next  to  my  attaining  some  of  these  dis- 
tinctions, my  showing  that  I  deserved  to  attain 
them  would  most  gratify  my  anxious  mother,  I 
entered  as  candidate  for  a  scholarship,  and  (as 
far  as  the  result  of  the  examination  went)  suc- 
cessfully. But,  of  course,  the  mere  barren 
credit  of  the  effort  was  all  I  enjoyed  for  my 
p«ins. 

It  was  ill  this  year  (1794),  or  about  the  be- 
ginning of  the  next,  that  I  remember  having, 
for  the  first  time,  tried  my  hand  at  political  sat- 
ire. In  their  very  worst  times  of  slavery  and 
•uffering,  the  happy  disposition  of  my  country- 
men had  kept  their  cheerfulness  still  unbroken 
\nd  buoyant ;  and,  at  the  period  of  which  I  am 
ipeaking,  the  hope  of  a  brighter  day  dawning 
apon  Ireland  had  given  to  the  society  of  the 
viddle  daases  in  Dublin  a  more  than  usual  flow 


of  hilarity  and  life.  Among  other  gay  rest  111 
of  this  festive  spirit,  a  club,  or  society,  was  in- 
stituted by  some  of  our  most  convivial  citizens, 
one  of  whose  objects  was  to  burlesque,  good 
humoiedly,  the  firms  and  pomps  of  royaltj 
With  this  view  they  established  a  sort  of  mock 
kingdom,  of  which  Dalkcy,  a  small  island  neai 
Dublin,  was  made  the  seat,  and  an  eminent 
pawnbroker,  named  Stephen  Armitago,  much 
renowned  for  his  agreeable  singing,  ^la  the 
chosen  and  popular  monarch. 

Before  public  affairs  had  become  too  seriom 
for  such  pastime,  it  was  usual  to  celebrate  year- 
ly, at  Dalkey,  the  day  of  this  sovereign's  acces- 
sion ;  and,  among  the  gay  scenes  that  still  live 
in  my  memory,  there  are  few  it  recalls  with 
more  freshness  than  the  celebration,  on  a  fine 
Sunday  in  summer,  of  one  of  these  anniver- 
saries of  King  Stejjhen's  coronation.  The  pic- 
turesque sea  views  from  that  spot,  the.  gay 
crowds  along  the  shores,  the  innumerable  boat?., 
full  of  life,  floating  about,  and,  above  all,  that 
true  spirit  of  mirth  which  the  Irish  temperament 
never  fails  to  lend  to  such  meetings,  rendered 
the  whole  a  scene  not  easily  forgotten.  The 
state  ceremonies  of  the  day  were  performed,  with 
all  due  gravity,  within  the  ruins  of  an  ancient 
church  that  stands  on  the  island,  where  his 
mock  majesty  bestowed  the  order  of  knighthood 
upon  certain  favored  personages,  and  among 
others,  I  recollect,  upon  Incledon,  the  celebrated 
singer,  who  arose  from  under  the  touch  of  the 
royal  sword  with  the  appropriate  title  of  Sir 
Charles  Melody.  There  was  also  selected,  for 
the  favors  of  the  crown  on  that  day,  a  lady  nf 
no  onlnviry  j^oetic  talent,  Mrs.  Battier,  who  ha/! 
gained  mutli  fame  by  some  spirited  satires  in  the 
manner  of  Churchill,  and  whose  kind  encour- 
agement of  my  early  attempts  in  versification 
were  to  me  a  source  of  much  pride.  This  lady, 
as  was  officially  announced,  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  had  been  appointed  his  majesty  s  poetes* 
laureate,  under  the  style  and  title  of  Henrietta, 
Countess  of  Laurel. 

There  could  hardly  be  devised  a  more  apt 
vehicle  for  lively  political  satire  than  this  gay 
travesty  of  monarchical  power,  and  its  showy 
appurtenances,  so  temptingly  supplied.  Tl'« 
Very  day,  indeed,  after  this  commemoration, 
there  appeared,  in  the  usual  record  of  Dulkey 
state  intelligence,  an  amusing  proclamation  fron 
the  king,  offering  a  large  reward  in  crotiebattea^ 
to  the  finder  or  finders  of  his  majesty's  cr  twa, 

1  IiUli  haUiwooa,  w  caUaa 


10 


PREFACE. 


which,  owing  to  his  "  having  measured  both 
lides  of  the  road"  in  his  pedestrian  progress 
from  Dalkey  on  the  preceding  night,  had  un- 
luckily fallen  from  the  royal  brow. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  whatever 
natural  turn  I  may  have  possessed  for  the  light- 
er skinnishing  of  satire  should  have  been  called 
into  play  by  so  pleasant  a  field  for  its  exercise 
»s  the  state  affairs  of  the  Dalkey  kingdom  af- 
forded ;  and,  accordingly,  my  first  attempt  in 
this  line  was  an  Ode  to  his  Majesty,  King  Ste- 
phen, contrasting  the  happy  state  of  security  in 
which  he  'ived  among  his  merry  lieges,  with 
the  "  metal  coach,"  and  other  such  precautions 
against  mob  violence,  said  to  have  been  adopted 
at  that  time  by  his  rnyal  brother  of  England. 
Some  portions  of  this  juvenile  sqvub  still  live 
in  my  memory  ;  but  they  fall  far  too  short  of 
the  lively  demands  of  the  subject  to  be  worth 
preserving,  even  as  juvenilia. 

In  college,  the  first  circumstance  that  drew 
any  attention  to  my  rhyming  powers  was  my 
giving  in  a  theme,  in  English  verse,  at  one  of 
the  quarterly  examinations.  As  the  sort  of  short 
essays  required  on  those  occasions  were  consid- 
ered, in  general,  as  a  mere  matter  of  form,  and 
were  written,  at  that  time,  I  believe,  invariably, 
in  Latin  prose,  the  api)earance  of  a  theme  in 
English  verse  could  hardly  fail  to  attract  some 
notice.  It  was,  therefore,  with  no  small  anxiety 
that,  when  the  moment  for  judging  of  the 
themes  arrived,  I  saw  the  examiners  of  the  dif- 
ferent divisions  assemble,  as  usual,  at  the  bottom 
of  the  hall  for  that  purpose.  Still  more  trying 
was  it  when  I  perceived  that  the  reverend  in- 
quisitor, in  w*hose  hands  was  my  fate,  had  left 
the  rest  of  the  awful  group,  and  was  bending 
his  steps  towards  the  table  where  I  was  seated. 
Leaning  across  to  me,  he  asked  suspiciously, 
whether  the  verses  which  I  had  just  given  in 
were  my  own;  and,  on  my  answering  in  the 
affirmative,  added  these  cheering  words,  "  They 
do  you  great  credit ;  and  I  shall  not  fail  to 
recomn.end  them  to  the  notice  of  the  Board." 
rhis  result  of  a  step,  ventured  upon  with  some 
little  fear  and  scruple,  was  of  course  very  grati- 
fjrijig  to  me ;  and  the  premium  I  received  from 
ihe  Board  was  a  well-bound  copy  of  the  Travels 
of  Anacharsis,  together  with  a  certificate,  stating, 
in  not  very  lofty  Latin,  that  this  reward  had 
been  conferred  upon  me,  "propter  laudabilem 
in  versibus  componendis  progressum." 

The  idea  of  attempting  a  version  of  some  of 
liha  Songi  or  Odes  of  Anacreon  had  very  early 
ycurred  to  me ;  and  a  specimen  of   my  first 


ventures  in  this  undertaking  may  be  found  ii 
the  Dublin  Magazine  already  referred  to,  where, 
in  the  number  of  that  work  for  February,  1794, 
appeared  a  "  Paraphrase  of  Anacreon's  Fifth 
Ode,  by  T.  Moore."  As  it  may  not  be  unin« 
teresting'  to  future  and  better  translators  of  tin 
poet  to  compare  this  schoolboy  experiment  with 
my  later  and  more  ^abored  version  of  the  samt 
ode,  I  shall  here  extract  the  specimen  found  in 
the  Anthologia :  — 

"  Let  us,  with  the  clustering  vine, 
The  rose.  Love's  blusliing  flower,  intwina. 
Fancy's  hand  our  chaplets  wreathing, 
Vernal  sweets  around  us  breathing, 
We'll  gayly  drink,  full  goblets  quafflng, 
At  frighted  Care  securely  laughing. 

"  Rose !  thou  balmy-scented  flower, 
Reared  by  Spring's  most  fostering  power, 
Thy  dewy  blossoms,  opening  bright. 
To  gods  themselves  can  give  delight ; 
And  Cypria's  child,  with  roses  crowned 
Trips  with  each  Grace  the  mazy  round. 

"  Bind  my  brows, —  I'll  tune  the  lyre, 
Love  my  rapturous  strain  shall  fire. 
Near  Bacchus'  grape-encircled  shrine, 
While  roses  fresh  my  brows  intwine. 
Led  by  tlie  winged  train  of  Pleasures, 
I'll  dance  with  nymphs  to  sportive  measures." 

In  pursuing  further  this  light  task,  the  or/iy 
object  I  had  for  some  time  in  view  was  to  lay 
before  the  Board  a  select  number  of  the  odes  1 
had  then  translated,  with  a  hope,  —  suggested 
by  the  kind  encouragement  I  had  already  re- 
ceived, —  that  they  might  consider  them  as  de- 
serving of  some  honor  or  reward.  Having 
experienced  much  hospitable  attention  from 
Doctor  Kearney,  one  of  the  senior  fellows,'  a 
man  of  most  amiable  character,  as  well  as  of  re- 
fined scholarship,  I  submitted  to  his  perusal  th* 
manuscript  of  my  translation  as  far  as  it  had 
then  proceeded,  and  requested  his  advice  re- 
specting my  intention  of  laying  it  before  the 
Board.  On  this  latter  point  his  opinion  was 
such  as,  with  a  little  more  thought,  I  migb* 
have  anticipated,  namely,  that  he  did  not  see 
how  the  Board  of  the  University  could  lend 
their  sanction,  by  any  public  reward,  to  writings 
of  so  convivial  and  amatory  a  nature  as  were 
almost  all  those  of  Anacreon.  He  very  good 
naturedly,  however,  lauded  my  translation,  and 
advised  me  to  complete  and  publish  it.  I  wa« 
also  indebted  to  him  for  the  use,  during  my 


1  Appointed  Provost  of  the  University  in  the  yva  179> 
and  made  afterwards  Bishop  of  Ossoiy. 


Usk,  of  Spaletti'8  curious  publication,  giving 
*  fac  simile  of  those  pages  of  a  MS.  in  the  Vati- 
can Library  which  contain  the  Odes,  or  *•  Sym- 
p<^siac8,"  attributed  to  Anacreon'  And  here  I 
shau  venture  to  add  a  fevir  passing  words  on  a 
I'oint  which  I  once  should  have  thought  it  prof- 
•mation  to  (juestion,  —  the  authenticity  of  these 
poems.  The  cry  raised  against  their  gcnuine- 
'  ness  by  liobertellus  and  other  enemies  of  Henry 
Stephen,  when  that  eminent  scholar  first  in- 
-roduced  them  to  the  learned  world,  may  be 
thought  to  have  long  since  entirely  subsided, 
leaving  their  claim  to  so  ancient  a  paternity 
safe  and  unquestioned.  But  I  am  forced  to  con- 
fess, however  reluctantly,  that  there  appear  to  me 
strong  grounds  for  pronouncing  these  light  and 
beautiful  lyrics  to  be  merely  modern  fabrica- 
tions. Some  of  the  reasons  that  incline  me  to 
adopt  this  unwelcome  conclusion  are  thus 
clearly  stated  by  the  same  able  scholar,  to 
whom  I  am  indebted  for  the  emendations  of  my 
own  juvenile  Greek  ode :  —  "  I  do  not  see  how 
it  is  possible,  if  Anacreon  had  written  chiefly  in 
Iambic  dimeter  verse,  that  Horace  should  have 
wholly  neglected  that  metre.  I  may  add  that, 
of  those  fragments  of  Anacreon,  of  whose  gen- 
uineness, from  internal  evidence,  there  can  be 
'lo  doubt,  almost  all  are  written  in  one  or  other 
■jf  the  lighter  Iloratian  metres,  and  scarcely  one 
m  Iambic  dimeter  verse.  This  may  be  seen  by 
looking  through  the  list  in  Fischer." 

The  unskiU'ul  attempt  at  Greek  verse  from 
my  own  pen,  which  is  found  prefixed  to  the 
Translation,  was  intended  originally  to  illus- 
trate a  picture,  representing  Anacreon  convers- 
ing with  the  Goddess  of  Wisdom,  from  which, 
the  frontispiece  to  the  first  edition  of  the  work 
A'as  taken.  Had  I  been  brought  up  with  a  due 
fear  of  the  laws  of  prosody  before  my  eyes,  I 
cerlJiJnly  shotild  not  have  dared  to  submit  so 
untutored  a  production  to  the  criticism  of  the 
trained  prosodians  of  the  English  schools.    At 

• 
1  When  the  monument  to  Provost  Baldwin,  which  stands 
u  lilt  tiall  of  the  Collei;e  of  Dublin,  arrived  from  Italy,  there 
cai:ie  in  tlie  same  par.king  rase  witli  it  two  copies  of  this 
work  of  8|>aletti,  one  of  which  was  presented  by  Dr.  Troy, 
the  Roman  Catholic  archbishop,  as  a  gift  from  the  Pope  to 
the  Library  of  the  University,  and  the  other  (of  which  I  was 
subsequently  favored  with  the  use)  he  presented,  in  like 
manner,  to  my  friend.  Dr.  Kearney.  Thus,  curiously  enough, 
while  Anacreon  tm  Enfluk  was  considered  —  and,  I  grant, 
>n  00  unreo-sonable  grounds  —  as  a  work  to  which  grave 
tollegiate  authorities  could  not  openly  lend  their  sanction 
Anacreon  iit  Cheek  was  thought  no  unfitting  present  to  be 
taceived  by  a  Protestant  bishop,  through  the  medium  of  a 
Ga'^olic  trcbbishop,  from  the  bands  of  bis  k  '  ineas,  tbe 


the  same  time,  I  cannot  help  adding  that,  as  & 
as  music,  distinct  from  metre,  is  concerned,  ] 
am  much  inclined  to  prefer  the  ode  as  originally 
written  to  its  present  corrected  shape :  and  that, 
at  all  events,  I  entertain  butj  very  little  doubt  a< 
to  which  of  the  two  a  composer  would  most 
willingly  set  to  music. 

For  the  means  of  collecting  the  material*  of 
the  notes  appended  to  the  Translation,  1  wai 
chiefly  indebted  to  an  old  library  adjoining  St 
Patrick's  Cathedral,  called,  from  the  name  a' 
the  archbishop  who  founded  it,  Marsh's  Library. 
Through  ray  acquaintance  with  the  deputy  li- 
brarian, the  llev.  Mr.  Cradock,  I  enjoyed  the 
privilege  of  constant  access  to  this  collection, 
even  at  that  period  of  the  year  when  it  is  al- 
ways closed  to  the  public.  On  these  occasions 
I  used  to  be  locked  in  there  alone  ;  and  to  the 
many  solitary  hours  which,  both  at  the  time  I 
am  now  speaking  of  and  subsequently,  I  passed 
in  hunting  through  the  dusty  tomes  of  this  old 
library,  I  owe  much  of  that  odd  and  out-of-the- 
way  sort  of  reading  which  may  be  found  scat- 
tered through  some  of  my  earlier  writinccs. 

Early  in  the  year  1799,  while  yet  in  my  nine- 
teenth year,  I  left  Ireland,  for  the  first  time,  and 
proceeded  to  London,  with  the  two  not  very 
congenial  objects,  of  keeping  my  terms  at  the 
Middle  Temjile,  and  publishing,  by  subscription, 
my  Translati(,n  of  Anacreon.  One  of  those 
persons  to  whom,  through  the  active  zeal  of 
friends,  some  part  of  my  manuscript  had  been 
submitted  before  it  went  to  press,  was  Doctor 
Laurence,  the  able  friend  of  Burke  ;  and,  as  an 
instance,  however  slight,  of  that  ready  variety 
of  learning,  as  well  the  lightest  as  the  most 
solid,  for  which  Laurence  was  so  remarkable, 
the  following  extract  from  the  letter  written  by 
him,  in  returning  the  manuscript  to  my  friend 
Dr.  Hume,  may  not  be  without  some  interest  •  — 

"  Dec.  20,  179a. 

"  I  return  you  the  four  odes  which  you  werr 
so  kind  to  communicate  for  my  poor  opinioa 
They  are,  in  many  parts,  very  elegant  and  jjoeV 
ical ;  and,  in  some  pa.ssages,  Mr.  Moore  has  add' 
ed  a  pretty  turn  not  to  be  found  in  the  original. 
To  confess  the  truth,  however,  they  are,  in  no! 
a  few  places,  rather  more  paraphrastical  thai 
suits  my  notion  (perhaps  an  incorrect  notion) 
of  translation. 

"  In  the  fifty-third  ode  there  is,  in  my  judg- 
ment, a  no  lesh  sound  than  beautiful  emendation 
suggested  —  would  you  suppose  it  ?  —  by  a  Dutch 
lawyer.    Mr.  M.  possibly  may  not  be  aware  of 


29 


JTTV^NILE  POEMS. 


it.  I  have  endeavored  to  express  the  sense  of 
it  in  a  couplet  interlined  with  pencil.  Will  you 
Ulow  me  to  add,  that  1  am  not  certain  whether 
the  translation  has  not  missed  the  meaning,  too, 
m  the  former  part  of  that  passage  which  seems 
to  me  to  intend  a  distinction  and  climax  of  pleas- 
01  e  :  —  'It  is  sweet  even  to  prove  it  among  the 
oriery  paths ;  it  is  sweet  again,  plucking,  to  cher- 
ish with  tender  hands,  and  carry  to  the  fair,  the 
flower  of  love.'  This  is  nearly  literal,  including 
the  conjectural  correction  of  Mynheer  Meden- 
bach.     If  this  be  right,  instead  of 

'  Tis  sweet  to  dare  the  tangled  fence,' 
I  would  propose  something  to  this  eifect :  — 

"Pis  sweet  the  rich  perfume  to  prove, 
As  by  the  dewy  bush  you  rove ; 
Tig  sweet  to  dare  the  tangled  fence, 
To  cuU  the  timid  beauty  tlience, 


To  wipe  with  tender  hands  away 
The  tears  that  on  its  blushes  lay  ;i 
Then,  to  the  bosom  of  the  fair. 
The  flower  of  love  in  triumph  bear. 

"I  would  drop  altogether  the  image  ot  the 
stems  '  dropping  with  gems'  I  believe  it  IB  a 
confused  and  false  metaphor,  unless  the  paintei 
should  take  the  figure  of  Aurora  from  Mrs 
Hastings. 

"There  is  another  emendation  of  the  swat 
critic,  in  the  following  line,  which  Mr.  M.  may 
seem,  by  accident,  to  have  sufficiently  expressed 
in  the  phrase  of  '  roses  shed  their  light.' 

"  I  scribble  this  in  very  great  haste,  but  feai 
that  you  and  Mr.  Moore  will  find  me  too  long, 
minute,  and  impertinent.  Believe  me  to  be, 
very  sincerely, 

"  Your  obedient,  humble  servant, 

"  F.  Lauhence." 


JUVENILE    POEMS. 


PREFACE  BY  THE  EDITOR* 

The  Poems  which  I  take  the  liberty  of  pub- 
lishing, were  never  intended  by  the  author  to 
pass  beyond  the  circle  of  his  friends.  He  thought, 
with  some  justice,  that  what  are  called  Occa- 
sional Poems  must  be  always  insipid  and  unin- 
teresting to  the  greater  part  of  their  readers.  The 
particular  situations  in  which  they  were  written ; 
the  character  of  the  author  and  of  his  associates ; 
all  these  peculiarities  must  be  known  and  felt 
before  we  can  enter  into  the  spirit  of  such  com- 
positions. This  consideration  would  have  always, 
I  believe,  prevented  the  author  himself  from  sub- 
mitting these  trifles  to  the  eye  of  dispassionate 
rriticism  :  and  if  their  posthumous  introduction 
to  the  world  be  injustice  to  his  memory,  or  in- 
Inision  on  the  public,  the  error  must  be  imputed 
to  the  injudicious  partiality  of  friendship. 

Mr.  Little  died  in  his  one  and  twentieth 
jrear  ;  and  most  of  these  Poems  were  written  at 

1  Query,  if  it  ought  not  to  be  2i«  7    7%e  line  might  run, 

With  tender  hand  the  tears  to  brush, 

That  give  new  softneH  to  its  bliuh  (or,  its  flash). 

>  A  portion  of  the  Poems  included  in  this  and  the  succeed- 
ng  rolume  were  published  originally  as  the  works  of  "  the 
fcte  Thomas  Little,"  ^'th  the  Preface  here  given  prefixed 
•  tbau. 


so  early  a  period  that  their  errors  may  lay  claim 
to  some  indulgence  from  the  critic.  Their  au- 
thor, as  unambitious  as  indolent,  scarce  ever 
looked  beyond  the  moment  of  composition  ;  but, 
in  general,  wrote  as  he  pleased,  careless  whether 
he  pleased  as  he  wrote.  It  may  likewise  be  re- 
membered, that  they  were  all  the  productions 
of  an  age  when  the  passions  very  often  give  a 
coloring  too  warm  to  the  imagination  ;  and  this 
may  palliate,  if  it  cannot  excuse,  that  air  of  lev- 
ity which  pervades  so  many  of  them.  The  "  au- 
rea  legge,  s'ei  piace  ei  lice,"  he  too  much  pur- 
sued, and  too  much  inculcates.  Few*  can  regret 
this  more  sincerely  than  myself ;  and  if  my  friend 
had  lived,  the  judgment  of  riper  y<^ars  v  ^uld 
have  chastened  his  mind,  and  tempered  the  ■  .»- 
uriance  of  his  fancy. 

Mr.  Little  gave  much  of  his  time  to  the  studj 
of  the  amatory  writers.  If  ever  he  expected  to 
find  in  the  ancients  that  delicacy  of  sentiment, 
and  variety  of  fancy,  which  are  so  necessary  t4 
refine  and  animate  the  poetry  of  love,  he  wa« 
much  disappointed.  I  know  not  any  one  of 
them  who  can  be  regarded  w  a  model  in  that 
style ;  Ovid  made  love  like  a  rake,  and  Proper- 
tius  like  a  schoolmaster.  The  mythological  al- 
lusions of  the  latter  are  called  erudition  by  hii 
commentators ;   but  such  ostentatious  display 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


Ai 


upon  a  subject  so  simple  as  love,  would  be  now 
esteemed  vague  and  puerile,  and  was  even  in 
his  own  times  pedantic.  It  is  astonishing  that 
80  many  critics  should  have  preferred  him  to 
)he  gentle  and  touching  Tibullus ;  but  those 
defects,  I  believe,  which  a  common  reader  con- 
demns, have  been  regarded  rather  as  beauties 
by  those  erudite  men,  the  commentators ;  who 
find  a  field  for  their  ingenuity  and  research,  in 
bis  Grecian  learning  and  quaint  obscurities. 

Tibullus  abounds  with  touches  of  fine  and 
natural  feeling.  The  idea  of  his  unexpected 
return  tD  Delia,  ••  Tunc  veniam  subito," '  &c.,  is 
imagined  with  all  the  delicate  ardor  of  a  lover ; 
and  the  sentiment  of  "  nee  te  posse  carere  ve- 
lim,"  however  colloquial  the  expression  may 
have  been,  is  natural,  and  from  the  heart.  But 
the  poet  of  Verona,  in  my  opinion,  possessed 
more  genuine  feeling  than  any  of  them.  His 
life  was,  I  believe,  unfortunate;  his  associates 
were  wild  and  abandoned  ;  and  the  warmth  of 
his  nature  took  too  much  advantage  of  the  lati- 
tude which  the  morals  of  those  times  so  crimi- 
nally allowed  to  the  passions.  All  this  depraved 
his  imagination,  and  made  it  the  slave  of  his 
senses.  But  still  a  native  sensibility  is  often 
very  warmly  perceptible  ;  and  when  he  touches 
the  chord  of  pathos,  he  reaches  immediately  the 
heart.  They  who  have  felt  the  sweets  of  return 
to  a  home  from  which  they  have  long  been  ab- 
tent  will  confess  the  beauty  of  those  simple 
unaffected  lines  :  — 

O  quid  solutis  e!>t  beatius  curu ! 
Cum  men!)  onus  reponit,  ae  peregrino 
Lahore  feasi  venimua  Larem  ad  nostrum 
Desideratoque  acquiescimiu  lecto. 

Carm.  zxiz. 

His  sorrows  on  the  death  of  his  brother  are 
the  very  tears  of  poesy  ;  and  when  he  complains 
of  the  ingratitude  of  mankind,  even  the  inex- 
perienced cannot  but  sympathize  with  him.  I 
•wish  I  were  a  poet ;  I  should  then  endeavor  to 
Mitch,  by  translation,  the  spirit  of  those  beauties 
*\icb  I  have  always  so  warmly  admired.* 

Il  seems  to  have  been  peculiarly  the  fate  of 
JatuHus,  that  the  better  and  more  valuable  part 
of  his  poetry  has  not  reached  us ;  for  there  is 
tonfessedly  nothing  iif  his  extant  works  to  au- 
Uiorize   the  epithet   "doctus,"   so  universally 


1  Lib.  i.  Eleg.  3. 

1  In  the  following  Poems,  will  be  found  a  translation  of 
«ue  of  his  finest  Carmina;  bu'  .  fikjc^  it  is  only  a  mere 
rhoulboy's  essay,  and  deseiTM  to  be  praiaed  for  little  «ior» 
duui  tb«  attempt. 


bestowed  upon  him  by  the  ancients.  If  tim« 
had  suffered  his  other  -writings  to  escape,  w« 
perhaps  should  have  fomid  among  them  some 
more  purely  amatory ;  but  of  those  we  possess 
can  there  be  a  sweeter  specimen  of  warm,  ye 
chastened  description  than  his  loves  of  Acme 
and  Septimius  ?  and  the  few  little  songs  of  dal- 
liance to  Lesbia  are  distinguished  by  such  an 
exquisite  playfulness,  that  they  have  alvtaji 
been  assumed  as  models  by  the  most  elegaiit 
modern  Latinists.  Still,  it  must  be  corifeue^l 
in  the  midst  of  all  these  beauties, 

Medio  de  fonte  lepomra 

Surgit  amari  aliquid,  quod  in  ipsis  floribus  angaL* 

It  has  often  been  remarked,  that  the  ancients 
knew  nothing  of  gallantry  ;  and  we  are  some- 
times told  there  was  too  much  sincerity  in  their 
love  to  allow  them  to  trifle  thus  with  the  sem- 
blance of  passion.  But  I  cannot  perceive  that 
they  were  any  thing  more  constant  than  the 
moderns :  they  felt  all  the  same  dissipation  if 
the  heart,  though  they  knew  not  those  seductive 
graces  by  which  gallantry  almost  teaches  it  to 
be  amiable.  Wotton,  the  learned  advocate  for 
the  moderns,  deserts  them  in  considering  this 
point  of  comparison,  and  praises  the  ancients 
for  their  ignorance  of  such  refinements.  But  hi» 
seems  to  have  collected  his  notions  of  gallantry 
from  the  inBipii/adeurs  of  the  French  romances, 
which  have  nothing  congenial  with  the  graceful 
levity,  the  •'  grata  protervitas,"  of  a  Rochester 
or  a  Sedley. 

As  far  as  I  can  judge,  the  early  poets  of  our 
own  language  were  the  models  which  Mr.  Littlb 
selected  for  imitation.  To  attain  their  simplicity 
(••  aevo  rarissima  nostro  simplicitas  ")  was  his 
fondest  ambition.  He  could  not  have  aimed  at 
a  grace  more  difficult  of  attainment ;  *  and  his 
life  was  of  too  short  a  date  to  allow  him  to  per- 
fect such  a  taste  ;  but  how  far  he  was  likely  to 
have  succeeded,  the  critic  may  judge  from  his 
productions. 

I  have  found  among  his  papers  a  novel,  in 
rather  an  imperfect  state,  which,  as  soon  as  1 
have  arranged  and  collected  it,  shall  be  8uhm<t 
ted  to  the  public  eye. 


*  Lucretius. 

*  It  is  a  curious  illustration  of  the  labor  which  simplicit) 
requires,  that  the  Ramblers  of  Johnson,  elaborate  an  tiiet 
appear,  were  written  with  fluency,  and  seldom  r»|<itred  r» 
vision  ;  while  the  simple  language  of  Rousseau^  which  seemi 
to  come  flo»'>ng  from  tin  heart,  was  tbo  slow  production  of 
painful  labor,  pauniiiK  on  eveiy  Wbrd  and  balam  (ng  evan 
•«ntenct. 


Where  Mr.  Little  was  bom,  or  what  is  the 
genealogy  of  his  parents,  are  points  in  which 
rery  few  readers  can  be  interested.  His  life  was 
one  of  those  humble  streams  which  have  scarcely 
a  name  in  the  map  of  life,  and  the  traveller  may 
pass  it  by  without  inquiring  its  source  or  direc- 
tion. His  character  was  well  known  to  all  who 
were  acquainted  with  him ;  for  he  had  too  much 
f  anity  to  hide  its  virtues,  and  not  enough  of  art 
to  conceal  its  defects.  The  lighter  traits  of  his 
iiind  may  be  traced  perhaps  in  his  writings ;  but 
the  few  for  which  he  was  valued  live  only  in  the 
remembrance  of  his  friends.  T.  M. 


JOSEPH  ATKINSON,  ESQ. 

My  deab  Sm :  —  I  feel  a  very  sincere  pleasiire 
u\  dedicating  to  you  the  Second  Edition  of  our 
friend  Little'  s  Poems.  I  am  not  unconscious  that 
there  Eire  many  in  the  collection  which  perhaps 
it  would  be  prudent  to  have  altered  or  omitted ; 
and,  to  say  the  truth,  I  more  than  once  revised 
them  for  that  purpose  ;  but,  I  know  not  why,  I 
distrusted  either  ray  heart  or  my  judgment ;  and 
the  consequence  is,  you  have  them  in  their  ori- 
fl^nal  form : 

Non  possunt  nostros  multffi,  Faustine,  litune 
Emendajre  jocos ;  una  litura  potest 

1  am  convinced,  however,  that,  though  not 
(uite  a  casuiste  relAchi,  you  have  charity  enough 
to  forgive  such  inoffensive  follies :  you  know  that 
the  pious  Beza  was  not  the  less  revered  for  those 
sportive  Juvenilia  which  he  published  under  a 
fictitious  name  ;  nor  did  the  levity  of  Bembo's 
poems  prevent  him  from  making  a  very  good 
cardinal.  Believe  me,  my  dear  friend. 

With  the  truest  esteem. 
Yours,        T.  M.. 


FRAGMENTS  OF  COLLEGE  EXERCISES. 
Nobilitas  aola  est  atque  unica  virtus,    jut. 

Ma.b]l  those  proud  boasters  of  a  splendid  line, 
Like  gUded  ruins,  mouldering  while  they  shine, 
How  heavy  sits  that  weight  of  aUen  show. 
Like  martial  helm  upon  an  infant's  brow ; 
Those   borrow' d  splendors,   whose  contrasting 

light 
''hj  ^ws  bnck  th?.  native  shades  in  deeper  night. 


Ask  the  proud  train  who  glory's  shade  pursue. 
Where  are  the  arts  by  which  that  glory  gre^  ? 
The  genuine  virtues  that  with  eagle  gaze 
Sought  young  Renown  in  all  her  orient  blaee ! 
Where  is  the  heart  by  chemic  truth  refin'd, 
Th'  exploring  soul,  whose  eye  had  read  mankind 
Where  are  the  links  that  twin'd  with  hear'nlji 

art. 
His  country's  interest  round  the  patriot's  be«rt 


Justum  bellum  quibus  necessanum,  et  pia  arma  quibul 
nulla  nisi  in  armis  relinquitur  spes.  —  La  tt. 


Is  there  no  call,  no  consecrating  cause, 
Approv'd  by  Heav'n,  ordain'd  by  nature's  laws, 
Where  justice  flies  the  herald  of  our  way. 
And    truth's  pure   beams    upon  the   bannetfl 
play? 

Yes,  there's  a  call  sweet  as  an  angel's  breath 
To  slumb'ring  babes,  or  innocence  in  death; 
And  urgent  as  the  tongue  of  Heav'n  within, 
When  the  mind's  balance  trembles  upon  sin- 

O,  'tis  our  country's  voice,  whose  claim  should 

meet 
An  echo  in  the  soul's  most  deep  retreat ; 
Along  the  heart's  responding  chords  should  ruQi 
Nor  let  a  tone  there  vibrate  —  but  the"  one  ! 


VARIETY. 

Ask  what  prevailing,  pleasing  power 
Allures  the  sportive,  wandering  bee 

To  roam,  untired,  from  flower  to  flower, 
He'll  tell  you,  'tis  variety. 

Look  Nature  round,  her  features  trace. 
Her  seasons,  all  her  changes  see  ; . 

And  own,  upon  Creation's  face. 
The  greatest  charm's  variety. 

For  me,  ye  gracious  powers  above  ! 

Still  let  me  roam,  unfix' d  and  free ; 
In  ail  things,  —  but  the  nymph  I  lov  3. 

I'll  change,  and  taste  variety. 

But,  Patty,  not  a  world  of  charms 

Could  e'er  estrange  my  heart  from  th  ee  ; 

No,  let  me  ever  seek  those  arms. 
There  still  I'll  find  variety. 


JUVENILE  POEMS.                       '                                   U 

On  my  heart  I  will  pledge  you  my  vow. 

TO  A  BOY,   WITH  A  WATCH. 

And  they  both  must  be  broken  togetba  t 

WmiTT>,M  FOB  A  TBIKVD. 

I«  it  not  ff«-e€t,  beloved  yowth, 

TO    

To  rove  through  Erudition's  bowers, 

And  cull  the  golden  fruits  of  truth, 

Remember  him  thou  leav'st  behind. 

And  gather  Fancy's  brilliant  flowers  ? 

Whose  heart  is  warmly  bound  to  thM, 

Close  as  the  tend'rest  links  can  bind 

And  18  it  not  more  sweet  thsn  this, 

A  heart  as  warm  as  heart  can  be. 

To  feel  thy  parents'  hearts  approving, 

And  pay  them  back  in  sums  of  bliss 

0,  I  had  long  in  freedom  rov'd. 

The  dear,  the  endless  debt  of  loving  ? 

Though  many  seem'd  my  soul  to  share  ; 

'Twas  passion  when  I  thought  I  lov'd. 

It  must  be  so  to  thee,  my  youth ; 

'Twas  fancy  when  I  thought  them  fair- 

With  this  idea  toU  is  lighter ; 

This  sweetens  all  the  fruits  of  truth. 

EVn  she,  my  muse's  early  theme, 

And  makes  the  flowers  of  fancy  brighter. 

Beguil'd  me  only  while  she  warm'd  ; 

Twas  young  desire  that  fed  the  dream. 

The  little  gift  we  send  thee,  boy. 

And  reason  broke  what  passion  form'd, 

May  sometimes  teach  thy  soul  to  ponder, 

If  indolence  or  siren  joy 

But  thou  —  ah  !  bettor  had  it  been 

Should  ever  tempt  that  soul  to  wander. 

If  I  had  still  in  freedom  rov'd. 

If  I  had  ne'er  thy  beauties  seen. 

Twill  tell  th  JO  that  the  winged  day 

For  then  I  never  should  have  lov'd- 

Can  ne'er  be  chain'd  by  man's  endeavor ; 

rhat  life  and  time  shall  fade  away, 

Then  all  the  pain  wlt»..ch  lovers  feel 

While  heav'n  and  virtue  bloom  forever  ? 

Had  never  to  this  neart  been  known  ; 

But  then,  the  joys  that  lovers  steal. 

Should  they  have  ever  been  my  ovra  i 

SONG. 

0,  trust  me,  when  I  swear  thee  this. 

Dearest !  the  pain  of  loving  thee. 

Ir  I  swear  by  that  eye,  you'll  allow, 

The  very  pain  is  sweeter  bliss 

Its  look  is  so  shifting  ar.d  new. 

Than  passion's  wildest  ecstasy. 

That  the  oath  I  might  take  on  it  now 

The  very  next  glance  would  undo. 

That  little  cage  I  would  not  part, 

In  which  my  soul  is  prison'd  now. 

Those  babies  that  nestle  so  sly 

For  the  most  light  and  winged  heart 

Such  thousands  of  arrows  have  got, 

That  wantons  on  the  passing  vow. 

That  an  oath,  on  the  glance  of  an  eye 

Such  as  yours,  may  be  off  in  a  shot. 

Still,  my  belov'd  !  stiU  keep  in  mind, 

However  far  remov'd  from  me, 

Should  I  swear  by  the  dew  on  your  lip. 

That  there  is  one  thou  loav'st  behind. 

Though  each  moment  the  treasure  renews, 

Whose  heart  respires  for  only  thee  I 

If  my  constancy  wishes  to  trip, 

I  may  kiss  off  the  oath  when  I  choose. 

And  though  ungenial  ties  have  bound 

Thy  fate  unto  another's  care. 

Or  a  sigh  may  disperse  from  that  flower 

That  arm,  ■which  clasps  thy  bosom  round. 

Both  the  dew  and  the  oath  that  ate  there  ; 

Cannot  confine  the  heart  that's  there. 

And  I'd  make  a  new  vow  eVry  hour. 

To  lose  them  so  sweetly  in  air. 

No,  no  !  that  heart  is  only  mine 

By  ties  all  other  ties  above, 

But  clear  up  the  heav'n  of  your  brow. 

For  I  have  wed  it  at  a  shrine 

Nor  fancy  my  £uth  is  a  feather ; 
4 

Where  we  have  had  no  pnest  bu'  Lora. 

^6 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


SONG. 

Whew  Tiin»*,  who  steals  our  years  away, 

Shall  steal  our  pleasures  too, 
The  mem'ry  of  the  past  will  stay, 

And  half  our  joys  renew, 
riicn  Julia,  when  thy  beauty's  flow'r 

Shall  feel  the  wintry  air, 
Remembrance  will  recall  the  hour 

When  thou  alone  wert  fair. 
Then  talk  no  more  of  future  gloom ; 

Our  joys  shall  always  last ; 
For  Hope  shall  brighten  days  to  come, 

And  Mem'ry  gild  the  past. 

Come,  Chloe,  fill  the  genial  bowl, 

I  drink  to  Love  and  thee  : 
Thou  never  canst  decay  in  soul, 

Thou'lt  still  be  young  for  me. 
And  as  thy  lips  the  teardrop  chase, 

Which  on  my  cheek  they  find. 
So  hope  shall  steal  away  the  trace 

That  sorrow  leaves  behind. 
Then  fill  the  bowl  —  away  with  gloom 

Our  joys  shall  always  last ; 
For  Hope  shall  brighten  days  to  come. 

And  Mem'ry  gild  the  past. 

But  mark,  at  thought  of  future  years 

When  love  shall  lose  its  soul. 
My  Chloe  drops  her  timid  tears. 

They  mingle  witlvmy  bowl. 
How  like  this  bowl  of  wine,  my  fair, 

Our  loving  life  shall  fleet ; 
Though  tears  may  sometimes  mingle  there. 

The  draught  will  still  be  sweet. 
Then  fiU  the  cup  —  away  with  gloom ! 

Our  joys  shall  always  last ; 
For  Hope  will  brighten  days  to  come. 

And  Mem'ry  gild  the  past. 


SONG. 

Hate  you  not  seen  the  timid  tear, 

Steal  trembling  from  mine  eye  ? 
Have  you  not  mark'd  the  flush  of  fear. 

Or  caught  the  murmur' d  sigh  ? 
And  can  you  think  my  love  is  chUl, 

Nor  fix'd  on  you  alone  ? 
And  can  you  rend,  by  doubting  still, 

A  heart  so  much  your  own  ? 

To  you  my  soul's  affections  moye, 
Devoutly,  warmly  true ; 


My  life  has  been  a  task  of  love. 
One  long,  long  thought  of  you. 

If  all  your  tender  faith  be  o'er. 
If  still  my  truth  you'll  try  ; 

Alas,  I  know  but  one  proof  more  •  * 
I'll  bless  your  name,  and  die  ? 


REUBEN  AND  ROSE. 

A   TALE    OP    EOMANCE. 

The  darkness  that  hung  upon  WiU\imberg'i 
waUs 
Had  long  been  remember'd  with  awe  and 
dismay ; 
For  years  not  a  sunbeam  had  play'd  in  its  halls, 
And  it  seem'd  as  shut  out  from  the  region* 
of  day. 

Though  the  valleys  were  orighten'd  by  many  a 
beam. 
Yet  none  could  the  woods  of  that  "ustie  il- 
lume ; 

And  the  lightning,  which  flash'd  on  tne  neigti> 
boring  stream. 

Flew  back,  as  if  fearing  to  enter  the  gloom  ! 

"  O,  when  shall  this  horrible  darkness  dispeme  I " 

Said  Willumberg's  lord  to  the  Seer  of  tht) 

Cave ;  — 

"  It  can  never  dispel,"  said  the  wizard  of  verse, 

"  Till  the  bright  star  of  chivalry  sinks  in  the 

wave  !  " 

And  who  was  the  bright  star  of  chivalry  then  ? 
Who  could  be  but  Reuben,  the  flow'r  of  the 
age, 
For  Reuben  was  first  in  the  combat  of  men. 
Though  Youth  had  scarce  wTitten  his  name 
on  her  page. 

For  Willumberg's  daughter  his  young  heart  had 
beat,  — 
For  Rose,  who  was  bright  as  the  spirit  of  dawn, 
When  with  wand  dropping  diamonds,  and  sil- 
very feet, 
It  walks  o'er  the  flow'rs  of  the  mountain  and 
lawn. 

Must  Rose,  then,  from  Reuben  so  fatally  sever  ? 

Sad,  sad  were  the  words  of  the  Seer  of  thi 
Cave, 
That  darkness  should  cover  that  castle  forever, 

Or  Reuben  be  sunk  in  the  merciless  wave ! 


/TIVENILE   POEMS. 


'2, 


To  the  wizard  she  flew,  saying,  "  Tell  n\%  O,  tell ! 
Shall  my  Reuben  no  more  be  restored  to  my 
eyes  ? " 
'•  Yes,  yes  —  when  a  spirit  shall  toll  the  great 
beU 
Of  the  momdering  ttbbej,  your  Reuben  shall 
rise! " 

^w*c«,  thrice  he  repeated    'YoJr  iveuoen  shall 
rise  !  " 
And  Rose  felt  a  moment's  release  froui  ner 
pain ; 
A.nd  wip'd,  while  she  listen'd,  the  tears  trom 
her  eyes, 
And  hop'd  she  might  yet  see  her  hero  again. 

That  hero  could  smile  at  the  terrors  of  death, 
When  he  felt  that  he  died  for  the  sire  of  hiB 
Rose  ; 
To  the  Oder  he  flew,  and  there,  plunging  beneath. 
In  the  depth  of  the  billows  soon  found  his  re- 
pose. — 

How  strangely  the  order  of  destiny  falls  !  — 

Not  long  in  the  waters  the  warrior  lay, 
When  a  sunbeam  was  seen  to  glance  oyer  the 
walls, 
And  the  castle  of  Willumberg  bask'd  in  the 
ray  ! 

All,  all  but  the  soiil  of  the  maid  was  in  light, 
There  sorrow  and  terror  lay  gloomy  and  blank : 

Two  days  did  she  wander,  and  all  the  long  night, 
In  quest  of  her  love,  on  the  wide  river's  bank. 

Oft,  oft  did  she  pause  for  the  toll  of  the  bell. 
And  heard  but  the  breathings  of  night  in  the 
air, 
I  jng,  long  did  she  gaze  on  the  watery  swell. 
And  saw  but  the  foam  of  the  white  billow 
there. 

&  nd  often  as  midnight  its  veil  would  undraw, 
\3  she  look'd  at  the  light  of  the  moon  in  the 
stream, 
Bl-  e  thought  'twas  his  helmet  of  silver  she  saw, 
As  the  curl  of  the  surge  glitter'd  high  in  the 
beam. 

And  now  the  third  night  was  begemming  the 

aky; 

Poor  Rose,  on  the  cold  dewy  margent  reclin'd, 

rhere  wept  till  the  tear  almost  froze  in  her  eye. 

When  —  hark  !  —  'twaa  the  bell  that  came 

deep  in  the  wind  ! 


She  startled,  and  saw,  through  the  glimmering 

shade, 
A  form  o'er  the  waters  in  majesty  glide ; 
She  knew  'twas  her  love,  though  his  cheek  wai 

decay"  d. 
And  his  helmet  of  silvei  was  wash'  1  by  th« 

tide. 

Was  this  what  the  Seer  of  the  Cave  had  fere 
told  ?  — 
Dim,  dim  through  the  phantom  the  moon  sho 
a  gleam  ; 
'Twas  Reuben,  but,  ah  !  he  was  deathly  and  cold. 
And  fleeted  away  like  the  spell  of  a  dream  ! 

Twice,  thrice  did  he  rise,  and  as  often  she  thought 
From  the  bank  to  embrace  him,  but  vain  hei 
endeavor ! 

Then,  plunging  beneath,  at  a  billow  she  caugl  k 
And  sunk  to  repose  on  its  bosom  forever  ( 


DID  NOT. 

'Twas  a  new  feeling — something  more 
Than  we  had  dared  to  own  before. 

Which  then  we  hid  not ; 
We  saw  it  in  each  other's  eye. 
And  wish'd,  in  every  half-breath'd  sigfc. 

To  speak,  but  did  not. 

She  felt  my  lips'  impassion' d  touch — 
'Twas  the  first  time  I  dared  so  much 

And  yet  she  chid  not ; 
But  whisper' d  o'er  ray  burning  brow, 
•♦  O,  do  you  doubt  I  love  you  now  > '' 

Sweet  soul !  I  did  not. 

Warmly  I  felt  her  bosom  thrill. 
I  press' d  it  closer,  closer  still, 

Though  gently  bid  not ; 
Till  —  O,  the  world  hath  seldom  heal;! 
Of  lovers,  who  so  nearly  err'd, 

And  yet,  who  did  not. 


TO  ...  . 

That  wrinkle,  when  first  I  espied  It, 
At  once  put  my  heart  out  of  pain ; 

Till  the  eye,  that  was  glowing  heside  it| 
Disturb'd  my  ideas  again. 

Thou  art  just  in  the  twilight  at  presenti 
When  woman's  declension  begina ; 


2» 


JUVENILE  POEMS 


When,  fading  from  all  that  is  pleasant, 
She  bids  a  good  night  to  her  sins. 

Yet  thou  still  art  so  lovely  to  me, 
I  woiUd  sooner,  my  exquisite  mother  1 

Repose  in  the  sunset  of  thee. 

Than  bask  in  the  noon  of  another. 


TO  MRS 

aw   SOME   CAIiUMNIES   AQAINST   HEB   CHABACTEB. 

Is  not  thy  mind  a  gentle  mind  ? 

Is  not  that  heart  a  heart  refin'd  ? 

Hast  thou  not  every  gentle  grace. 

We  love  in  woman's  mind  and  face?  ' 

And,  O,  art  thou  a  shrine  for  Sin 

To  hold  her  hateful  worship  in  ? 

No,  no,  be  happy  —  drv  that  tear — 
Though  some  thy  heart  hath  harbor'd  near, 
May  now  repay  its  love  with  blame ; 
Though  man,  who  ought  to  shield  thy  fame, 
Ungenerous  man,  be  first  to  shun  thee  ; 
Though  all  the  world  look  cold  upon  thee, 
Yet  shall  thy  pureness  keep  thee  still 
Unh-vrm'd  by  that  surrounding  chiU  ; 
Like  the  famed  drop,,  in  crystal  found,* 
Floating,  while  all  was  froz'n  around,  — 
Unchill'd,  unchanging  shalt  thou  be, 
Safe  in  thy  own  sweet  purity. 


ANACREONTIC. 

^—  in  lachrymtu  verterat  omne  menim. 

Tib.  lib.  i.  eleg.  !i. 

Pbess  the  grape,  and  let  it  pour 
Around  the  board  its  purple  show'r ; 
And,  while  the  drops  my  goblet  steep, 
I'U  think  in  woe  the  clusters  weep. 

Weep  on,  weep  on,  my  pouting  vine  ! 
Heav'n  grant  no  tears,  but  tears  of  wine. 
Weep  on  ;  and,  as  thy  sorrows  flow, 
111  taste  the  luxury  of  woe. 

»  This  alludes  to  »  curious  gem,  upon  which  Claudian  has 
«S  us  some  very  elaborate  epigrams.  It  was  a  drop  of  pure 
water  enclosed  witliin  a  piece  of  crystal.  See  Claudian.  Epi- 
iram.  "  de  Crjstallo  cui  aqua  inerat  "  Addison  mentions  a 
turiosity  of  this  kind  at  Milan ;  and  adds,  "  It  is  such  a  rarity 
■s  this  that  I  saw  at  Vendome  in  France,  which  tliey  there 
pretend  is  a  tear  tliat  our  Savior  shed  over  Lazarus,  and  was 
fathered  up  by  an  angel,  who  put  it  into  a  little  crystal  vial, 
ind  made  a  present  of  it  to  Mary  Magdalen."— .*(Wi»oi»'« 
Hemarki  on  sevenU  Parts  qf  Italy. 


TO 


When  I  lov'd  you,  I  can't  but  allow 
I  had  many  an  exquisite  minute  ; 

But  the  scorn  that  I  feel  for  you  now 
Hath  even  more  luxury  in  it. 

Thus,  whether  we're  on  or  we're  oS, 
Some  witchery  seems  to  await  you  ; 

To  love  you  was  pleasant  enough. 
And,  O,  'tis  delicious  to  hate  you ! 


TO  JULIA. 

IN   ALLUSION   TO   SOME   ILLIBEBAL   CBITICISXSt 

Why,  let  the  stingless  critic  chide 
With  all  that  fume  of  vacant  pride 
Which  mantles  o'er  the  pedant  fool. 
Like  vapor  on  a  stagnant  pool. 
O,  if  the  song,  to  feeling  true. 
Can  please  th'  elect,  the  sacred  few. 
Whose  souls,  by  Taste  and  Nature  taugiii. 
Thrill  with  the  genuine  pulse  of  thought  — 
K  some  fond  feeling  maid  like  thee. 
The  warm-ey'd  child  of  Sympathy, 
Shall  say,  while  o'er  my  simple  theme 
She  languishes  in  Passion's  dream, 
"  He  was,  indeed,  a  tender  soul  — 
"  No  critic  law,  no  chill  control, 
"  Should  ever  freeze,  by  timid  art, 
."  The  flowings  of  so  fond  a  heart !  " 
Yes,  soul  of  Nature  !  soul  of  Love  1 
That,  hov'ring  like  a  snow-wing'd  dove, 
Breath'd  o'er  my  cradle  warblings  wild. 
And  hail'd  me  Passion's  warmest  child,    •  ■ 
Grant  me  the  tear  from  Beauty's  eye, 
From  Feeling's  breast  the  votive  sigh ; 
O,  let  my  song,  my  mem'ry,  find 
A  shrine  within  the  tender  mind ; 
And  I  wiU  smile  when  critics  chide. 
And  I  will  scorn  the  fume  of  pride 
Which  mantles  o'er  the  pedant  fool, 
like  vapor  round  some  stagnant  pooL 


TO   JULIA. 

Mock  me  no  more  with  Love's  beguiling  dreai^ 
A  dream,  I  find,  illusory  as  sweet : 

One  smile  of  friendship,  nay,  of  cold  esteem. 
Far  dearer  were  than  passion's  bland  deceit ' 


JUVENILE  POEMS.                                                         I» 

Tve  heard  you  oft  eternal  truth  dclare  ; 

For,  trust  me,  they  who  never  melt 

Your  heart  was  only  mine,  I  once  believ'd. 

With  pity,  never  melt  with  love  ; 

Ah  !  shall  I  say  that  all  your  vows  were  air  ? 

And  such  wHl  frown  at  all  I've  felt. 

And  must  I  say,  my  hopes  were  all  deceiv'd  ? 

And  all  my  loving  lays  reprove. 

Vow,  then,  no  longer  that  our  souls  are  twin'd. 

But  if,  perhaps,  some  gentlw  mind, 

That  all  our  joys  are  felt  ■with  mutual  zeal ; 

"Which  rather  loves  to  praise  thfci  Mam^ 

Ju-a  —  'tis  pity,  pity  makes  you  kind  ; 

Should  in  my  page  an  interest  find. 

You  know  I  love,  and  you  would  seem  to  feel. 

And  linger  kindly  on  my  name  ; 

But  shall  I  still  go  seek  within  those  arms 

Tell  him  —  or,  0,  if  gentler  still. 

A  joy  in  which  affection  takes  no  part  ? 

By  female  lips  my  name  be  blest : 

Ko,  no,  farewell  !  you  give  me  but  your  charms, 

For,  where  do  all  affections  thrill 

When  I  had  fondly  thought  you  gave  your 

So  sweetly  as  in  woman's  breast  ?  — 

heart. 

Tell  her,  that  he  whose  loving  themef 

Her  eye  indulgent  wanders  o'er. 

THE  SHRINE. 

Could  sometimes  wake  from  idle  dreams. 

TO           .... 

And  bolder  flights  of  fancy  soar : 

Mt  fates  had  destin'd  me  to  rove 

That  Glory  oft  would  claim  the  lay. 

A  long,  long  pilgrirange  of  love  r 

And  Friendship  oft  his  numbers  move  ; 

And  many  an  altar  on  my  way 

But  whisper  then,  that,  "  sooth  to  say. 

Ha»  lur'd  my  pious  steps  to  stay ; 

"  His  sweetest  song  was  giv'n  to  Love 

For,  if  the  saint  was  young  and  fair, 

I  turn'd  and  sung  my  vespers  there. 



This,  from  a  youthful  pilgrim's  fire, 

Is  M-hat  your  pretty  saints  require  : 

TO  JULIA. 

To  pass,  nor  tell  a  single  bead. 

Though  Fate,  my  girl,  may  bid  us  part. 

With  them  would  be  profane  indeed  ! 

Our  souls  it  cannot,  shall  not  sever  : 

But,  trust  me,  all  this  young  devotion 

The  heart  wUl  seek  its  kindred  heart. 

Was  but  to  keep  my  zeal  in  motion  ; 

And  cling  to  it  as  close  as  ever. 

And,  ev'ry  humbler  altar  past, 

I  now  have  reach'd  the  shbine  at  last ! 

But  must  we,  must  we  part  indeed  ^ 

Is  all  our  dream  of  rapture  over  ? 

And  does  not  Julia's  bosom  bleed 

To  leave  so  dear,  so  fond  a  lover  ? 

TO  A  LADY, 

Does  she  too  mourn  ?  —  Perhaps  she  may ; 

vna  aoMB  manusckipt  poems,  on  lbavino  the 

COUNTET. 

Perhaps  she  mourns  our  bliss  so  fleeting 

But  why  is  Julia's  eye  so  gay. 

When,  casting  many  a  look  behind. 

If  Julia's  heart  like  mine  u>  bep/ing 

I  leave  the  friends  I  cherish  here  — 

Perchance  some  other  friends  to  find. 

I  oft  have  lov'd  that  sunny  glow 

But  surely  finding  none  so  dear  — 

Of  gladness  in  her  blue  eye  gleaming  — 

But  can  the  bosom  bleed  with  woe. 

Haply  the  little  simple  page, 

While  joy  is  in  the  glances  beaming  " 

Which  votive  thus  I've  trac'd  for  thee. 

May  now  and  then  a  look  engage, 

No,  no  !  — Yet,  love,  I  will  not  :hide 

And  steal  one  moment's  thought  for  me. 

Although  your  heart  were  fond  of  rovin^j, 

Nor  that,  nor  all  the  world  beside 

But,  0,  in  pity  let  not  those 

Could  keep  your  faithful  boy  from  loving 

WTiose  hearts  are  not  of  gentle  mould, 

Let  not  the  eye  that  seldom  fiows 

You'll  soon  be  distant  from  his  eye, 

With  feelmg's  tear,  my  song  behold. 

And,  with  you,  all  that's  worth  possessing 

JUVENILE  lOEMS. 


0,  then  it  will  be  sweet  to  die, 
When  life  has  lost  its  only  blessing  ! 


TC 


Sweet  lady,  look  not  thus  again : 
Those  bright  deluding  smiles  recall 

A  maid  remember'd  now  with  pain, 
Who  was  my  love,  my  life,  my  all ! 

C,  while  this  heart  bewilder'd  took 
Sweet  poison  from  her  thrilling  eye. 

Thus  would  she  smile,  and  lisp,  and  look, 
And  I  would  hear,  and  gaze,  and  sigh  ! 

Yes,  I  did  love  her  —  wildly  love  — 
She  was  her  sex's  best  deceiver  ! 

And  oft  she  swore  she'd  never  rove  — 
And  I  was  destin'd  to  believe  her  1 

Then,  lady,  do  not  wear  the  smile 

Of  one  whose  smile  could  thus  betray  ; 

Alas  !  I  think  the  lovely  wile 
Again  could  steal  my  heart  away. 

For,  when  those  spells  that  charm'd  my  mind. 

On  lips  so  pure  as  thine  I  see, 
]  fear  tlie  heart  which  she  resign'd 

Will  err  again,  and  fly  to  thee  ! 


NATURE'S  LABELS. 

A   FEAQMENT. 

In  vam  we  fondly  strive  to  trace 

The  soul's  reflection  in  the  face  ; 

In  vain  we  dwell  on  lines  and  crosses, 

Crooked  mouth,  or  short  proboscis ; 

Boobies  have  look'd  as  wise  and  bright 

As  Plato  or  the  Stagirite  : 

And  many  a  sage  and  learned  skull 

Has  peop'd  through  windows  dark  and  dull. 

S;".ce  then,  though  art  do  all  it  can, 

W  f  n  ''er  can  reach  the  inward  man, 

if  at  (howsoe'er  "  learn'd  Thebans  "  doubt) 

riio  inward  woman,  from  without, 

Mcthiuks  'twere  well  if  Nature  could 

•And  Nature  could,  if  Nature  would) 

Bome  pithy,  short  descriptions  write. 

On  tablets  large,  in  black  and  white, 

VN'hich  she  might  hang  about  our  throttles, 

vjike  labels  upon  physic  bottles  ; 

And  where  all  men  might  read  —  but  stay  - 

A  J 'dialectic  sages  «ay, 


The  argument  most  apt  and  ample 
For  common  use  is  the  example. 
For  instance,  then,  if  Nature's  care 
Had  not  portray' d,  in  lines  so  ftdr. 
The  inward  soul  of  Lucy  L-nd-n, 
nit  is  the  label  she'd  have  piim'd  on. 

LABEL    FIRST. 

Within  this  form  there  lies  enshrin'd 
The  purest,  brightest  gem  of  mind. 
Though  Feeling's  hand  may  sometimes  thro 
Upon  its  charms  the  shade  of  woe, 
The  lustre  of  the  gem,  when  veil'd, 
Shall  be  but  mellow'd,  not  conceal'd. 


Now,  sirs,  imagine,  if  you're  able, 
That  Nature  wrote  a  second  label. 
They're  her  own  words  —  at  least  suppose  so 
And  boldly  pin  it  on  Pomposo. 

LABEL    SECOJfD. 

When  I  compos' d  the  fustian  brain 
Of  this  redoubted  Captain  Vain, 
I  had  at  hand  but  few  ingredients, 
And  so  was  forc'd  to  use  expedients. 
I  put  therein  some  small  discerning, 
A  grain  of  sense,  a  grain  of  learning  ; 
And  when  I  saw  the  void  beliind, 
I  fiU'd  it  up  with  —  froth  and  wind ! 


TO  JULIA. 

ON   HEK   BIBTHDAY. 

When  Time  was  entwining-the  garland  of  years 
Which  to  crown  my  beloved  was  given. 

Though  some  of  the  leaves  might  be  sullied  witb 
tears. 
Yet  the  flow'rs  were  all  gather' d  iu  hearen. 

Acd  long  may  this  garland  be  sweet  to  the  ey* 

May  its  verdure  forever  be  new ; 
Young  Love  shaU  enrich  it  with  many  a  sigh. 

And  Sympathy  nurse  it  with  dew. 


A  REFLECTION   AT   SEA. 

See  how,  beneath  the  moonbeam's  smilct 
Yon  little  billow  heaves  its  breast. 

And  foams  and  sparkles  for  a  while,  — 
Then  murmuring  subsides  to  rest 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


li 


Thus  man,  the  sport  of  bliss  and  care, 
Rises  on  time's  eventful  sea  ; 

Ajjd,  having  swell'd  a  moment  there, 
Thus  melLi  into  eternity  ! 


CLORIS  AND  FANNY. 
Cu>sie  !  if  I  were  Persia's  king, 

I  d  make  my  graceful  queen  of  thee ; 
While  Fanny,  ■wild  and  artless  thing, 

Should  but  thy  humble  handmaid  be. 

There  is  but  one  objection  in  it  — 
ITiat,  verily,  I'm  much  afraid 

^  should,  in  some  unlucky  minute, 
Forsake  the  mistress  for  the  maid. 


THE  SHIELD. 

Bat,  did  you  not  hear  a  voice  of  death ! 

And  did  you  not  mark  the  paly  form 
Which  rode  on  the  silvery  mist  of  the  heath, 

And  sung  a  ghostly  dirge  in  the  storm  ? 

Wan  it  the  wailing  bird  of  the  gloom. 
That  shrieks  on  the  house  of  woe  all  night  ? 

Or  a  shivering  fiend  that  flew  to  a  tomb. 
To  howl  and  to  feed  till  the  glance  of  light  ? 

Twas  not  the  death  bird's  cry  from  the  wood. 
Nor  shivering  fiend  that  hung  on  the  blast ; 

Twas  the  shade  of  Helderic  —  man  of  blood  — 
It  screams  for  the  guilt  of  days  that  are  past. 

8ce,  how  the  red,  red  lightning  strays, 
And  scares  the  gliding  ghosts  of  the  heath  ! 

Now  on  the  le<tttess  yew  it  plays, 

Where  hangs  the-  shield  of  this  son  of  death. 

That  shield  is  blushing  with  murderous  stains  ; 

Long  has  it  hung  from  the  cold  yew's  spray; 
It  is  blown  by  storms  and  wash'd  by  rains. 

But  neither  can  take  the  blood  away  ! 

'>ft  by  tl.V.  yew,  on  the  blasted  field. 
Demons  dance  to  the  red  moon's  light ; 

fHiile  the  damp  boughs  creak,  and  the  swinging 
shield 
Sings  to  the  raving  spirit  of  night ' 


TO  JUUA, 

WBEPINQ. 

O,  if  your  years  are  giv'n  to  care, 
If  real  woe  disturbs  your  peace, 


Come  to  my  bosom,  weeping  fair  ! 
And  I  will  bid  your  weeping  ceaa^ 

But  if  with  Fancy's  vision'd  fears. 

With  dreams  of  woe  your  bosom  thrill , 

You  look  so  lovely  in  your  tears. 
That  I  must  bid  you  drcr  them  »<al) 


DREAMS. 


Ik  slumber,  I  prithee  how  is  it 

That  souls  are  oft  taking  the  air, 
And  paying  each  other  a  visit. 

While  bodies  are  heaven  knows  wbara  t 

Last  night,  'tis  in  vain  to  deny  it, 

Your  Soul  took  a  fancy  to  roam, 
For  I  henrd  her,  on  tiptoe  so  quiet. 

Come  ask,  whether  rnitie  was  at  home. 

And  mine  let  her  in  with  delight, 

And  they  talk'd  and  they  laugh'd  tke  tfaw 
through ; 
For,  when  souls  come  together  at  night. 

There  is  no  saying  what  they  mayn't  do  I 

And  your  little  Soul,  heaven  bless  her ! 

Had  much  to  complain  and  to  say. 
Of  how  sadly  you  wrong  and  oppress  k  at 

By  keeping  her  prison'd  all  day. 

"  K  I  happen,"  said  she,  "  but  to  steal 
"  For  a  peep  now  and  then  to  her  eye, 

"  Or,  to  quiet  the  fever  I  feel, 
"  Just  venture  abroad  on  a  sigh  ; 

"  In  an  instant  she  frightens  me  in 
♦*  With  some  phantom  of  pradence  oi  tanro* 

"  For  fear  I  should  stray  into  sin, 
•'  Or,  what  is  still  worse,  into  error  ' 

"  So,  instead  of  displaying  my  graces, 
"  By  daylight,  in  language  and  mieij 

••  I  am  shut  up  in  corners  and  places, 
"  Where  truly  I  blush  to  be  seen  !  " 

Upon  hearing  this  piteous  confession. 
My  Soul,  looking  tenderly  at  her, 

Declar'd,  as  for  grace  and  discretion, 
He  did  not  know  much  of  the  m»tter ; 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


'•But,  to-morrow,  sweet  Spirit ! "  he  said, 
"  Be  at  home  after  midnight,  and  then 

•  I  will  come  when  your  lady's  in  bed, 
"  And  we'll  talk  o'er  the  subject  again." 

So  she  whisper'd  a  word  in  his  ear, 
I  suppose  to  her  door  to  direct  him, 

AJid,  just  after  midnight,  my  dear. 
Your  polite  little  Soul  may  expect  him. 


TO  ROSA. 

WEirTEN   DUBINQ   ILLNB88. 

The  wisest  soul,  by  anguish  torn. 
Will  soon  unlearn  the  lore  it  knew , 

And  when  the  shrining  casket's  worn. 
The  gem  within  will  tarnish  too. 

But  love's  an  essence  of  the  soul, 
Which  sinks  not  with  this  chain  of  clay ; 

Which  throbs  beyond  the  chill  control 
Of  with' ring  pain  or  pale  decay. 

And  surely,  when  the  touch  of  Death 
Dissolves  the  spirit's  earthly  ties. 

Love  still  attends  th'  immortal  breath, 
And  makes  it  purer  for  the  skies  ! 

O  Rosa,  when,  to  seek  its  sphere. 
My  soul  shall  leave  this  orb  of  men, 

That  love  which  form'd  its  treasure  here. 
Shall  be  its  best  of  treasures  then  ! 

And  as,  in  fabled  dreams  of  old. 

Some  air-born  genius,  child  of  time, 

Presided  o'er  each  star  that  roU'd, 

And  track' d  it  through  its  path  sublime  ; 

So  thou,  fair  planet,  not  unled, 

Shalt  through  thy  mortal  orbit  stray ; 

Tl-.y  lover's  shade,  to  thee  still  wed. 
Shall  linger  round  thy  earthly  way. 

Let  other  spirits  range  the  sky. 
And  play  around  each  starry  gem ; 

I'll  bask  beneath  that  lucid  eye, 
Nor  envy  worlds  of  suns  to  them. 

And  when  that  heart  shall  cease  to  beat, 
And  when  that  breath  at  length  is  free, 

Then  Rosa,  soul  to  soul  we'll  meet, 
^nd  mingle  to  e^Tnity ! 


SONG. 

The  wreath  you  wove,  the  wreath  you  wore 

Is  fair  —  but  O,  how  fair, 
If  Pity's  hand  had  stol'n  from  Love 

One  leaf  to  mingle  there  ! 

If  every  rose  with  gold  were  tied, 

Did  gems  for  dewdrops  fall. 
One  faded  leaf  where  Love  had  sigh'd 

Were  sweetly  worth  them  all. 

The  wreath  you  wove,  the  virreath  you  wot« 

Our  emblem  well  may  be  ; 
Its  bloom  is  yours,  but  hopeless  Love 

Must  keep  its  tears  for  me. 


THE   SALE  OF  LOVES. 

I  DBEAMT  that,  in  the  Paphian  groveii 

My  nets  by  moonlight  laying, 
I  caught  a  flight  of  wanton  Loves, 

Among  the  rosebeds  playing. 
Some  just  had  left  their  siiv'ry  sheU* 

While  some  were  full  in  feather ; 
So  pretty  a  lot  of  Loves  to  sell, 
Were  never  yet  strung  together 
Come  buy  my  Loves, 
Come  buy  my  Loves, 
Ye  dames  and  rose-lipp'd  misses  I    - 
They're  new  and  bright, 
The  cost  is  light. 
For  the  coin  of  this  isle  is  kisses. 

First  Cloris  came,  with  looks  sedate. 

The  coin  on  her  lips  was  ready  ; 
"I  buy,"  quolh  she,  "my  Love  by  weightt 
•«  Full  grown,  if  you  please,  and  steady '' 
"Let  mine  be  h<5ht,"  said  Fanny,  "pray  — 

"  Such  lasting  toys  \indo  one  ; 
"  A  light  little  Live  that  will  last  to-aay, 
"  To-morrow  I'U  sport  a  new  one." 
Come  buy  mj  Loves, 
Come  buy  my  Loves, 
Ye  dames  and  rose  lipp'd  misses ! 
There's  some  w  ill  keep, 
Some  light  and  cheap, 
At  fiom  ten  to  twenty  kisses. 

The  learned  Prue  took  a  pert  young  thing, 
To  divert  her  virgin  Muse  with. 

And  pluck  sometimes  a  quill  from  his  win^ 
To  indite  her  bUlet-doux  with. 


JUVENILE  POEMS.                                                         81 

Poor  Cloe  would  give  for  a  well-fledg'd  pair 

But,  when  this  early  flush  declines. 

Her  only  eye,  if  you'd  ask  it; 

When  the  heart's  sunny  morning  fleets. 

And  Tabitha  begg'd,  old  toothless  fair, 

You  know  not  then  how  close  it  twines 

For  the  youngest  Love  in  the  basket- 

Round  the  first  kindred  soul  it  meets. 

Come  buy  my  Loves,  &c.  &c. 

Yes,  yes,  I  could  have  lov'd,  as  one 

P'lt  ow  was  left,  when  Susan  came. 

Who,  while  his  youth's  enchantments  fall 

One  worth  them  all  together  ; 

Finds  something  dear  to  rest  upon. 

At  sight  of  her  dear  looks  of  shame, 

Which  pays  him  for  the  loss  of  all. 

He  gmU'd,  and  prun'd  his  feather. 

She  wish'd  the  boy  —  'twas  more  than  whim — 

Her  looks,  her  sighs  betray' d  it ; 

TO 

But  kisses  were  not  enough  for  him, 

I  ask'd  a  heart,  and  she  paid  it ! 

Never  mind  how  the  pedagogue  proses. 

Good  by,  my  Loves, 

You  want  not  antiquity's  stamp ; 

Good  by,  ray  Loves, 

A  lip  that  such  fragrance  discloses. 

Twould  make  you  smile  to've  seen  ub 

0  !  never  should  smell  of  the  lamp. 

First  trade  for  this 

Sweet  child  of  bliss, 

Old  Cloe,  whose  withering  kiss 

«d  then  nurse  the  boy  between  us. 

Hath  long  set  the  Loves  at  defiance, 

Now,  done  with  the  science  of  bliss. 

May  take  to  the  blisses  of  science. 

10 

But  for  you  to  be  buried  in  books  — 

Ah,  Fanny,  they're  pitiful  sages, 

Who  could  not  in  one  of  your  looks 

The  world  had  just  begun  to  steal 

Kead  more  than  in  millions  of  pages. 

Each  hope  tha^  led  mp  lightly  on ; 

I  felt  not,  as  I  iis  d  to  feel, 

Astronomy  finds  in  those  eyes 

And  life  grew  dark  and  love  was  gone. 

Better  light  than  she  studies  above ; 

And  Music  would  borrow  your  sighs 

«o  eye  to  mingle  sorrow's  tear, 

As  the  melody  fittest  for  Love. 

No  lip  to  mingle  pleasure's  breath. 

No  circling  arms  to  draw  me  near  — 

Your  Arithmetic  only  can  trip 

'Twas  gloomy,  and  I  wish'd  for  death. 

If  to  count  your  own  charms  you  endc«vor  ^ 

And  Eloquence  glows  on  your  lip 

But  when  I  saw  that  gentle  eye, 

When  you  swear,  that  you'll  love  me  forever 

0  !  something  seem'd  to  tell  me  then, 

That  I  was  yet  too  young  to  die. 

Thus  you  see,  what  a  brilliant  alliance 

And  hope  and  bliss  might  bloom  again. 

Of  arts  is  assembled  in  you ;  — 

A  course  of  more  exquisite  science                        , 

With  every  gentle  smile  that  crost 

Man  never  need  wish  to  pursue. 

Your  kindling  cheek,  you  lighted  home 

Some  feeling,  which  my  heart  had  lost, 

And,  0  !  —  if  a  Fellow  like  me 

And  peace,  which  far  had  learn' d  to  roam. 

May  confer  a  diploma  of  hearts. 

With  my  lip  thus  I  seal  your  degree, 

Twas  then  indeed  so  sweet  to  live, 

My  dvvine  little  Mistress  of  Arts  ! 

Hope  look'd  so  new  and  Love  so  Kind, 

That,  though  I  mourn,  I  yet  forgive 

The  ruin  they  have  left  behind. 

ON  'IHK  DEATH  OF  A  LADY. 

I  cotild  have  loVd  you  —  0,  so  well !  — 

Sweet  spirit !  if  thy  airy  sleep 

The  dream,  that  wishing  boyhood  knows, 

Nor  sees  my  tears  nor  hears  my  sighs, 

I*  but  a  bright,  beguiling  spell 

Then  will  I  weep,  in  anguish  weep. 

That  oiily  lives  while  passion  glows : 
6 

Till  the  last  heart's  drop  fills  mine  eyes 

But  if  thy  sainted  soul  can  feel, 

And  mingles  in  our  misery ; 
Tlien,  then  my  breaking  heart  I'll  seal  — 

Thou  shalt  not  hear  one  sigh  from  me. 

The  beam  of  mom  was  on  the  stream, 
But  sullen  clouds  the  day  deform : 

Like  thee  was  that  young,  orient  beam, 
Like  death,  alas,  that  sullen  storm  I 

Thou  wert  not  form'd  for  living  here. 
So  link'd  thy  soul  was  with  the  sky  ; 

Yet,  ah,  yve  held  thee  all  so  dear, 
We  thought  thou  wert  not  form'd  to  die. 


INCONSTANCY. 

A.ND  do  I  then  wonder  that  Julia  deceives  me, 
When  surely  there's  nothing  in  nature  more 
common  ? 
She  vows  to  be  true,  and  while  vowing  she 
leaves  me  — 
And  could  I  expect  any  more  &om  a  woman  ? 

0,  woman  !  your  heart  is  a  pitiful  treasure  : 

And  Mahomet's  doctrine  was  not  too  severe. 
When  he  held  that  you  were  but  materials  of 
pleasure. 
And  reason  and  thinking  were  out  of  your 
sphere. 

By  your  heart,  when  the  fond  sighing  lover  can 
win  it. 
He  thinks  that  an  age  of  anxiety's  paid ; 
Put,  O,  while  he's  blest,  let  him  die   at   the 
minute  — 
If  he  hve  but  a  day,  he'll  be  surely  betray' d. 


THE  NATAL  GENIUS. 

▲    DBBAM. 

To , 

THE    MOENING   OP  HER   BIBTHDAT. 

In  witjhing  slumbers  of  the  night, 
I  dreamt  I  was  the  airy  sprite 

That  on  thy  natal  moment  srail'd : 
And  thought  I  wafted  on  my  wing 
Those  flow'i-s  which  in  Elysium  spring, 

To  crown  my  lovely  mortal  child. 

With  olive  branch  I  bound  thy  head, 
Heart's  ease  along  thy  path  I  shed, 


Which  was  to  bloom  through  all  thy  yeui 

Nor  yet  did  I  forget  to  bind 
Love's  roses,  with  his  myrtle  twin'd, 
And  dew'd  by  sympathetic  tears. 

Such  was  the  wild  but  precious  boon 
Which  Fancy,  at  her  magic  noon, 

Bade  me  to  Nona's  image  pay ; 
And  were  it  thus  my  fate  to  be 
Thy  little  guardian  deity, 

How  blest  around  thy  steps  I'd  play ! 

Thy  life  should  glide  in  peace  along, 
Calm  ab  some  lonely  Shepherd's  song 

That's  heard  at  distance  in  the  grove ; 
No  cloud  should  ever  dim  thy  sky. 
No  thorns  along  thy  pathway  lie. 

But  all  be  beauty,  peace,  and  love. 

Indulgent  Time  should  never  bring 
To  thee  one  blight  upon  his  wing. 

So  gently  o'er  thy  brow  he'd  fly  ; 
And  death  itself  should  but  be  felt 
Like  that  of  daybeams,  when  they  mett, 

Bright  to  the  last,  in  evening's  sky  1 


ELEGIAC  STANZAS, 

SDPFOIBD  TO  BB  WBITTSa^  BT  JULIA,  OV    THB  DBATB  Of  ■« 
BBOTHEB. 

Though  sorrow  long  has  worn  my  heart ; 

Though  every  day  I've  counted  o'er 
Hath  brought  a  new  and  quick' ning  smart 

To  wounds  that  rankled  fresh  before ; 

Though  in  my  earliest  life  bereft 
Of  tender  links  by  nature  tied  ; 

Though  hope  deceiv'd,  and  pleasure  left ; 
Though  friends  betray' d  and  foes  belied ; 

I  still  had  hopes  —  for  hope  will  stay 

After  the  sunset  of  delight ; 
So  like  the  star  which  ushers  day. 

We  scarce  can  think  it  heralds  night !  — 

I  hop'd  that,  after  all  its  strife, 

My  weary  heart  at  length  should  rest. 

And,  fainting  from  the  waves  of  life. 
Find  harbor  in  a  brother's  breast. 

That  brother's  breast  was  warm  with  truth, 
Was  bright  with  honor's  purest  ray; 

He  was  the  dearest,  gentlest  youth  — 
Ah,  why  then  was  he  torn  away  i 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


He  should  have  stay'd,  have  linger'd  here 
To  soothe  his  Julia's  every  woe  ; 

He  should  have  chas'd  each  bitter  tear, 
And  not  have  caus'd  those  tears  to  flow. 

We  saw  within  hia  Boul  expand 
The  fruits  of  genius,  nurs'd  by  taste ; 

While  Science,  with  a  fost'ring  hand, 
Upon  his  brow  her  chaplet  plac'd. 

We  saw,  by  bright  degrees,  hia  mind 
Grow  rich  in  all  that  makes  men  dear ;  - 

Enlighten'd,  social,  and  refin'd, 
In  friendship  firm,  in  love  sincere. 

Such  was  the  youth  we  lov'd  so  well, 
And  such  the  hopes  that  fate  denied  ;  — 

We  lov'd,  but  ah  !  could  scarcely  tell 
How  deep,  how  dearly,  till  he  died ! 

Close  as  the  fondest  links  could  strain, 
Twin'd  with  my  very  heart  he  grew ; 

And  by  that  fate  which  breaks  the  chain, 
The  heart  is  almost  broken  too. 


rO   THE    LARGB    AND    BEAXTnTTL 

MISS 

■   ALLPtlOV  TO  SOMI   PAKTKIBSHIP  IK  A  LOTTSBT  tHAKB. 
DtPROJfPTU. 

—  Ego  pan Vwo. 

in  wedlock  a  species  of  lottery  lies. 
Where  in  blanks  and  in  prizes  we  deal ; 

But  how  comes  it  that  you,  such  a  capital  prize, 
Should  so  long  have  remain'd  in  the  wheel  ? 

If  ever,  by  Fortune's  indulgent  decree, 

To  me  such  a  ticket  should  roll, 
k  sixteenth,  Heav'n  knows  !  were  sufficient  for 
me ; 

For  what  could  /  do  with  the  whole  ? 


A  DREAM. 

I  THOUGHT  this  heart  enkindled  lay 
On  Cupid's  burning  shrine  : 

I  thought  he  stole  thy  heart  away, 
And  plac'd  it  near  to  mine. 

1  saw  thy  heart  begin  to  melt, 
Like  ice  before  the  sun  ; 

Till  both  a  glow  congenial  felt, 
And  mingled  into  one  I 


TO 


With  all  my  soul,  then,  let  ns  part. 
Since  both  are  anxious  to  be  free ; 

And  I  will  send  you  home  your  heart, 
If  you  will  send  back  mine  to  me. 

We've  had  some  happy  hours  together. 
But  joy  must  often  change  its  wing ; 

And  spring  would  be  but  gloomy  weather 
K  we  had  nothing  else  but  spring. 

'Tis  not  that  I  expect  to  find 
A  more  devoted,  fond,  and  true  one. 

With  rosier  cheek  or  sweeter  mind  — 
Enough  for  mc  that  she's  a  new  one. 

Thus  let  MB  leave  the  bower  of  love, 
Where  we  have  loiter'd  long  in  bliss ; 

And  you  may  down  that  pathway  rove, 
While  I  shall  take  my  way  through  thU 


ANACREONTIC. 

"  She  never  look'd  so  kind  before  — 
"  Yet  why  the  wanton's  smile  recall  ? 

'♦I've  seen  this  witchery  o'er  and  o'er, 
"  'Tis  hollow,  vain,  apd  heartless  all  1 " 

Thus  I  said,  and,  sighing  drain'd 
The  cup  which  she  so  late  had  tasted  ; 

Upon  whose  rim  still  fresh  remain'd 
The  breath,  so  oft  in  falsehood  wastecL 

I  took  the  harp,  and  would  have  sung 
As  if  'twere  not  of  her  I  sang  ; 

But  still  the  notes  on  Lamia  hung  — 
On  whom  but  Lamia  eould  they  hang  } 

Those  eyes  of  hers,  that  floating  shine, 
Like  diamonds  in  some  Eastern  river ; 

That  kiss,  for  which,  if  worlds  were  min^ 
A  world  for  every  kiss  I'd  give  her. 

That  frame  so  delicate,  yet  warm'd 
With  flushes  of  love's  genial  hue  ;  — 

A  mould  transparent,  as  if  form'd 
To  let  the  spirit's  light  shine  througu 

Of  these  I  sung,  and  notes  and  woru* 
Were  sweet,  as  if  the  very  air 

From  Lamia's  lip  hung  o'er  the  chord*. 
And  Lamia'p  voice  stUl  warbled  there  I 


{« 


JUVENILE  POEMS 


But  when,  alas,  I  tum'd  the  theme, 
And  when  of  vows  and  oaths  I  spoke, 

Of  truth  and  hope's  seducing  dream  — 
The  chord  beneath  my  finger  broke. 

False  harp  !  false  woman  !  —  such,  O,  such 
Are  lutes  too  frail  and  hearts  too  willing  ; 

Any  hand,  whate'er  its  touch, 

Can  set  their  chords  or  pulses  thrilling. 

And  when  that  thrill  is  most  awake, 

Anc?  when  you  think  Heav'n's  joys  await 

you. 

The  nymph  will  change,  the  chord  will  break, 
O  Love,  O  Music,  how  I  hate  you  ! 


TO  JULIA. 

I  SAW  the  peasant's  hand  unkind 
From  yonder  oak  the  ivy  sever ; 

They  seem'd  in  very  being  twin'd  ; 
Yet  now  the  oak  is  fresh  as  ever  ! 

Not  so  the  widow'd  ivy  shines  : 
Torn  from  its  dear  and  only  stay, 

In  drooping  widowhood  it  pines, 
And  scatters  all  its  bloom  away. 

Thus,  Julia,  did  our  hearts  intwine, 
Till  Fate  disturb' d  their  tender  ties : 

Thus  gay  indifference  blooms  in  thine. 
While  mine,  deserted,  droops  and  dies ! 


HYMN  OF  A  VIRGIN  OF  DELPHI, 

AT  THE    COMB  OF  HER  MOTHEB. 

O,  rosT,  forever  lost  —  no  more 

Shall  Vesper  light  our  dewy  way 
Along  the  rocks  of  Crissa's  shore. 

To  hymn  the  fading  fires  of  day  ; 
No  more  to  Temp6's  distant  vale 

In  holy  musings  shall  we  roam, 
Through  summer's  glow  and  winter's  gale. 

To  bear  the  mystic  chaplets  home.' 

t  The  laurel,  for  the  common  uses  of  the  temple,  for  adorn- 
ing the  altars  and  sweeping  the  pavement,  was  supplied  by 
I  \tee  near  the  fountain  of  Castalia ;  but  upon  all  important 
Dcca«ions,  they  sent  to  Tempd  for  their  laurel.  We  find,  in 
?ausk'Jas,  that  this  valley  supplied  the  branches,  of  which 
Ihe  temple  was  originally  constructed ;  and  Plutarch  says,  in 
bis  Dialogue  on  Music, "  The  youth  who  brings  the  Tempic 
.aurel  to  Delphi  is  always  attended  by  a  player  on  the  flute." 
A)Xa  firiv  Kii  Tco  KaTak->iii^ovri  naiSi  tjiv  TsiiviKriv  6a(j>vtiy 
Uj  Se\^ov^  'npoiiapTtt  avXrirrn. 


'Twas  then  my  soul's  expanding  zeal. 

By  nature  warm'd  and  led  by  thee. 
In  every  breeze  was  taught  to  feel 

The  breathings  of  a  Deity. 
Guide  of  my  heart !  still  hovering  round. 

Thy  looks,  thy  words  are  still  my  own  — 
I  see  thee  raising  from  the  ground 

Some  laurel,  by  the  winds  o'erthrown, 
And  hear  thee  say,  "  This  humble  bough 

"  Was  planted  for  a  doom  divine  ; 
"  And,  though  it  droop  in  languor  now, 

'•  Shall  flourish  on  the  Delphic  shrine ! 
"  Thus,  in  the  vale  of  earthly  sense, 

"  Though  sunk  a  while  the  spirit  lies, 
"  A  viewless  hand  shall  cull  it  thence, 

"  To  bloom  immortal  in  the  skies  !  " 

All  that  the  young  should  feel  and  know, 

By  thee  was  taught  so  sweetly  well, 
Thy  words  fell  soft  as  vernal  snow. 

And  all  was  brightness  where  they  fell  I 
Fond  soother  of  my  infant  tear, 

Fond  sharer  of  my  infant  joy, 
Is  not  thy  shade  still  lingering  here  ? 

Am  I  not  still  thy  soul's  employ  ? 
O,  yes  —  and,  as  in  former  daj's, 

When,  meeting  on  the  sacred  mount, 
Our  nymphs  awak'd  their  choral  lays. 

And  danc'd  around  Cassotis'  fount ; 
As  then,  'twas  all  thy  wish  and  care, 

That  mine  should  be  the  simplest  mien. 
My  lyre  and  voice  the  sweetest  there. 

My  foot  the  lightest  o'er  the  green  : 
So  still,  each  look  and  step  to  mould. 

Thy  guardian  care  is  round  me  spread. 
Arranging  every  snowy  fold. 

And  guiding  every  mazy  tread. 
And,  when  I  lead  the  hymning  choir, 

Thy  spirit  still,  unseen  and  free. 
Hovers  between  my  lip  and  lyre. 

And  weds  them  into  harmony. 
Flow,  Plistus,  flow,  thy  murmuring 

Shall  never  drop  its  silv'ry  tear 
Upon  so  pure,  so  blest  a  grave, 

To  memory  so  entirely  dear ! 


SYMPATHY. 


TO    JtTLIA. 

■  sine  me  sit  nulla  Venus. 


S0unei4 


OuK  hearts,  my  love,  were  form'd  to  be 
The  gemiine,  twins  of  SjTnpathy, 


JUVKNILE  POEMS.                                                            S 

Tliey  live  with  one  sensation  : 

«♦  One  must  be  very  simple,  dear. 

In  joy  or  griet,  but  most  in  love, 

*'  To  let  it  wound  one  —  don't  you  thin^  so  ? 

Like  chords  in  unison  they  move, 

And  thrill  with  like  vibration. 

TO  ROSA. 

How  oft  I've  heard  thee  fondly  say. 

Thy  vital  pulse  shall  cease  to  play 

Is  the  song  of  Rosa  mute  ? 

When  mine  no  more  is  moving  . 

Once  such  lays  inspired  her  lute 

Since,  now,  to  feel  a  joy  alone 

Never  doth  a  swectet  "rong 

Were  worse  to  thee  than  feeling  none 

Steal  the  breezy  lyre  along. 

So  twinn'd  are  we  in  loving  ! 

When  the  wind,  in  odors  dying. 
Wooes  it  with  enamor'd  sighing 

THK  TEAR. 

Is  my  Rosa's  lute  unstrung  ? 
Once  a  tale  of  peace  it  sung 

On  beds  of  snow  the  moonbeam  slept. 

To  her  lover's  throbbing  breast^ 

And  chilly  was  the  midnight  gloom. 

Then  was  he  divinely  blest ! 

When  by  the  damp  grave  Ellen  wept  — 

Ah  !  but  Rosa  loves  no  more. 

Fond  maid !  it  was  her  Lindor's  tomb ! 

Therefore  Rosa's  song  is  o'er ; 
And  her  lute  neglected  lies  ; 

A  warm  tear  gush'd,  the  wintry  air 

And  her  boy  forgotten  sighs. 

Congeal'd  it  as  it  floVd  away : 

Silent  lute  —  forgotten  lover  — 

All  night  it  lay  an  icedrop  there, 

Rosa's  love  and  song  are  over  I 

At  mom  it  glitter' d  in  the  ray. 

An  angel,  wand'ring  from  her  sphere, 

ELEGIAC  STANZAS. 

Who  saw  this  bright,  this  frozen  gem. 

To  dew-ey'd  Pity  brought  the  tear, 

Sic  juvat  perire. 

And  himg  it  on  her  diadem ! 

When  wearied  wretches  sink  to  sleep, 
How  heavenly  soft  their  slumbers  lie  1 

How  sweet  is  death  to  those  who  weep. 

THE  SNAKE. 

To  those  who  weep  and  long  to  die  ! 

Mt  love  and  I,  the  other  day, 

Saw  you  the  soft  and  grassy  bed. 

Within  a  myrtle  arbor  lay, 

Where  flow'rets  deck  the  green  eartn  s  bi  SMt ,' 

Wlien  near  us,'  from  a  rosy  bed. 

'Tis  there  I  wish  to  lay  my  head, 

A  little  Snake  put  forth  its  head. 

'Tis  there  I  wish  to  sleep  at  rest. 

"  See,"  said  the  maid  with  thoughtful  eyes  — 

0,  let  not  tears  embalm  my  tomb,  — 

•'  Yonder  the  fatal  emblem  lies  ! 

None  but  the  dews  at  twilight  given  J 

"  Who  could  expect  such  hidden  harm 

0,  let  not  sighs  disturb  the  gloom,  — 

••  Beneath  the  rose's  smiling  charm?" 

None  but  the  whispering  winds  of  heaven  » 

Never  did  grave  remark  occur 

Less  apropoi  than  this  from  her. 

LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE. 

[  rose  to  kill  the  snake,  but  she. 

Eque  brevi  verbo  ferre  perenne  nialnm 

Half  smiling,  pray'd  it  might  not  be. 

Secukoui,  eleg   n 

•  No,"  said  the  maiden  —  and,  alas. 

Still  the  question  I  must  parry, 

Her  eyes  spoke  volumes,  while  she  said  it  — 

Still  a  w^ayward  truant  prove  : 

"•  Long  as  the  snake  is  in  the  grass. 

Where  I  love,  I  must  not  marry  ; 

*•  One  may,  perhaps,  have  cause  to  dread  it : 

Where  I  marry,  cannot  love. 

'  But  when  its  wicked  eyes  appear. 

Were  she  fairest  of  creation. 

•*  And  when  we  know  foi  what  they  wink  so, 

With  the  least  presuming  mir  d , 

98 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


Learned  without  affectation ; 
Not  deceitful,  yet  refin'd ; 

Wise  enough,  but  never  rigid  ; 

Gay,  but  not  too  lightly  free  ; 
Chaste  as  snow,  and  yet  not  frigid  ; 

Eond,  yet  satisfied  with  me  : 

Were  she  all  this  ten  times  over, 
AU  that  heav'n  to  earth  allows, 

I  should  be  too  much  her  lover 
Ever  to  become  her  spouse. 

Love  will  never  bear  enslaving  ; 

Summer  garments  suit  him  best ; 
Bliss  itself  is  not  worth  having, 

If  we're  by  compulsion  blest. 


ANACREONTIC. 

I  pill'd  to  thee,  to  thee  I  drank, 
I  nothing  did  but  drink  and  fill ; 

The  bowl  by  turns  was  bright  and  blank, 
'Twas  drinking,  filling,  drinking  still. 

At  length  I  bid  an  artist  paint 
Thy  image  in  this  ample  cup, 

That  I  might  see  the  dimpled  saint. 
To  whom  I  quaffd  my  nectar  up. 

Behold  how  bright  that  purple  lip 
Now  blushes  through  the  wave  at  me  j 

Every  roseate  drop  I  sip 
Is  just  like  kissing  wine  from  thee. 

And  still  I  drink  the  more  for  this : 
For,  ever  when  the  draught  I  drain, 

Thy  lip  invites  another  kiss. 

And  —  in  the  nectar  flows  again. 

So  here's  to  thee,  my  gentle  dear, 
And  may  that  eyelid  never  shine 

Beneath  a  darker,  bitterer  tear 
Than  bathes  it  in  this  bowl  of  mine ! 


THE  SURPRISE. 

Chlok'S,  I  swear,  by  all  I  ever  swore, 

rhat  from  this  hour  I  shall  not  love  thee  more. 

•  What !   love  no  more  ?    O,  why  this   alter'd 

vow  ? " 
Secaue  3  I  cannot  love  thee  more  —  than  now  ! 


TO  MISS 


ON    HEE     ASKING     THE     AUTHOE    WHY     »n    I 
SLEEPLESS    NIGHTS. 

I'lx  ask  the  sylph  who  round  thee  flies, 
And  in  thy  breath  his  pinion  dips, 

Who  suns  him  in  thy  radiant  eyes. 
And  faints  upon  thy  sighing  lips  : 

I'll  ask  him  where's  the  veU  of  sleep 
That  us'd  to  shade  thy  looks  of  light ; 

And  why  those  eyes  their  vigil  keep, 
When  other  suns  are  simk  in  night  ? 

And  I  will  say  —  her  angel  breast 

Has  never  throbb'd  with  guilty  sting ; 

Her  bosom  is  the  sweetest  nest 

Where  Slumber  could  repose  his  wing  . 

And  I  will  say  —  her  cheeks  that  flush, 

Like  vernal  roses  in  the  sun, 
Have  ne'er  by  shame  been  taught  to  blusk. 

Except  for  what  her  eyes  have  done  ' 

Then  tell  me,  why,  thou  child  of  air  ! 

Does  slumber  from  her  eyelids  rove  ? 
What  is  her  heart's  impassion'd  care  ?  — 

Perhaps,  O  sylph  !  perhaps,  'tis  love. 


THE  WONDER. 

Come,  tell  me  where  the  maid  is  found. 
Whose  heart  can  love  without  deceit, 

And  I  will  range  the  world  around, 
To  sigh  one  moment  at  her  feet. 

O,  tell  me  where's  her  sainted  home. 
What  air  receives  her  blessed  sigh, 

A  pilgrimage  of  years  I'U  roam 
To  catch  one  sparkle  of  her  eye  ! 

And  if  her  cheek  be  smooth  and  bright, 
While  truth  within  her  bosom  lies, 

I'll  gaze  upon  her  morn  and  night. 
Till  my  heart  leave  me  through  my  eye* 

Show  me  on  earth  a  thing  so  rare, 

I'll  own  all  miracles  are  true ; 
To  make  one  maid  sincere  and  fair, 

O,  'tis  the  utmost  Heav'n  can  do  ! 


JUVENILE    POEMS. 


LYING. 

Cb*  eon  le  lur  bugie  pajor.  divinL     Mmtro  i'JtreoMo. 

I  DO  confess  in  many  a  sigh, 
My  lips  have  breath'd  you  many  a  lie ; 
And  who,  with  such  delights  in  view, 
Wniild  lose  them  for  a  lie  or  two } 

K  ay    —  look  not  thus,  with  brow  reproring ; 
lies  are,  my  aear,  the  soul  of  loving. 
li  half  we  tell  the  girls  were  true, 
If  half  we  swear  to  think  and  do, 
Were  aught  but  lying's  bright  illusion. 
This  world  would  be  in  strange  confusion. 
K  ladies'  eyes  were,  every  one, 
As  lovers  swear,  a  radiant  sun. 
Astronomy  must  leave  the«kies. 
To  learn  her  lore  in  ladies'  eyea. 
O,  no  —  believe  me,  lovely  girl, 
When  nature  turns  your  teeth  to  pearl, 
Your  neck  to  snow,  your  eyes  to  fire. 
Your  amber  locks  to  golden  wire, 
Then,  only  then  can  Heaven  decree. 
That  you  should  live  for  only  me, 
Or  I  for  you,  as  night  and  mom. 
We've  swearing  kiss'd,  and  kissing  sworn. 

And  now,  my  gentle  hints  to  clear, 
For  once  I'll  tell  you  truth,  my  detir. 
Whenever  you  may  chance  to  meet 
Some  loving  youth,  whose  love  is  sweet. 
Long  as  you're  false  and  he  believes  you. 
Long  as  you  trust  and  he  deceives  you. 
Bo  long  the  blissful  bond  endures. 
And  while  he  lies,  his  heart  is  yours  : 
But,  O,  you've  wholly  lost  the  youth 
llie  instant  that  he  tells  you  truth. 


ANACREONTIC. 

Fkund  of  my  soul,  this  goblet  sip, 

T^ill  chase  that  pensive  tear  ; 
TtB  aoX  so  sweet  as  woman's  lip. 
But,  0,  'tis  more  sincere. 
Like  her  delusive  beam, 

'Twill  steal  away  thy  mind : 
But,  truer  than  love's  dream. 
It  leaves  no  sting  behind. 

Come,  twine  the  wreath,  thy  brows  to  shade ; 

These  flow'rs  were  cull'd  at  noon  ;  — 
Like  woman's  love  the  rose  will  fado^ 

But,  ah    not  nali  so  soon. 


For  though  the  flower's  decay' d, 
Its  fragrance  is  not  o'er  ; 

But  once  when  love's  betray' d. 
Its  sweet  life  blooms  no  more. 


THE  PHILOSOPHER  ARISTIPPUS' 

TO  A  LAMP  WHICH  HAD  BEBM   OITBN   HIM  BT  UUl 

Dulcis  conscia  lectuli  lucenia. 

Mabtial..  lib.  ziv.  epif.  30 

O,  LOVE  the  Lamp  "  (my  Mistress  said), 
"  Tne  faithful  Lamp  that,  many  a  night, 
"  Beside  thy  Laia'  lonely  bed 
"  Has  kept  its  little  watch  of  light 

"  Full  often  has  it  seen  her  weep, 
"  And  fix  her  eye  upon  its  flame, 

"  Till,  weary,  she  has  sunk  to  sleep, 
"  Repeating  her  beloved's  name. 

"  Then  love  the  Lamp  —  'twill  often  lead 

"  Thy  step  through  learning's  sacred  way ; 
"  And  when  those  studious  eyes  shall  read, 
"  At  midnight,  by  its  lonely  ray, 

"  Of  things  sublime,  of  nature's  birth, 
"  Of  all  that's  bright  in  heaven  or  earth, 
"  O,  think  that  she,  by  whom  'twas  given, 
"  Adores  thee  more  than  earth  or  heaven  !  " 

Yes  —  dearest  Lamp,  by  every  charm 

On  which  thy  midnight  beam  has  hung ;  • 

I  It  does  not  appear  to  have  been  very  difficult  to  becmoi 
a  philosopher  amongst  the  ancienta.  A  moderate  store  of 
leaniing,  with  a  considerable  portion  of  confidence,  and  jiisl 
wit  enough  to  produce  an  occasional  apophthegm,  scera  to 
have  been  all  the  qualifications  necessary  fur  the  purpose 
The  principles  of  moral  science  were  so  very  imperfectly 
understood  that  the  founder  of  a  new  sect,  in  forming  hi« 
ethical  code,  might  consult  either  fancy  or  temperament,  and 
adapt  it  to  his  own  passions  and  i)ropen8ities ;  so  ttiat  Ma- 
homet, with  a  little  more  learning,  might  have  flourished  ai 
a  philosopher  in  those  days,  and  would  have  required  but  tbi 
polish  of  the  schools  to  become  the  rival  of  Aristippus  in  mo- 
rality. In  the  science  of  nature,  too,  though  some  valualil* 
truths  were  discovered  by  them,  they  seemed  hardly  to  aiK  «r 
they  were  truths,  or  at  least  were  as  well  satisfied  ^\X 
errors ;  and  Xenoplianes,  who  asserted  that  {he  stars  iver« 
igneous  clouds,  lighted  up  every  night  and  extingui/'bed 
again  in  the  morning,  was  tliought  and  styled  a  philosoc  her. 
as  generally  as  he  who  anticipated  Newton  in  det  elopin| 
the  arrangement  of  the  universe. 

For  this  opinion  of  Xcnophanes,  see  Plutarch,  de  Placil 
Philosoph.  lib.  ii.  cap.  13.  If  is  impossiole  to  read  this  trea 
tise  of  Plutarch,  without  alternately  admiring  the  genius 
and  smiling  at  the  absurdities  of  the  philosophers. 

>  The  ancients  had  tiieir  lucerne cubicularic  orbed  rham 
berlampe,  which,  as  the  Emperor  Gali«nut  said  "  nil  cra< 


»0 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


The  head  reclin'd,  the  graceful  arm 
Across  the  brow  of  ivory  flung ; 

The  heaving  bosom,  partly  hid, 
The  sever'd  lip's  unconscious  sighs. 

The  fringe  that  from  the  haK-shut  lid 
Adown  the  cheek  of  roses  lies . 

I5y  these,  by  all  that  bloom  untold. 
And  long  as  all  shall  charm  my  heart, 

1 11  love  my  little  Lamp  of  gold  — 
My  Lamp  and  I  shall  never  part. 

^^d  often,  as  she  smiling  said, 

In  fancy's  hoiir,  thy  gentle  rays 
Shall  guide  my  visionary  tread 

Through  poesy's  enchanting  ma/e. 
Thy  flame  shall  light  the  page  refin'd, 

Where  still  we  catch  the  Chian's  breath, 

Where  still  the  bard,  though  cold  in  death. 
Has  left  his  sovil  unquench'd  behind. 
Or,  o'er  thy  humbler  legend  shine, 

O  man  of  Ascra's  dreary  glades.' 
To  whom  the  nightly  warbling  Nine  * 

A  wand  of  inspiration  gave,' 
Pluck' d  from  the  greenest  tree,  that  shades 

The  crystal  of  Castalia's  wave. 

Then,  turning  to  a  purer  lore. 
We'll  cuU  the  sages'  deep-hid  store. 
From  Science  steal  her  golden  clew. 
And  every  mystic  path  pursue. 
Where  Nature,  far  from  vulgar  eyes. 
Through  labyrinths  of  wonder  flies. 

Tis  thus  my  heart  shall  learn  to  know 
How  fleeting  is  this  world  below, 
Where  all  that  meets  the  morning  light, 
Is  chang'd  before  the  fall  of  night !  * 

kieniinere  ;  "  and,  with  the  same  commendation  of  secrecy, 
Praxagora  addresses  her  lamp  in  Aristophanes,  Ek/oAijj.  We 
liiay  judge  how  fanciful  they  were,  in  the  use  and  embellish- 
nient  of  their  lamps,  from  the  famous  symbolic  Lucema, 
R  iiich  we  find  in  the  Romanum  Museum,  Mich.  Aug.  Causei, 
9-  127. 

>  Hesiod,  who  tells  us  in  melancholy  terms  of  his  father'* 
il^ht  to  the  wretched  village  of  Ascra.  Epy.  kui  'Hfiep. 
«.  251. 

»  'Evvvxiaiorttxov,  vcpixaWta  oocrav  UKrat.  Theog.  v.  10. 

«  Kat  not  aKnnrpov  cSov,  ia^nrn  epiOn^ea  u^ov.    Id.  v.  30. 

*  'Fciv  ra  bXa  noranov  iiKiit/,  as  expressed  among  the 
Jogmas  of  Heraclitus  the  Ephesian.  and  with  the  same  image 
by  Seneca,  in  whopi  we  find  a  beautiful  diffusion  of  the 
thought.  "  Nemo  est  mane,  qui  fuit  pridie.  Corpora  nostra 
tapiuntur  flumlnum  more ;  quidquid  vides  currit  cum  tem- 
pore. JNiiil  ex  his  qus  videmus  manet  Ego  ipse,  dum 
■nqui  r  mutari  ipsa    mutatus  sum,"  &c 


I'll  tell  thee,  as  I  trim  thy  fire, 

"  Swift,  s-v^ift  the  tide  of  being  rims, 

"  And  Time,  who  bids  thy  flame  expire, 
"  WUl  also  quench  yon  heaven  of  sann 

O,  then  if  earth's  united  power 
Can  never  chain  one  feathery  hour ; 
If  every  print  we  leave  to-day 
To-morrow  s  wave  will  sweep  away ; 
Who  pauses  to  inquire  of  heaven 
Why  were  the  fleeting  treasures  given, 
The  sunny  days,  the  shady  nights, 
And  all  their  brief  but  dear  delights. 
Which  heaven  has  made  for  man  t-.)  use 
And  man  should  think  it  crime  to  Itse  i 
Who  that  has  cull'd  a  fresh-blown  rc-se 
Will  ask  it  why  it  breathes  and  glows, 
Unmindful  of  the  blushing  ray, 
In  which  it  shines  its  soul  away  ; 
Unmindful  of  the  scented  sigh, 
With  which  it  dies  and  loves  to  die. 

Pleasure,  thou  only  good  on  earth ! 

One  precious  moment  giv'n  to  thee 
O,  by  my  Lais'  lip,  'tis  worth 

The  sage's  immortality, 

Then  far  be  all  the  wisdom  hence. 
That  would  our  joys  one  hour  delay! 

Alas,  the  feast  of  soul  and  sense 

Love  calls  us  to  in  youth's  bright  day, 
If  not  soon  tasted,  fleets  away. 

Ne'er  wert  thou  form'd,  my  Lamp,  to  she^ 
Thy  splendor  on  a  lifeless  page ;  — 

Whate'er  my  blushing  Lais  said 

Of  thoughtful  lore  and  studies  sage, 

'Twas  mockery  all  —  her  glance  of  joy 

Told  me  thy  dearest,  best  employ.' 

1  AristippuB  considered  motion  as  the  principle  of  Aappt- 

ness,  in  which  idea  he  differed  from  the  Epicurears,  who 
looked  to  a  state  of  repose  as  the  only  true  voluptuouyiiest, 
and  avoided  even  the  too  lively  agitations  of  pleasure,  as  ■ 
violent  and  ungraceful  derangement  of  the  senses. 

»  Maupertuis  has  been  still  more  explicit  than  this  philos- 
opher, in  ranking  tlie  pleasures  of  sense  above  the  sublimen 
pursuits  of  wisdom.  Speaking  of  the  infant  man,  in  his  pro- 
duction, he  calls  him,  "  une  nouvelle  creature,  qui  pourra 
comprendre  les  choses  les  plus  sublimes,  et  ce  qui  est  bien 
au-dessus,  qui  pourra  gouter  les  meraes  plaisirs."  See  hii 
V6nus  Physique.  This  appears  to  be  one  of  the  efforts  ol 
Fontenelle's  gallantry  of  manner,  for  which  the  learned 
President  is  so  well  and  justly  ridiculed  in  the  Ak.2kia  of 
Voltaire. 

Maupertuis  mi^'  be  thought  to  have  borrowed  from  tb« 
ancient  Aristippus  that  indiscriminate  theory  of  pleasure* 
which  he  has  set  forth  in  his  Essai  de  Philosopbr    ioraW 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


4i 


II 


4jk1,  soon  as  night  shall  close  the  eye 

Of  heaven's  young  wanderer  in  the  west ; 
When  seers  arc  gazing  on  the  sky, 

To  find  their  future  orbs  of  rest ; 
Then  shall  I  take  my  trembling  way, 

Unseen  but  to  those  worlds  above, 
.^d.  led  by  thy  mysterious  ray, 

Steal  to  the  night  bower  of  my  love. 


TO  MRS. 


»M     HBB     BSAirriPUL    TRAN8IJk.TI0N  OP  YOmnu'S 

Kisa. 

Mon  SLme  lur  mon  I^vra  6toit  )on  toute  entiire. 
Pour  gavourer  le  micl  qui  sur  la  v8tre  6toit ; 

Uais  en  me  retiraiit,  elle  rexta  derriire, 
Tant  de  ce  douz  plaiair  l'amorc«  I'a  restoit 

VoiTums. 

How  heaVnly  was  the  poet's  doom, 
To  breathe  his  spirit  through  a  kiss  ; 

And  lo«e  within  so  sweet  a  tomb 
The  trembling  messenger  of  bliss  i 

And,  sure  his  soul  retum'd  to  feel 
That  it  affaia  could  ravish' d  be ; 

For  in  the  kiss  that  thou  didst  steal, 
His  life  and  soul  have  fled  to  thee. 


RONDEAU. 

"  Good  night !  good  night !  " —  And  is  it  >o? 

And  must  I  from  my  Rosa  go  ? 

O  Rosa,  say  "  Good  night !  "  once  more, 

And  I'll  repeat  it  o'er  and  o'er. 

Till  the  first  glance  of  dawning  light 

Shall  find  us  saying,  still,  «'  Good  night." 

And  still  "  Good  night,"  my  Rosa,  say  — 
But  whisper  still,  "  A  minute  stay  ;  " 
And  I  will  stay,  and  every  minute 
Shall  have  an  age  of  transport  in  it ; 
Till  Time  Imnself  shall  stay  his  flight, 
To  listen  to  our  sweet  "  Good  night." 

"  Good  night ! "  you'll  murmur  with  a  sigh, 

And  tcU  me  it  is  time  to  fly : 

And  I  will  vow,  will  swear  to  go, 

While  BtiU  that  sweet  voice  murmurs  "  No ! " 

ind  for  which  he  was  so  very  Jurtly  condemned.  Aristippua, 
Komiing  to  I^ertiun,  held  nn  6iait>coct»  rt  fiioi"!"  hiovnSt 
Which  irrational  sentiment  has  been  adopted  by  Haupeltuii : 
*  Tant  qu  on  ne  considire  que  I'itat  prtoent,  toiu  Im  pUisiia 
vol  du  mime  genre,*'  tec  Sec 
t 


Till  slumber  seal  our  weary  sight  — 

And  then,  my  love,  my  soul,  **  Good  night  I  * 


SONO. 

Why  does  azure  deck  the  sky  } 
'Tia  to  be  like  thy  looks  of  blue ; 

Why  is  red  the  rose's  dye  r 
Because  it  is  thy  blushes'  hue. 

All  that's  fair,  by  Love's  decree, 

Has  been  made  resembling  thee  I 

Why  is  falling  snow  so  white. 
But  to  be  like  thy  bosom  fair } 

Why  are  solar  beams  so  bright  ? 

That  they  may  seem  thy  golden  hair  I 

All  that's  bright,  by  Love's  decree, 

Has  been  made  resembling  thee  i 

Why  are  nature's  beauties  felt  i 

O,  'tis  thine  in  her  we  see  I 
Why  has  music  power  to  melt ' 

O,  because  it  speaks  like  thee. 
All  that's  sweet,  by  Love's  decree^ 
Has  been  made  resembling  thee  1 


TO  ROSA 

LiXB  one  who  tnists  to  siunmer  skiea 
And  puts  his  little  bark  to  sea, 

Is  he  who,  lur'd  by  smiling  eyes, 
Consigns  his  simple  heart  to  thee. 

For  fickle  is  the  summer  wind. 
And  sadly  may  the  bark  be  tost ; 

For  thou  art  sure  to  change  thy  mind. 
And  then  the  wretched  heart  ia  lost  t 


WRITTEN  IN  A  COMMONPLACE  BOO^ 

CALLED    "  THB   BOOK  OP   POLLIBS  ;  " 

Ur  WHICH  BTXBT  OIIH  THAT   OPENCD  IT  WAS  TO  OOHTHIBni 
•OMBTaiHO. 

TO  THB   BOOK   OF   FOLUE8. 

This  tribute's  from  a  wT-etched  elf, 
Who  hails  thee,  emblem  of  himselL 
The  book  of  life,  which  I  have  trac'd. 
Has  been,  like  thee,  a  motley  waste 
Of  follies  scribbled  o'er  and  o'er. 
One  folly  bringing  hundreds  more. 
Some  have  indeed  been  writ  so  neal^ 
In  characters  so  fair,  so  sweet, 


12 


JUVENILE  POEMS 


That  those  who  judge  not  too  severely, 
Have  said  they  lov'd  such  follies  dearly. 
Yet  still,  O  book !  the  allusion  stands  ; 
For  these  were  penn'd  hy  female  hands ; 
The  rest  —  alas  !  I  ovm  the  truth  — 
Have  all  been  scribbled  so  uncouth 
That  Prudence,  with  a  with'ring  look, 
Disdainful,  flings  away  the  book. 
Like  thine,  its  pages  here  and  there 
Have  oft  been  stain'd  with  blots  of  care , 
A.nd  sometimes  hours  of  peace,  I  own. 
Upon  some  fairer  leaves  have  shown. 
White  as  the  snowings  of  that  heav'n 
By  which  those  hours  of  peace  were  given. 
But  now  no  longer  —  such,  O,  such 
The  blast  of  Disappointment's  touch  !  — 
No  longer  now  those  hours  appear ; 
Each  leaf  is  sullied  by  a  tear : 
Blank,  blank  is  ev'ry  page  with  care. 
Not  ev'n  a  folly  brightens  there. 
Will  they  yet  brighten  ?  —  never,  never ! 
Then  shut  the  book,  O  God,  forever  1 


TO  ROSA. 

Say,  why  should  the  girl  of  my  soul  be  in  tears. 
At  a  meeting  of  rapture  like  this, 

When  the  glooms  of  the  past  and  the  sorrow  of 
years 
Have  been  paid  by  one  moment  of  bliss  .' 

Are  they  »hed  for  that  moment  of  blissful  delight, 

Which  dwells  on  her  memory  yet  ? 
Do  they  flow,  like  the  dews  of  the  love-breathing 

night. 
From  the  warmth  of  the  sun  that  has  set  ? 

0 !  sweet  is  the  tear  on  that  languishing  smile. 
That  smile,  which  is  loveliest  then  j 

And  if  such  are  the  drops  that  delight  can 
beguile, 
Tho  1  Ehalt  weep  them  again  and  again. 


LIGHT  SOUNDS  THE  HARP. 

LiOHT  sounds  the  harp  when  the  combat  is  over, 
When  heroes  are  resting,  and  joy  is  in  bloom ; 
^Vhen  laurels  hang  loose  from  the  brow  of  the 
lover, 
And  Cupid  makes  wings  of  the  warrior's  plume. 
But,  when  the  foe  returns,  ' 

Again  the  hero  bums ; 


High  flames  the  sword  in  his  hand  once  more : 
The  clang  of  mingling  arms 
Is  then  the  sound  that  charms. 
And  brazen  notes  of  war,  that  stirring  trumpet! 

pour; — 
Then,  again  comes  the  Harp,  when  the  comoat 
is  over  — 
When  heroes  are  resting,  and  Joy  is  in  oloosn  — 
When  laurels  hang  loose  from  the  brow  of  t\t 
lover. 
And  Cupid  makes  wings  of  the  warrior's  plume. 

Light    went    the    harp  when    the    War- God, 
reclining, 
Lay  luU'd  on  the  white  arm  of  Beauty  to  rest, 
When  round  his  rich  armor  the  myrtle  hung 
twining, 
And  flights  of  young  doves  made  his  helmet 
their  nest. 
But,  when  the  battle  came. 
The  hero's  eye  breathed  flame  : 
Soon  from  his  neck  the  white  arm  was  flung  j 
While,  to  his  wakening  ear. 
No  other  sounds  were  dear 
But  brazen  notes  of  war,  by  thousand  trumpets 

sung. 
But  then  came  the  light  harp,  when  danger  was 
ended. 
And  Beauty  once  more  lull'd  the  War-God  to 
rest ; 
When  tresses  of  gold  with  his  laurels  lay  blended, 
And  flights  of  young  doves  made  hie  nelmel 
their  nest. 

FROM  THE  GREEK  OF  MELEA<i£It» 

Fill  high  the  cup  with  liquid  fl^air.e, 
And  speak  my  Heliodora's  name. 
Repeat  its  magic  o'er  and  o'er. 
And  let  the  sound  my  lips  adore, 
Live  in  the  breeze,  till  every  tone. 
And  word,  and  breath,  speaks  her  alone. 

Give  me  the  wreath  that  withers  there, 
It  was  but  last  delicious  night. 

It  circled  her  luxuriant  hair. 
And  caught  her  eyes'  reflected  light. 

O,  haste,  and  twine  it  round  my  brow, 

'Tis  all  of  her  that's  left  me  now. 

1  Eyx^'j  «<"  TToKiv  eiirt,  ra\tv,  ra^tv,  HXto^<upa» 
EiJTt,  ovv  aKpriT(i>  TO  yXvKV  p'oy'  ovo/ta. 
Kai  fioi  roil  0i>ixdcvTa  iivpoi^  xai  xO'^ov  covra. 

Mya/jioavvuv  KCivai,  aiA<piTi9u  OTt<patiov 
Aaxpvei  (ptXepacrov  f5or  jio'o:i.,  ovvtKa  Kttvar 
AWuOi  k'  ov  KaA<rai[  flvtT'^  o';  eaopa. 

Pac'vi   Analeet  torn,  i  p,  dS 


JUVBNILE  POEMS.                                                         41 

And  see  —  each  rosebud  drops  a  tear, 

I  grant,  there's  not  a  power  above. 

To  find  the  nymph  no  longer  here  — 

Could  wipe  the  faithless  crime  away 

No  longer,  where  such  heavenly  charms 

A3  hers  ihould  be  —  M-ithin  these  arms. 

But,  'twas  my  doom  to  err  with  one 

In  every  look  so  like  to  thee 

That,  underneath  yon  blessed  sun, 

SONG 

So  fair  there  are  but  thou  and  she. 

ft,T  from  the  world,  0  Bessy  i  to  me, 

Both  born  of  beauty,  at  a  birth. 

Thou  wilt  never  find  any  sincerer  ; 

She  held  with  thine  a  kindred  sway. 

I  U  give  up  th3  world,  0  Bessy  !  for  thee, 

And  wore  the  only  shape  on  earth 

I  can  never  meet  any  that's  dearer. 

I'hat  could  have  lured  my  soul  to  stray 

Iten  "^cll  me  uo  more,  with  a  tear  and  a  sigh. 

That  our  loves  will  be  censur'd  by  many : 

Then  blame  me  not,  if  false  I  be. 

All,  all  have  their  follies,  and  who  will  deny 

'Twas  love  that  wak'd  the  fond  excess  ; 

That  ours  is  the  sweetest  of  any  i 

My  heart  had  been  more  true  to  thee. 

When  your  lip  has  met  mine,  in  communion  so 
sweet, 
Have  we  felt  as  if  virtue  forbid  it  ?  — 
tiave  ve  felt  as  if  heav'n  denied  them  to  meet  ?  — 

Had  mine  eye  priz'd  thy  beauty  less. 

FANNY,  DEAREST. 

No,  rather  'twas  heav'n  that  did  it. 

Yes  !  had  I  leisure  to  sigh  and  mourn. 

Bo  innocent,  love,  is  the  joy  we  then  sip, 

Fanny,  dearest,  for  thee  I'd  sigh  ; 

So  little  of  wrong  is  there  in  it. 

And  every  smile  on  my  cheek  should  turn 

That  I  wish  all  your  errors  were  lodg'd  on  your 

To  tears  when  thou  art  nig\ 

lip, 

But,  between  love,  and  wine,  and  sleep,  "^i 
So  busy  a  life  I  live,                             ^ 

And  I'd  kiss  them  away  in  a  minute. 

That  even  the  time  it  would  take  to  weep 

rhen  come  to  your  lover,  0,  fly  to  his  shed. 

Is  more  than  my  heart  can  give. 

From  a  world  which  I  know  thou  despisest ; 

Then  bid  me  not  to  despair  and  pine. 

And  slumber  will  hover  as  light  o'er  our  bed 

Fanny,  dearest  of  all  the  dears ! 

As  e'er  on  the  couch  of  the  wisest. 

The  Love  that's  ordered  to  bathe  in  wine 

And  when  o'er  our  pillow  the  tempest  is  driven. 

Would-be  sure  to  take  cold  in  tears. 

And  thou,  pretty  innocent,  fearest, 

I'll  tell  thee,  it  is  not  the  cliiding  of  heav'n. 

Reflected  bright  in  this  heart  of  mine, 

'Tis  only  our  lullaby,  dearest. 

Fanny,  dearest,  thy  image  lies ; 

But,  ah,  the  mirror  would  cease  to  shine. 

And,  0,  while  we  lie  on  our  death  bed,  my  love, 

If  dimm'd  too  often  with  sighs. 

Looking  back  on  the  scene  of  our  errors, 

They  lose  the  half  of  beauty's  light. 

A  sigh  from  my  Bessy  shall  plead  then  above, 

Who  view  it  through  sorrow's  tear  ; 

And  Death  be  disarm'd  of  his  terrors. 

And  'tis  but  to  see  thee  truly  bright 

And  each  to  the  other  embracing  will  say, 

That  1  keep  my  eyebeam  clear. 

"  Farewell !  let  us  hope  we're  forgiven." 

Then  wait  no  longer  tiU  tears  shall  flow, 

Fhy  lasf,  fading  glance  will  illumine  the  way, 

Fanny,  dearest  —  the  hope  is  vain  ; 

And  a  kiss  be  our  passport  to  heaven  I 

K  sunshine  cannot  dissolve  thy  snow, 

I  shall  never  attempt  it  with  rain 

THE  RESEMBIANCE. 

vo  Mtcand'  io. 

THE  RING. 

Donna,  quant'  e  posxibile,  in  altnil 

TO 

La  deuata  vudtra  forma  vera. 

Pbtiam-..  SontU.  14. 

Ym,  if  'twere  any  common  love. 

No  —  Lady  !  Lady  !  keep  the  ring  : 

That  led  my  pliant  heart  astray, 

O,  think,  how  many  a  future  yeax; 

44                                                        JUVENILE  POEMS. 

Of  placid  smile  and  downy  wing, 

The  words  to  thee  I  warmly  say. 

May  sleep  within  its  holy  sphere. 

To  them  liave  been  as  warmly  said. 

Do  not  disturb  their  tranqiiil  dream, 

Then,  scorn  at  once  a  worthless  heart, 

Though  love  hath  ne'er  the  mystery  warm'd ; 

Worthless  alike,  or  fix'd  or  free  ; 

Yet  heav'n  will  shed  a  soothing  beam. 

Think  of  the  pure,  bright  soul  thou  a<:"t, 

To  bleas  the  bond  itself  hath  form'd. 

And  —  love  not  me,  0,  love  not  me. 

But  then,  that  eye,  that  burning  eye,  — 

Enough  —  now,  turn  thine  eyes  again  ; 

0,  it  doth  ask,  with  witching  power, 

What,  stiU  that  look  and  stiU  that  sigh  1 

If  heaven  can  ever  bless  the  tie 

Dost  thou  not  feel  my  counsel  then  i 

Where  love  iawreaths  no  genial  flower  i 

0,  no,  beloved,  —  nor  do  I. 

A.Tf ay,  away,  bewildering  look. 

Or  all  the  boast  of  virtue's  o'er ; 

Go  —  hie  thee  to  the  sage's  book, 

TO  THE  INVISIBLE  GIRL. 

And  learn  from  him  to  feel  no  more. 

They  try  to  persuade  me,  my  dear  little  sprite. 

I  cannot  warn  thee :  every  touch. 

That  you're  not  a  true  daughter  of  ether  and 

That  brings  my  pulses  close  to  thine,       < 

light. 

Tells  me  I  want  thy  aid  as  much  — 

Nor  have  any  concern  with  those  fanciful  form* 

EVn  more,  alas,  than  thou  dost  mine. 

That  dance  upon  rainbows  and  ride  upon  storms ; 

That,  in  short,  you're  a  woman ;  your  lip  and 

Yet,  stay,  —  one  hope,  one  effort  yet  — 

your  eye 

A  moment  turn  those  eyes  away. 

As  mortal  as  ever  drew  gods  from  the  sky. 

And  let  me,  if  I  can,  forget 

But  I  will  not  believe  them  —  no,  Science,  to  you 

The  light  that  leads  my  soul  astray. 

I  have  long  bid  a  last  and  a  careless  adieu : 

Still  flying  from  Nature  to  study  her  laws. 

Thou  say'st  that  we  were  bom  to  meet, 

And  dulling  delight  by  exploring  its  cause. 

That  our  hearts  bear  one  common  seal ;  — 

You  forget  how  superior,  for  mortals  below. 

Think,  Lady,  think,  how  man's  deceit 

Is  the  fiction  they  dream  to  the  truth  that  they 

Can  seem  to  sigh  and  feign  to  feel. 

know. 

0,  who,  that  has  e'er  enjoyed  rapture  complete. 

When,  o'er  thy  face  some  gleam  of  thought, 

Would  ask  kow  we  feel  it,  or  why  it  is  sweet ; 

Like  daybcams  through  the  morning  air, 

How  rays  are  confus'd,  or  how  particles  fly 

Hath  gradual  stole,  and  I  have  caught 

Through  the  medium  refin'd  of  a  glance  or  a  sigh ; 

The  feeling  ere  it  kindled  there ; 

Is  there  one,  who  but  once  would  not  rather 

have  known  it. 

The  sympathy  I  then  betray'd. 

Than  written,   with   Harvey,   whole  volumes 

Perhaps  was  but  the  child  of  art, 

upon  it  ? 

The  guile  of  one  who  long  hath  play'd 

With  all  these  wily  nets  of  heart. 

As  for  you,  my  sweet-voiced  and  invisible  love. 

You  must  surely  be  one  of  those  spirits,  thai 

0,  thine  is  not  my  earliest  vow  ; 

rove 

Though  few  the  years  I  yet  have  told, 

By  the  bank  where,  at  twilight,  the  poet  reclines, 

Canst  thou  believe  I've  lived  tiU  now, 

When  the  star  of  the  west  on  his  solitude  shinet, 

With  loveless  heart  or  senses  cold  ? 

And  the  magical  fingers  of  fancy  have  hung 

Every  breeze  with   a  sigh,  every  leaf  with  ■ 

N'o  —  other  nymphs  to  joy  and  pain 

tongue. 

This  wild  and  wandering  heart  hath  mov'd ; 

0,  hint  to  him  then,  'tis  retirement  alone 

With  some  it  sported,  wild  and  vain. 

Can  haUow  his  harp  or  ennoble  its  tone  ; 

WhUe  some  it  dearly,  truly,  lov'd. 

Like  you,  with  a  veil  of  seclusion  between. 

His  song  to  the  world,  let  him  utter  unseen. 

fhe  cheek  to  thine  I  fondly  lay, 

And  like  you,  a  legitimate  child  of  the  sphere^ 

To  thein  hath  been  as  fondly  laid ; 

Escape  from  the  eye  to  enrapture  tl  e  ears. 

JUVKNILE  POEMS. 


S'weot  spirit  of  mystery  !  how  I  should  love, 
In  the  wearisome  ways  I  am  fated  to  rove, 
To  have  you  thus  ever  invisibly  nigh. 
Inhaling  forever  your  song  and  your  sigh  ! 
'Mid  the  crowds  of  the  world  and  the  murmurs 

of  care, 
I  might  sometimes  converse  with  my  nymph  of 

the  air, 
And  turn  with  distaste  from  the  c^morous  crew, 
To  steal  in  the  pauses  one  whisper  &om  you. 

Then,  come  and  be  near  me,  forever  be  mine. 
We  shall  hold  in  the  air  a  communion  divine, 
A9  sweet  as,  of  old,  was  imagin'd  to  dwell 
In  the  grotto  of  Numa,  or  Socrates'  cell. 
And  oft,  at  those  lingering  moments  of  night. 
When  the  heart's  busy  thoughts  have  put  slum- 
ber to  flight, 
You  shall  come  to  my  pillow  and  tell  me  of  love. 
Such  as  angel  to  angel  might  whisper  above, 
■^weet  spirit !  —  and  then,  could  you  borrow  the 

tone 
'>f  that  voice,  to  my  ear  like  some  fairy  song 

known. 
The  voice  of  the  one  upon  earth,  who  has  twin'd 
With  her  being  forever  my  heart  and  my  mind. 
Though  lonely  and  far  from  the  light  of  her  smile. 
An  exile,  and  weary  and  hopeless  the  while. 
Could  you  shed  for  a  moment  her  voice  on  my 

ear, 
I  will  think,  for  that  moment,  that  Cara  is  near ; 
That  she  comes  with  consoling  enchantment  to 

speak. 
And  kisses  my  eyelid  and  breathes  on  my  cheek. 
And  tells  me,  the  night  shall  go  rapidly  by, 
For  the  dawn  of  our  hope,  of  our  heaven  ia  nigh. 

Fair  spirit !  if  such  be  your  magical  power. 
It  will  lighten  the  lapse  of  full  many  an  hour  ; 
And,  let  fortune's  realities  frown  as  they  will, 
Hope,  fancy,  and  Cara  may  smile  for  me  stilL 


THE  RING.* 

Annulus  Hie  virL  —  Otid.  ^mor.  lib  !i  eleg.  U. 


The  happy  day  at  length  arriv'd 

When  Rupert  was  to  wed 
The  fairest  maid  in  Saxony, 

And  take  her  to  his  bed. 

I  ibould  be  sorry  to  think  that  ray  friend  had  any  seriout 
■mentions  of  frightening  the  nuriery  by  this  story  :  I  rather 
kcft  -  ■  though  the  manner  of  it  leads  me  to  doubt  —  that  bia 


As  soon  as  mom  was  in  the  sjiy, 

The  feast  and  sports  began ; 
The  men  admir'd  the  happy  maid. 

The  maids  the  happy  man. 

In  many  a  sweet  device  of  mirth 

ITie  day  was  pass'd  along  ; 
And  some  the  featly  dance  amus'd. 

And  some  the  dulcet  song. 

The  younger  maids  with  Isabel 
Disported  through  the  bowers. 

And  deck'd  her  robe,  and  crown'd  her  he>d 
With  motley  bridal  flowers. 

The  matrons  all  in  rich  attire, 

Within  the  castle  walls. 
Sat  listening  to  the  choral  strains 

That  echo'd  through  the  halls 

Young  Rupert  and  his  friends  repair'd 

Unto  a  spacious  court. 
To  strike  the  bounding  tennis  ball 

In  feat  and  manly  sport. 

The  bridegroom  on  his  finger  wore 

The  wedding  ring  so  bright. 
Which  was  to  grace  the  lily  hand 

Of  Isabel  that  night 

And  fearing  he  might  break  the  gem, 

Or  lose  it  in  the  play. 
He  look'd  around  the  court,  to  see 

Where  he  the  ring  might  lay. 

Now,  in  the  court  a  statue  stood. 
Which  there  full  long  had  been  ; 

It  might  a  Heathen  goddess  be. 
Or  else,  a  Heathen  queen. 

Upon  its  marble  finger  then 

He  tried  the  ring  to  fit ; 
And,  thinking  it  was  safest  there, 

Thereon  he  fasten'd  it. 

And  now  the  tennis  sports  went  on. 
Till  they  were  wearied  all, 


deai^ii  was  to  ridicule  that  diKtempered  taste  which  preftn 
tboae  monsters  of  the  fancy  to  the  "  epeciosa  mirRcula  '  a( 
true  poetic  imagination. 

I  And,  by  a  note  in  the  manuscript,  that  he  met  nrith  tha 
■tory  in  a  Gorman  autliur,  Fromman  upon  Faacination,  bnuk 
iii.  part  vi  ch.  18.  On  consulting  tlie  work,  I  perceive  that 
Fromman  quotes  it  from  Beluacensis,  among  many  otker 
■tones  equally  diabolical  and  interesting.    E. 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


And  messengers  announc'd  to  them 
Their  dinner  in  the  hall. 

^oung  Rupert  for  his  wedding  ring 

Unto  the  statue  went ; 
R'xt,  O,  how  shock'd  was  he  to  find 

The  marble  finger  bent !  ' 

The  liand  was  clos'd  upon  the  ring 

Witl"  firm  and  mighty  clasp  ; 
In  vain  he  tried,  and  tried,  and  tried, 

He  could  not  loose  the  grasp  ! 

Then  sore  surpris'd  was  Rupert's  mind  — 

As  well  his  mind  might  be  ; 
"  I'll  come,"  quoth  he,  •'  at  night  again, 

"  When  none  are  here  to  see." 

He  went  unto  the  feast,  and  much 

He  thought  upon  his  ring ; 
And  marvell'd  sorely  what  could  mean 

So  very  strange  a  thing  I 

The  feast  was  o'er,  and  to  the  court, 

He  hied  without  delay, 
Resolv'd  to  break  the  marble  hand 

And  force  the  ring  away. 

But,  mark  a  stranger  wonder  still  — 

The  ring  was  there  no  more, 
And  yet  the  marble  hand  ungrasp'd, 

And  open  as  before  ! 

He  search' d  the  base,  and  all  the  court. 

But  nothing  could  he  find  ; 
Then  to  the  castle  hied  he  back 

With  sore  bewilder' d  mind. 

Within  he  found  them  all  in  mirth, 

The  night  in  dancing  dew  ; 
The  youth  another  ring  procur'd, 

And  none  the  adventure  knew. 

And  now  the  priest  has  join'd  their  hands, 

The  hours  of  love  advance: 
Rupert  almost  forgew  xo  think 

Upon  the  morn's  mischance. 

Within  the  bed  fair  Isabel 

In  blushing  sweetness  lay, 
Ijike  flowers,  half  opcn'd  by  the  dawn, 

And  waiting  for  the  day. 

LnA  Rupert,  Dy  her  lovely  side. 
In  youthful  beouty  glows, 


Like  Phcebus,  when  he  bends  to  CMt 
His  beams  upon  a  rose. 

And  here  my  song  would  leave  them  b»ii^ 

Nor  let  the  rest  be  told, 
If  'twere  not  for  the  horrid  tale 

It  yet  has  to  unfold. 

Soon  Rupert,  'twixt  his  bride  and  him, 

A  death-cold  carcass  found ; 
He  saw  it  not,  but  thought  he  felt 

Its  arms  embrace  him  round 

He  started  up,  and  then  return' d, 

But  found  the  phantom  still ; 
In  vain  he  shrunk,  it  clipp'd  him  round. 

With  damp  and  deadly  chill ! 

And  when  he  bent,  the  earthy  lips 

A  kiss  of  horror  gave  ; 
'Twas  like  the  smell  firom  chamel  raulta 

Or  from  the  mould'ring  grave  ! 

HI  fated  Rupert !  —  wild  and  loud 

Then  cried  he  to  his  wife, 
"  O,  save  me  from  this  horrid  fiend, 

"  My  Isabel !  my  life  !  " 

But  Isabel  had  nothing  seen, 

She  look'd  around  in  vain  ; 
And  much  she  moum'd  the  mad  conc^t 

That  rack'd  her  Rupert's  brain. 

At  length  from  this  invisible 

These  words  to  Rupert  came : 
(O  God  !  while  he  did  hear  the  words 

What  terrors  shook  his  frame  1) 

««  Husband,  husband,  I've  the  ring 

"  Thou  gav'st  to-day  for  me  ; 
"  And  thou'rt  to  me  forever  wed, 

"  As  I  am  wed  to  thee  !  " 

And  all  the  night  the  demon  lay 

Cold  chilling  by  his  side. 
And  strain' d  him  with  such  deadly  gra«p<; 

He  thought  he  should  have  died. 

But  when  the  dawn  of  day  was  near. 

The  horrid  phantom  fled. 
And  left  th'  aff"righted  youth  to  weep 

By  Isabel  in  bed. 

And  all  that  day  a  gloomy  cloud 
Was  Sf  €n  on  Rupert's  brows ; 


JUVENILE  K>EM». 


«! 


Fair  Isabel  was  likewise  sad, 
But  strove  to  cheer  her  f  pouse. 

And,  as  the  day  adranc'd,  he  thought 
Of  coming  night  with  fear : 

A^las,  that  he  should  dread  to  view 
The  bed  that  should  be  dear  ! 

At  length  the  second  night  arriv'd. 
Again  their  couch  they  press'd  ; 

Poor  Rupert  hop'd  that  all  was  o'er, 
And  look'd  for  love  and  rest. 

But  O,  when  midnight  came,  again 

The  fiend  was  at  his  side, 
And,  as  it  strain'd  him  in  its  grasp, 

With  howl  exulting  cried  :  — 

"  Husband,  husband,  I've  the  ring, 
♦*  The  ring  thou  gav'st  to  me ; 

**  And  thou'rt  to  me  forever  wed, 
•'  As  I  am  wed  to  thee  I  " 

In  agony  of  wild  despair. 

He  started  from  the  bed ; 
And  thus  to  his  bewildcr'd  wife 

The  trembling  Rupert  said : 

"  O  Isabel  1  dost  thou  not  see 

*«  A  shape  of  horrors  here, 
"  That  strains  mc  to  its  deadly  kiss, 

••  And  keeps  me  from  my  dear  ?  " 

•  No,  no,  my  love !  my  Rupert,  I 
•♦  No  shape  of  horrors  see  ; 

*•  And  much  I  mourn  the  fantasy 
"  That  keeps  my  dear  from  me." 

This  night,  just  like  the  night  before. 

In  terrors  pass'd  away, 
Nor  did  the  demon  vanish  thence 

Before  the  dawn  of  day. 

Slid  Rupert  then,  "  My  Isabel, 

"  Dear  partner  of  my  woe, 
"  To  Father  Austin's  holy  cave 

•♦  This  instant  will  I  go." 

Now  Austin  was  a  reverend  man. 
Who  acted  wonders  maint  — 

WTiom  all  the  country  round  believ'd 
A  devil  or  a  saint ! 

o  Father  Aiiatin's  holy  cave 
Then  Rupert  straightway  went ; 


And  told  him  all,  and  ask'd  him  bow 
These  horrors  to  prevent. 

The  father  heard  the  youth,  and  f!aeD 

Retir'd  a  while  to  pray  ; 
And,  having  pray'd  for  half  an  hour. 

Thus  to  the  youth  did  say : 

*'  There  is  a  place  where  four  roads  meet, 

"  Which  I  will  tell  to  thee : 
•'  Be  there  this  eve,  at  fall  of  night, 

"  And  list  what  thou  shalt  see. 

"  Thoult  see  a  group  of  figures  pass 

"  In  strange  disorder' d  crowd, 
"  Travelling  by  torchlight  through  the  roadsb 

"  With  noises  strange  and  loud. 

•*  And  one  that's  high  above  the  rest, 

*♦  Terrific  towering  o'er, 
"  Will  make  thee  know  him  at  a  glanc^ 

"  So  I  need  say  no  more. 

"  To  him  from  me  these  tablets  give, 

"  They'll  quick  be  understood  ; 
"  Thou  nced'st  not  fear,  but  give  them  straight 

"  I've  scrawl'd  them  with  my  blood  ' 

The  nightfall  came,  and  Rupert  aU 

In  pale  amazement  went 
To  where  the  cross  roads  met,  as  be 

Was  by  the  Father  sent. 

And  lo  !  a  group  of  figures  came 

In  strange  disorder'd  crowd. 
Travelling  by  torchlight  through  the  roadt, 

With  noises  strange  and  loud. 

And,  as  the  gloomy  train  advanc'd, 

Rupert  beheld  from  far 
A  female  form  of  wanton  mien 

High  seated  on  a  car. 

And  Rupert,  as  he  gazed  upon 

The  loosely-vested  dame, 
Thought  of  the  marble  statue's  look, 

For  hers  was  just  the  same. 

Behind  her  walk'd  a  hideous  form. 

With  eyeballs  fiashing  death  ; 
WTiene'er  he  breath' d,  a  sulphur'd  smoke 

Came  burning  in  his  breath. 

He  seem'd  the  first  o^  al]  Ita,  crowdt 
Terrific  tow>ripg  o'er  • 


18                                                            XDVENILE  POEM». 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Rupert,  <*  this  is  he, 

Are  tears,  that  fell  from  Virtue  there, 

"  And  I  need  ask  no  more." 

The  hour  when  Love  unbound  it. 

Then  slow  he  went,  and  to  this  fiend 

The  tablets  trembling  gave, 
Who  look'd  aad  read  them  with  a  yell 
That  woxild  disturb  the  grave, 

WRITTEN  IN  THE  BLANK  LEAF  0 
LADY'S   COMMONPLACE  BOOK 

Here  is  one  leaf  reserv'd  for  me, 

Aai  when  he  saw  the  blood- scrawl' d  name, 

From  all  thy  sweet  memorials  free  ; 

His  eyes  with  fury  shine  ; 

And  here  my  simple  song  might  tell 

"  I  thought,"  cries  he,  "  his  time  was  out. 

The  feelings  thou  must  guess  so  well 

"  But  he  must  soon  be  mine  !  " 

But  could  I  thus,  within  thy  mind. 

One  little  vacant  corner  find, 

Then  darting  at  the  youth  a  look 

Where  no  impression  yet  is  seen. 

Which  rent  his  soul  with  fear, 

Where  no  memorial  yet  hath  been, 

He  went  unto  the  female  fiend. 

0,  it  should  be  my  sweetest  care 

And  whisper'd  in  her  ear. 

To  write  my  name  forever  there  ! 

The  female  fiend  no  sooner  heard 

Than,  with  reluctant  look, 

The  very  ring  that  Rupert  lost, 

TO    MRS.  BL 

She  froTn  her  finger  took. 

WBITTIN  IS  HBB  ALBUM. 

And,  giving  it  unto  the  youth. 

They  say  that  Love  had  once  a  book 

With  eyes  that  breath' d  of  hell, 

(The  urchin  likes  to  copy  you), 

She  said,  in  that  tremendous  voice, 

Where,  all  who  came,  the  pencil  took, 

Which  he  remember'd  well : 

And  wrote,  like  us,  a  line  or  two. 

•♦  In  Austin's  name  take  back  the  ring, 

'Twas  Innocence,  the  maid  divine. 

"  The  ring  thou  gav'st  to  me  ; 

Who  kept  this  volume  bright  and  fair, 

"  And  thou'rt  to  me  no  longer  wed. 

And  saw  that  no  unhaUow'd  line               • 

"  Nor  longer  I  to  thee." 

Or  thought  profane  should  enter  there  ( 

He  took  the  ring,  the  rabble  pass'd, 

And  daily  did  the  pages  fill 

He  heme  return' d  again  ; 

With  fond  device  and  loving  lore. 

His  wife  was  then  the  happiest  fair, 

And  every  leaf  she  turn'd  was  still 

The  happiest  he  of  men. 

More  bright  than  that  she  turn'd  before 

Beneath  tne  touch  of  Hope,  now  soft, 

How  light  the  magic  pencil  ran  ! 

xo 

Till  Fear  would  come,  alas,  as  oft. 



And  trembling  close  what  Hope  began. 

^    USmO  HEH  WITH  A  WHITE  VEIL  AXS   A   RICH 

A  tear  or  two  had  dropp'd  from  Grief, 

GIRDLE. 

And  Jealousy  would,  new  and  then, 

MapvaptTat  (JijXovo-t  Saxpyav  Jioov. 

Jlp.  NicBPHOH.  in  Oneirocritie» 

Ruffle  in  haste  some  snow-white  leaf. 
Which  Love  had  still  to  smooth  again 

Pn  off  the  vesTttil  veil,  nor,  0, 

But,  ah !  there  came  a  blooming  boy, 

Let  weeping  angels  view  it ; 

Who  often  turn'd  the  pages  o'er 

Your  cheeks  belie  its  virgin  snow, 

And  wrote  therein  such  words  of  joy. 

And  blush  repenting  through  it. 

That  all  who  read  them  sigh'd  for  mort 

Put  ofT  the  fatal  zone  you  wear ; 

And  Pleasure  was  this  spirit's  name. 

The  shining  pearls  around  it 

And  though  so  soft  his  vo^ce  and  look. 

JUVENILE  POEMS. 


Yot  Irnocence,  whene'er  he  came, 
Would  tremble  for  hei  spotlefw  book. 

Per,  oft  a  Bacchant  cap  he  bore, 

With  earth's  sweet  nectar  epaikling  bright; 
And  much  she  fear'd  lest,  m&ntling  o'er. 

Some  drops  should  on  the  pages  light. 

And  so  it  chanc'd,  one  luckless  night, 

The  urchin  let  that  goblet  fa). 
O'er  the  fair  book,  so  pure,  so  white, 

And  sullied  lines  and  marge  and  all  I 

In  vain  now,  touch' d  with  shame,  he  tried 
To  wash  those  fatal  stains  away ; 

Deep,  deep  had  sunk  the  sullying  tide. 
The  leaves  grew  darker  every  day. 

And  Fancy's  sketches  lost  their  hue. 
And  Hope's  sweet  lines  were  all  efiFac'd, 

And  Love  himself  now  scarcely  knew 
What  Love  himself  so  lately  trac'd. 

At  length  the  urchin  Pleasure  fled, 
(For  how,  alas  !  could  Pleasure  stay  ?) 

And  Love,  while  many  a  tear  he  shed. 
Reluctant  flung  the  book  away. 

The  index  now  alone  remains. 
Of  all  the  pages  spoil' d  by  Pleasure, 

And  though  it  bears  some  earthy  stains, 
Yet  Memory  counts  the  leaf  a  treasure. 

And  oft,  they  say,  she  scans  it  o'er. 
And  oft,  by  this  memcHal  aided. 

Brings  back  the  pages  now  no  more. 
And  thinks  of  Hues  that  long  have  faded. 

I  know  not  if  this  tale  be  true. 

But  *hu8  the  simple  facts  are  stated ; 

And  1  refer  their  truth  to  you, 
Sinc£  liove  and  you  are  near  related. 


TO  CARA, 

APTEH  AN  INTBHVAL  07  ABSSKOm 

Co»ceal'd  within  the  shady  wood 
A  mother  left  her  sleeping  child. 

And  flew,  to  cull  her  rustic  food. 
The  fruitage  of  the  forest  wild. 

But  storms  upon  her  pathway  rise, 
Tli^  mother  roams,  astray  and  weeping ; 


Far  from  the  weak  appealing  cries 
Of  him  she  left  so  sweetly  sleeping. 

She  hopes,  she  fears ;  a  light  is  seen. 
And  gentler  blows  the  night  wind's  breath 

Yet  no  —  'tis  gone — the  storms  are  keen, 
The  infant  may  be  chill'd  to  death  1 

Perhaps,  ev'n  now,  in  daikness  shrouded. 
His  little  eyes  lie  cold  and  still  5  — 

And  yet,  perhaps,  they  are  not  clouded 
Life  and  love  may  light  them  still. 

Thus,  'Cara,  at  our  last  farewell,  ' 

When,  fearful  ev'n  thy  hand  to  touch, 

I  mutely  asked  those  eyes  to  ttU 
If  parting  pain'd  thee  half  so  much  t 

I  thought,  —  and,  O,  forgive  the  thoaglit« 
For  none  was  e'er  by  love  inspir'd 

Whom  fancy  had  not  also  taught 
To  hope  the  bliss  his  soul  desir'd. 

Yes,  I  did  think,  in  Cara's  mind. 

Though  yet  to  that  sweet  mind  unknowi^ 
I  left  one  infant  wish  behind. 

One  feeling,  which  I  oUled  my  own. 

0  blest !  though  but  in  fancy  blest. 
How  did  I  ask  of  Pity's  care, 

To  shield  and  strengthen,  in  thy  breast, 
The  nursling  I  had  cradled  there. 

And,  many  an  hour,  begnil'd  by  pleasun 
And  many  an  hour  of  sorrow  numbering 

1  ne'er  forgot  the  new-bom  treasure, 

I  left  within  thy  bosom  slumbering. 

Perhaps,  indifference  has  not  chill'd  it. 

Haply,  it  yet  a  throb  may  give  — 
Yet,  no  —  perhaps,  a  doubt  has  kill'd  ii  , 

Say,  dearest  — doea  the  feeling  live  ? 


TO  CARA, 

OH   THB    DAWKINO   OF   A  NEW  TXAR'S   DAt 

When  midnight  came  to  close  the  year, 
We  sigh'd  to  think  it  thus  shoi:ld  take 

The  hours  it  gave  us  —  hours  as  dear 
As  sympathy  and  love  could  make   • 

Their  blessed  moments,  —  every  sup 

Saw  us.  my  love,  more  closely  one. 


10 


Jin^EXILE   POEMS. 


But,  Cara,  when  the  dawn  was  nigh 
Which  came  a  new  year's  light  to  shed, 

rhat  smile  we  caught  from  eye  to  eye 
Told  us,  those  moments  were  not  fled ' 

O,  no,  —  we  felt,  some  future  s  in 

Should  see  us  still  more  closely  one. 

Thus  may  we  ever,  side  by  side, 
From  happy  years  to  happier  glide ; 
And  still  thus  may  the  passing  sigh 

We  give  to  hours,  that  vanish  o'er  us, 
Be  follow'd  by  the  smiling  eye. 

That  Hope  shall  shed  on  scenes  before  us  ! 


TO 1801. 

To  be  the  theme  of  every  hour 

The  heart  devotes  to  Fancy's  power, 

When  her  prompt  magic  fills  the  mind 

With  friends  and  joys  we've  left  behind, 

And  joys  return  and  friends  are  near. 

And  all  are  welcom'd  with  a  tear  :  — 

In  the  mind's  purest  seat  to  dwell. 

To  be  remember' d  oft  and  well 

By  one  whose  heart,  though  vain  and  wild. 

By  pas.sion  led,  by  youth  beguil'd, 

Can  proudly  still  aspire  to  be 

Ail  that  may  yet  win  smiles  from  thee  :  — 

If  thus  to  live  in  every  part 

Of  a  lone,  weary  wanderer's  heart ; 

If  thus  to  be  its  sole  employ 

Can  give  thee  one  faint  gleam  of  joy. 

Believe  it,  Mary,  —  O,  believe 

A  tongue  that  never  can  deceive. 

Though,  erring,  it  too  oft  betray 

Ev'n  more  than  Love  should  dare  to  say,  — 

In  Pleasure's  dream  or  Sorrow's  hour, 

la  crowded  hall  or  lonely  bower, 

The  busij  ess  of  my  life  shall  be. 

Forever  vo  remember  thee. 

And  though  that  heart  be  dead  to  mine, 

Sin(!e  Love  is  life  and  wakes  not  thine, 

II'  take  thy  image,  as  the  form 

C/f  one  whom  Love  had  fail'd  to  warm, 

Whicli,  though  it  yield  no  answering  thrill^ 

Is  not  1»,38  dear,  is  worshipp'd  still  — 

I'll  take  it,  whcrcsoe'er  I  stray. 

The  bright,  cold  burden  of  my  way. 

To  keep  this  semblance  fresh  in  bloom. 

My  hea-t  shall  be  its  lasting  tomb, 

.Vnd^Ieraory,  with  embalming  care, 

fhail  keep  it  fresh  and  fadeless  there. 


THE  GENIUS  OF  HARMON  F. 

AN    IKKBOULAB    ODE. 

Ad  barmoniam  canere  mundum. 

CicEBri  lie  JVaU  Dtor  lih  % 

Theke  lies  a  shell  beneath  the  wayw. 
In  many  a  hollow  winding  wreath' d 
Such  as  of  old 
Echoed  the   breath    that    varbling  sea  ouidi 
breath' d ; 

This  magic  shell. 
From  the  white  bosom  of  a  siren  fell. 
As  once  she  wander'd  by  the  tide  that  lavfci 
Sicilia's  sands  of  gold. 
It  bears 
Upon  its  shining  side  the  mystic  notes 

Of  those  entrancing  airs,' 
The  genii  of  the  deep  were  wont  to  swell. 
When  heaven's  eternal  orbs  their  midnight  mo- 
sic  roll'd ! 
O,  seek  it,  wheresoe'er  it  floats  ; 
And,  if  the  power 
Of  thrilling  numbers  to  thy  soul  be  .lear, 
Go,  bring  the  bright  shell  to  my  bower. 
And  I  will  fold  thee  in  such  downy  dreams 
As  lap  the  Spirit  of  the  Seventh  Sphere, 
When  Luna's  distant  tone  falls  faintly  on  his 
ear  !  * 

And  thou  shalt  owti. 
That,  through  the  circle  of  creation's  zone. 
Where  matter  slumbers  or  where  spirit  beams  \ 

1  In  the  "  Histoire  Naturelle  des  Antilles,"  there  is  an  ac- 
count of  some  curious  shells,  found  at  Cura^joa,  on  the  back 
of  which  were  hues,  filled  with  musical  characters  so  dis- 
tinct and  perfect,  that  the  writer  assures  us  a  very  charming 
trio  was  sung  from  one  of  them.  "  On  le  notnme  musical, 
parcequ'il  porte  sur  le  dos  des  ligne^  noiritres  pleines  ila 
notes,  qui  ont  une  espice  de  c.\k  pour  les  mettre  en  chant,  d« 
sorte  que  I'on  diroit  qu'il  ne  manque  que  la  Icttre  cette  ta- 
blature  naturelle.  Ce  curieux  geiitilliomme  (M.  du  Montel) 
rapporte  qu'il  en  avfl  qui  avoient  cinq  lignes,  une  cle,  et  dea 
notes,  qui  formoient  un  accord  parfait.  (iuelqu'un  y  arcit 
ajoute  la  lettre,  que  la  nature  avoit  oubli^e,  et  la  faisoit 
chanter  en  forme  de  trio,  dont  I'air  6toit  fort  agr^ahle.'  - 
Chap.  xix.  art.  11.  The  author  adds,  a  poet  miglit  I'Maginr 
that  these  shells  were  used  by  the  sirens  \l  their  comerts. 

2  According  to  Cicero,  and  his  commentator,  iMacrobms, 
the  lunar  tone  is  the  gravest  and  faintest  on  the  planetarj' 
heptachord.  "  Quam  ob  causam  sunnnus  ille  cccli  stellifei 
cursus,  cujus  conversio  est  concitatior,  acuto  et  cxcitato  mo 
vetur  sono;  gravissimo  autem  hie  lunaris  atque  nifiinus."  — 
Somn.  Scip.  Because,  says  Macrobius,  "spiritu  ut  in  extre 
mitatc  langiiescente  jam  volvinir,  et  propter  angustias  guibui 
penultimub  orhis  arctatur  impetu  leniore  convertitur."  — 1» 
Somn.  Seip.  lib.  ii.  cap.  4.  In  their  musical  arrangement  til 
heavenly  bodies,  the  ancient  writers  are  not  vcrj'  intellif/ 
Ue.  -  See  Ptoltm.  lib.  hi. 


1 


JUVENILE  POEidS. 


11 


From  the  pellucid  tides,'  that  whirl 
TT.e  planets  through  their  maze  of  song, 
To  the  small  rill,  that  weeps  along 
Murmuring  o'er  beds  of  pearl ; 
From  the  rich  .sigh 
Of  the  Bun'g  arrow  through  an  evening  sky,* 
To  the  faint  breath  the  tuneful  osier  yields 

On  Afric's  burning  fields  ; ' 
Thou'lt  wondering  0A\-n  this  universe  divine 

Is  mine  ! 
That  I  respire  in  all  and  all  in  me, 
Dne  mighty  mingled  soul   of  boundless  har- 
mony. 

Welcome,  welcome,  mystic  shell ! 
Many  a  star  has  ceas'd  to  burn,* 
Many  a  tear  has  Saturn's  urn 
O'er  the  cold  bosom  of  the  ocean  wept,' 
Since  thy  aerial  spell 
Hath  in  the  waters  slept. 
Now  blest  I'll  fly 
"With  the  bright  treasure  to  my  choral  sky, 
Where  she,  who  wak'd  its  early  swell. 
The  Siren  of  tlie  heavenly  choir. 
Walks  o'er  the  great  string  of  my  Orphic  Lyre  ;  • 

Loune  Hebren,  pursuing  the  idea  of  Aristotle,  that  tb« 
oeavcns  are  animal,  attributen  their  harmony  tu  perrect  and 
recii>n>cal  love.  "  Non  i>ero  manca  fra  loro  il  perfetto  et  r»- 
tiprtico  amore :  la  raiisa  prinripale,  che  ne  mostra  il  loro 
iraore,  i  la  lor  amicitia  armonica  et  la  roncordanza,  che  per- 
pcttiamente  si  irova  in  loro." —  Dialog,  ii.  di  Araore,  p.  58, 
This  "  reciproco  amore  "  of  Leone  is  the  ipiXurnf  of  the  an- 
cient Em|N?doclc!<,  who  seem-x,  in  his  Love  and  Hate  of  the 
ElemontK,  to  have  given  a  glim|i!4eof  liie  principles  of  attrac- 
tion and  repulsion.  See  the  fragment  to  which  I  allude  in 
I>aerlius,  AA  Xort  iity  (pt\urt)Ti,  avycpxaiiii/'fK.  r.  A.,  lib.  viii, 
-.ip  2,  n.  12. 

1  Leurippus,  the  atomlst,  imagined  a  kind  of  vonicea  in 
thr  heavens,  which  he  Ixirmwed  from  Anazagoras,  and  pos- 
BiMy  Kuppested  to  Descarte* 

'  ileraclides,  ujion  the  allegories  of  Homer,  conjectures 
(hat  tlio  idea  of  the  harmony  of  the  spheres  originated  with 
uiis  [Kiel,  who,  in  representing  the  solar  beams  as  arrows, 
ripposes  (hem  to  emit  a  peculiar  sound  in  the  air. 

'  In  the  accoun(  of  Africa  which  U'Ahlancourt  has  trans- 
•ali'd,  there  is  mention  of  a  (ree  in  that  country,  whose 
9f;lIl^^lCs  when  shaken  by  (he  hand  priMluce  very  sweet 
•ruiid-i.  *'  Le  niCiiie  auteiir  (Aben7>gar)  dit,  qu'il  y  a  un 
tvr.ain  ar'ire,  qui  produit  des  gaulei*  comni^  d'osier,  et  qu'en 
Ics  preiiint  &  la  ni.iin  et  les  hranlaiil,  elles  font  une  esp^c« 
i  hatiuonie  fort  agriahlo,"  &c.  itc  —  L'Afriqiu  de  MarmoL 

*  Alluding  to  the  extinction,  or  at  least  the  disappearance, 
it  vornc  of  those  fixed  stars,  which  we  are  taught  to  consider 
as  nins,  attended  each  by  itn  systetn.  Descartes  thought 
u:  it  -jur  earth  niiglit  formerly  have  been  a  sun,  which  became 
jhscured  oy  a  rhirk  incrustation  over  its  surface.  This  prob- 
kMy  suKgestcd  the  idea  of  a  central  fire. 

^  Porjd.yry  says,  that  P}'lhagoi'as  held  the  sea  to  be  a  tear, 
?  nv  SiiAii^raM  uiy  ctaXii  fiirii  (fuirnt)  'K  (De  Vit4) ;  and  some 
»ne  el-^,  i(  ■  .iiivCike  not,  ha-<  ai  led  the  planet  Saturn  as  (he 
«^irc(  of  it.     Euipedocles,  witl.  siiailar  aflectatiuu,  called 


Or  guides  around  the  burning  pole 
The  winged  chariot  of  some  blissful  sou.  ; 
While  thou  — 
O  son  of  earth,  what  dreams  shall  rise  for  thee 
Beneath  Ilispania's  sun, 
Thou'lt  see  a  streamlet  run, 
Which  I've  imbued  with  breathing  melody 
And  there,  when  night  winds  down  the  curren 

die, 
Thou'lt  hear  how  like  a  harp  its  waters  sigh  '■ 
A  liquid  chord  is  every  wave  that  flows, 
An  airy  plectrum  every  breeze  that  blows.* 

There,  by  that  wondrous  stream, 
Go,  lay  thy  languid  brow, 
Aiid  I  will  send  thee  such  a  godlike  dream. 
As  never  bless'd  the  slumbers  even  of  him,'" 
^\^lo,  many  a  night,  with  his  i)riraordial  lyre,*' 
Sate  on  the  chill  I'angaean  mount," 
And,  looking  to  the  orient  dim, 
Watch'd  the  first  flowing  of  that  sacred  fount, 

From  which  his  soul  had  drunk  its  fire. 
O,  think  what  visions,  in  that  lonely  hou( 
Stole  o'er  his  musing  breast : 
What  pious  ecstasy  " 

the  sea  «' the  sweat  of  the  earth:"  ISjioira  rrn  yijf.    See 
Ritternhusius  upon  Porphyry,  Num.  41. 

•  The  system'  of  (he  harmonized  orlis  was  8t>'led  by  tii« 
ancients  the  Great  Lyre  of  Ori>heu8,  for  which  Lucian  thut 
accounts :  —  i)  Sc  Avflt)  twrapiToi  covaa  ttiv  roiv  Kivnviitvtt* 
aiTTpMV  ippuviav  avvcSaXXcTo.  k,  r.  A.  in  Ailrolog, 

'  AiciAe  xf/vxai  icaptOpox'i  Tots  arrrpnti,  tvcipei'  tKOartii 
vpoi  itauTov,  Kut  cpSi^iinaf  'ilS  Elj;  OXHMA —  "  Distrib 
uting  the  souls  severally  among  the  stars,  and  mounting  ear> 
soul  upon  a  star  as  on  its  chariot."  —  Plato,  Tinueus. 

*  This  musical  river  is  mentioned  in  the  n)mance  of  Achii 
les  Tatius.  Eirtj  noraiiov  .  .  j/k  Se  axovaat  StA^js  r  ■» 
iSoToi  Xa\ovvT')s.  The  Latin  version,  in  supplying  (he 
hiatus  which  is  in  the  oiiginal.  has  placed  the  river  in  His 
pania.  "  In  Hispanic  quoque  fluvius  e8t,quem  primo  aspec 
tu,"  &c.  &.C 

»  These  two  lines  are  translated  from  the  words  of  *chl' 
les  Tatius.  Eji"  yap  oXtyos  avciioi  ctf  rnj  itvas  cpittan.rt 
ftev  iS(i)p  ii>(  X'H'^I  'p'tKirai.  to  it  irvcvpa  rov  ISaroi  vXrit- 
rpov  jii/irai.  to  ^evpa  Se  u(  Kidapa  AaAci. —  Lib.  iL 

w  Orpheus. 

11  They  called  his  lyre  itpxatnTponov  lirrox''P^''»' Op^j.i 
See  a  curious  work  by  a  professor  of  Greek  at  Venice,  etii 
tied  *'  flel)domades,8ive  septcm  de  septenario  libri.'*—  Lib 
iv.  cap.  3,  p.  177. 

w  Era(o8(henes,  in  mentioning  the  extre(ne  veneration  nl 
Orpheus  for  Apollo,  says  that  he  was  accustomed  (o  go  t» 
the  Pangsan  mountain  a(  daybreak,  and  (here  wait  iht 
rising  of  the  sun,  that  he  might  be  the  first  to  hail  its  bp^mr 
Evcycip'iici'nf  Tt  Tn(  i  'icTOf,  naru  rrjv  iojDivrii'  cm  to  ^pf'i 
TO  KaXo'pcioi'  IWyyoi'V,  vpoarrpcvi  raf  aiOToXai,  trn  id' 
Til'  'H  Viui/  irpt'iTov.  —  K  iTaaTCpia/i,  94. 

1'  There  are  some  verses  o(  Orpheus  ((reserved  to  us,  whif  li 
contain  Auiiliuie  ideas  of  tlie  unity  and  magnificence  ol  tt;i 
Deity,  lor  instance,  Uiose  which  Justin  Martyr  bu  (>•<' 
duced : 


» 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


Wafted  his  prayer  to  that  eternal  Power, 
Whose  seal  \ipon  this  new-born  world  imprest ' 
The  various  forms  of  bright  divinity ! 

Or,  dost  thou  know  what  dreams  I  wove, 
'Mid  the  deep  horror  of  that  silent  bower,'' 
Wtere  the  rapt  Samian  slept  his  holy  slumber  ? 
When,  free 
From  every  earthly  chain, 
From  wreaths  of  pleasure  and  from  bonds  of 
pain, 
His  spirit  flew  through  fields  above. 
Drank  at  the  source  of  nature's  fontal  number,' 
And  saw,  in  mystic  choir,  around  him  move 
The  stars  of  song.  Heaven's  burning  minstrelsy ! 
Such  dreams,  so  heavenly  bright, 
I  swear 
By  the  great  diadem  that  twines  my  hair, 
And  by  the  seven  gems  that  sparkle  there,* 

Mingling  their  beams 
In  a  soft  iris  of  harmonious  light, 

O,  mortal  !  such  shall  be  thy  radiant  dreams. 


I  POUOT)  her  not  —  the  chamber  seem'd 
Like  some  divinely-haunted  place, 

Where  fairy  forms  had  lately  beam'd. 
And  left  behind  their  odorous  trace  ! 


Ofiroj  riev  xoXxeiov  «j  ovpavoi  tarnpiKrai 
Xpvaeio)  evi  ^povw,  k.  t.  X.  Sd  Ortsc  Cohortat. 

It  is  thought  by  some,  that  these  are  to  De  reckoned 
amongst  the  fabrications,  which  were  frequent  in  the  early 
times  of  Christianity.  StiJI,  it  appears  doubtful  to  whom 
tliey  are  to  be  attributed,  being  too  pious  for  the  Pagans,  and 
too  poetical  for  the  Fathers. 

1  In  one  of  the  Hymns  of  Orpheus,  he  attriDutes  a  figured 
seal  to  AiK)lIo,  with  which  he  imagines  tliat  deity  to  have 
nami)ed  a  variety  of  forms  upon  the  universe. 

a  Alluding  to  the  cave  near  Samos,  where  Pythagoras  de- 
voted the  greater  part  of  his  days  and  nights  to  meditation 
and  the  mysteries  of  his  philosophy.  lamblich.  de  ViL  This, 
•s  Holstein  remarks,  was  in  imitation  of  the  Magi. 

s  The  tetractys,  or  sacred  number  of  the  Pythagoreans,  on 
irbjch  they  soljmnly  swore,  and  which  they  called  irayav 
uvaov  ft)<T£ws,  "the  fountain  of  perennial  nature."  Lucian 
fcss  riaiculed  this  religious  arithmetic  very  cleverly  in  his 
Siile  of  Pbilosophers. 

'  This  madem  is  intended  to  represent  the  analogy  be- 
Mreen  the  notes  ot  music  and  the  prismatic  colors.  We  find 
o  Plutarch  a  vague  intimation  of  tliis  kindred  harmony  in 
mlors  and  sounds.  —  Oip'S  re  xai  okoij,  fiera  (puivris  re  xai 
fojTOs  rrjK  hpjioviav  em<paii/ov<Ti. —  DeMitsica. 

Cassiodorus,  whose  idea  I  may  be  supposed  to  have  bor- 
rowed, says,  in  a  letter  upon  music  to  Boetius,  "  Ut  diadema 
•culis,  varia  luce  gemmarum,  sic  cythara  diversitate  soni, 
Wanditurauditui."  This  is  indeed  tlie  only  tolerable  thought 

the  lette»  —Lib.  ii.  Variar. 


It  felt,  as  if  her  lips  had  shed 
A  sigh  around  her,  ere  she  fled. 
Which  hung,  as  on  a  melting  lute. 
When  all  the  silver  chords  are  mute, 
There  lingers  stiU  a  trembling  breath 
After  the  note's  luxurious  death, 
A  shade  of  song,  a  spirit  air 
Of  melodies  which  had  been  there. 

I  saw  the  veU,  which,  all  the  day. 

Had  floated  o'er  her  cheek  of  rose ; 
I  saw  the  couch,  where  late  she  lay 

In  languor  of  divine  repose  ; 
And  I  could  trace  the  haUow'd  print 

Her  limbs  had  left,  as  pure  and  warm. 
As  if  'twere  done  in  rapture's  mind. 

And  Love  himself  had  stamp' d  the  form 

O  my  sweet  mistress,  where  wert  thou  ? 

In  pity  fly  not  thus  from  me  ; 
Thou  art  my  life,  my  essence  now, 

And  my  soul  dies  of  wanting  thee. 


MRS.   HENRY   TIGHE, 

ON    BEADING    HER    "PSYCHE." 

Tell  me  the  witching  tale  again. 

For  never  has  my  heart  or  ear 
Hung  on  so  sweqt,  so  pure  a  strain. 

So  pure  to  feel,  so  sweet  to  hear. 

Say,  Love,  in  all  thy  prime  of  fame. 
When  the  high  heaven  itself  was  thine ; 

When  piety  confess' d  the  flame. 
And  even  thy  errors  were  divine ; 

Did  ever  Muse's  hand,  so  fair, 

A  glory  round  thy  temples  spread  ? 

Did  ever  lip's  ambrosial  air 

Such  fragrance  o'er  thy  altars  shed  i 

One  maid  there  was,  who  round  her  Ivre 
The  mystic  myrtle  wildly  wreath'd;  "- 

But  all  her  sighs  were  sighs  of  fire. 
The  myrtle  wither' d  as  she  breath'd. 

O,  you,  that  love's  celestial  dream. 

In  all  its  purity,  would  know. 
Let  not  the  senses'  ardent  beam 

Too  strongly  through  the  vision  glow. 

Love  safest  lies,  conceal' d  in  night. 

The  night  where  heaven  has  bid  him  lie  i 


JimiNILE  POEMS. 


O,  shed  not  there  unhallow'd  light. 
Or,  Psyche  knows,  the  boy  will  fly.* 

^weet  Psyche,  many  a  charmed  hour, 
'rhrough  many  a  wild  and  magic  waste, 

To  the  fair  fount  and  blissful  bower  * 
Have  I,  in  dieams,  thy  light  foot  trac'd  ! 

Where'er  thy  joys  are  number'd  now, 
Beneath  Avhatever  shades  of  rest, 

The  Genius  of  the  starry  brow  ' 
Hath  bound  thee  to  thy  Cupid's  breast ; 

Whether  above  the  horizon  dim. 
Along  whose  verge  our  spirits  stray,  — 

Half  sunk  beneath  the  shadowy  rim. 
Half  brighteu'd  by  the  upper  ray,  *  — 

Thou  dwellest  in  a  world,  all  light. 
Or,  Ungering  here,  dost  love  to  be. 

To  other  souls,  the  guardian  bright 
That  Love  was,  through  this  gloom,  to  thee ; 

btill  be  the  song  to  Pysche  dear, 
The  song,  whose  gentle  voice  was  given 

To  be,  on  earth,  to  mortal  ear. 
An  echo  of  her  own,  in  heaven. 


FROM  THE  HIGH  PRIEST  OF  APOLLO 

TO   A  VUtOIN    OF   DELPHI.* 
Cum  (ligno  digna 

SULPICIA. 

"  Who  is  the  maid,  with  golden  hair, 
•*  With  eye  of  fire,  and  foot  of  air, 

I  Bee  the  story  in  Apuleiiis.  With  r^pect  to  this  beauti- 
ful allegnry  uf  Love  and  Pxyche,  there  is  an  ingenious  idea 
iuggested  by  tiie  senator  Buonarotti,  in  his  "  Ouservazioni 
iopra  alcuiii  frammenti  di  vasi  antici."  He  thinks  tlie  fable 
Is  token  from  sunie  very  occult  mysteries,  which  had  long 
been  celebrated  in  honor  of  Love  ;  and  accounts,  upon  this 
(uppiMition,  for  the  silence  of  the  more  ancient  authors  upon 
the  Kubject,  as  it  was  net  till  towards  the  decline  of  pagan 
luporMtition.  that  writers  could  venture  to  reveni  or  discuss 
I'ich  ceremonies.  Acccrdingly, observes  this  author,  we  And 
L/Ucian  and  Plut.-irch  treating,  wittiuut  res^erve,  of  the  Dea 
Syria,  as  well  a.4  of  Isis  and  Osiris  ;  and  Apuleius,  to  whom 
we  are  indebted  for  the  beautiful  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche, 
has  also  detailed  sv^ne  of  the  mysteries  of  Isis.  See  the 
Qiornale  di  Litterati  vlMtalia,  tom.  xxvii.  articol.  1.  See  also 
Uie  obser/ations  u[M)n  the  ancient  gems  in  the  Museum  Flo- 
tentinum,  vol.  L  p.  156. 

I  cannot  avoid  rpTiarking  here  an  error  into  which  the 
^Tcnch  En<'yclo|)^<li.stea  have  been  led  by  M.  Spon,  in  their 
vtirle  I'8y.:he.  They  say  "  Potrone  fait  un  ricit  de  la  pompe 
wiptia.    iv  ces  deux  aaiana  (.Vmour  et  Fiiycbe).    D^ji,  dit. 


"  Whose  harp  around  my  altar  swells, 
•'  The  sweetest  of  a  thousand  shells  ? " 
'Twas  thus  the  deity,  who  trcada 
The  arch  of  heaven,  and  proudly  sheda 
Day  &om  his  eyelids  —  thus  he  ppoke. 
As  through  my  cell  his  glories  broke. 

Aphelia  is  the  Delphic  fair,* 
With  eyes  of  fire  and  golden  hair, 
Aphelia's  are  the  airy  feet, 
And  hers  the  harp  divinely  sweet ; 
For  foot  so  light  has  never  trod 
The  laurell'd  caverns  ^  of  the  god. 
Nor  harp  so  soft  hath  ever  given 
A  sigh  to  earth  or  hymn  to  heaven. 

"  Then  tell  the  virgin  to  unfold, 
"  In  looser  pomp,  her  locks  of  gold, 
"  And  bid  those  eyes  more  fondly  shine 
"  To  welcome  down  a  Spouse  Divine ; 
"  Since  He,  who  lights  the  path  of  yearfc 
"  Even  from  the  fount  of  morning's  tears 
"  To  where  his  setting  splendors  bum 
"  Upon  the  western  sea-maid's  urn  - 
•'  Doth  not,  in  all  his  course,  behold 
"  Such  eyes  of  fire,  such  hair  of  gold. 


il,"  &c.  &c  The  Psyche  of  Petrouiuo,  iiuwever,  is  a  w» 
vant  maid,  and  the  marriage  which  ho  describes  is  that  o 
the  young  Pannychis.  See  Spon's  Recherches  curieuse8,&e 
Dissertat.  5. 

*  Allusions  to  Mrs.  Tigbe's  Poems. 
»  Constancy. 

*  By  this  image  the  Platonists  expressed  the  middle  stat* 
of  the  soul  between  sensible  and  intellectual  existence. 

i  This  poem,  as  well  as  a  faw  others  in  the  following  vol- 
ume, formed  part  of  a  work  which  I  had  early  projected,  and 
even  announced  to  the  public,  but  wliicli,  luckily,  perhaps, 
for  myself,  had  been  interrupted  by  my  visit  to  America  in 
the  year  1803. 

Among  those  impostures  in  which  the  priests  of  the  pagaa 
temples  are  known  to  have  indulged,  one  of  *.'^  most  fa»  t 
ite  was  that  of  announcing  to  some  fair  vota  y  of  the  shrir.  s 
that  the  God  himself  had  become  enamoured  of  her  beauty, 
and  would  descend  in  all  his  glory,  to  pay  her  a  v>it  witiiin 
the  recesses  of  the  fane.  An  adventure  of  x!iis  descr'ptiol 
fbnned  an  episode  in  the  classic  romance  which  I  .abt 
sketched  out ;  and  tlie  short  fragment,  given  above,  Ick'^nft 
to  an  epistle  by  which  the  story  was  to  have  b««a  im» 
duced. 

*  In  the  9th  Pythie  of  Pindar,  where  Apmllo,  in  the  sara* 
manner,  requires  of  Chiron  some  information  respectii.g  th« 
fair  Cyreue,  the  Centaur,  in  olwyiug,  very  gravely  aiiologi'MI 
for  telling  the  God  what  his  omniscience  must  know  so  \)tr- 
fectly  already  : 

El  fc  yt  XP1  *<"  "'<'  <To<pov  avTi^epiiai 
Epcay 

'  AAA'  tif  6iu^vb)^n  yvaXa  Brtaofiai  rait. 

.  EuRiriP-   Ion  V  "8 


»4 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


"  TtU  her,  he  comes,  in  blissful  pride, 

•♦  His  lip  yet  sparkling  with  the  tide 

"  That  mantles  in  Olympian  bowls,  — 

•*  The  nectar  of  eternal  souls  ! 

"  For  her,  for  her  he  quits  the  skies, 

'•  And  to  her  kiss  from  nectar  flies. 

■'  0,  he  would  quit  his  star-thron'd  height, 

"  And  leave  the  world  to  pine  for  light, 

"  Might  he  but  pass  the  hours  of  shade, 

•♦Beside  his  peerless  Delphic  maid, 

"  She,  more  than  earthly  woman  blest, 

"He,  more  than  god  on  woman's  breast !  " 

There  is  a  cave  beneath  the  steep,' 
Where  living  rills  of  crystal  weep 
O'er  herbage  of  the  loveliest  hue 
That  ever  spring  begemm'd  with  dew :  . 
There  oft  the  greensward's  glossy  tint 
Is  brighten'd  by  the  recent  print 
Of  many  i  faun  and  naiad's  feet,  — 
Scarce  toucliing  earth,  their  step  so  fleet,  — 
That  there,  by  moonlight's  ray,  had  trod, 
In  light  dance,  o'er  the  verdant  sod. 
"  There,  there,"  the  god,  impassion'd,  said, 
"  Soon  as  the  twilight  tinge  is  fled, 
•*  And  the  dim  orb  of  lunar  souls  * 
"  Along  its  shadowy  pathway  rolls  — 
'•  There  shall  we  meet,  —  and  not  ev'n  He, 
"  The  God  who  reigns  immortally, 
"  Where  Eabel's  turrets  paint  their  pride 
"  Upon  th'  Euphrates'  shining  tide,  *  — 
"  Not  ev'n  when  to  his  midnight  loves 
♦In  mystic  majesty  he  moYcs, 
••  Lighted  by  many  an  odorous  fire, 
"  And  hymn'd  by  all  Chaldea's  choir,  — 
"  E'e    vet,  o'er  mortal  brow,  let  shine 
"  Suc.'x  etfluence  of  Love  Divine, 
♦•  As  shall  to-night,  blest  maid,  o'er  thine." 

Happy  the  maid,  v/hom  heaven  allows 
To  break  for  heaven  her  virgin  vows  ! 


1  Tilt"  Corycian  Cave,  which  Pausanias  mentions.  The 
mbabitants  of  Parnassus  held  it  sacred  to  the  Corycian 
lyinphs.  who  were  children  of  tlie  River  Plistiis. 

*  See  note  1.  p.  102.  It  should  seem  that  lunar  spirits 
fftte  of  a  purer  order  than  spirits  in  general,  as  Pythag- 
jras  was  said  by  his  followers  to  have  descended  from 
Uie  regions  of  the  moon  The  heresiarcfi  Manes,  in  the  same 
aianner,  imagined  that  the  sun  and  moon  are  the  residence 
Bf  Christ,  and  that  the  ascension  was  nothing  more  than  his 
flight  to  those  orbs. 

3  The  temple  of  Jupiter  Bclus,  at  Babylon  ;  in  one  of 
whose  towers  there  was  a  large  chapel  set  apart  for  these 
celestial  assignations.  "  No  man  is  allc  wed  to  sleep  here," 
says  Herodotus  ;  "  but  the  apartment  is  appropriated  to  a  fe- 
«na:3,  r/h"in   if  we  believe  ih«  Chaldean  priests,  the  deity 


Happy  the  maid  !  —  her  robe  of  sham* 
Is  whiten' d  by  a  heavenly  flame, 
Whose  glory,  with  a  lingering  trace, 
Shines  through  and  deifies  her  race '  * 


FRAGMENT. 

Pitt  me,  love  !  I'll  pity  thee, 
If  thou  indeed  has  felt  like  me. 
All,  all  my  bosom's  peace  is  o'er ! 
At  night,  which  was  my  hour  of  ealm. 
When  from  the  page  of  classic  lore. 
From  the  pure  fount  of  ancient  lay 
My  soul  has  drawn  the  placid  balm. 
Which  charm' d  its  every  grief  away, 
Ah  !  there  I  find  that  balm  no  more. 
Those  spells,  which  make  us  oft  forge*' 
The  fleeting  troubles  of  the  day, 
In  deeper  sorrows  only  whet 
The  stings  they  cannot  tear  away. 
When  to  my  pillow  rack'd  I  fly. 
With  wearied  sense  and  wakeful  eye. 
While  mj'  brain  maddens,  where,  O,  wher» 
Is  that  serene  consoling  pray'r. 
Which  once  has  harbinger'd  my  rest. 
When  the  still  soothing  voice  of  Heaven 
Hath  seem'd  to  whisper  in  my  breast, 
"  Sleep  on,  thy  errors  are  forgiven  !  " 
No,  though  I  still  in  semblance  pray. 
My  thoughts  are  wandering  far  away, 
And  even  the  name  of  Deity 
Is  murmur' d  out  in  sighs  for  thee. 


A  NIGHT  THOUGHT. 

How  oft  a  cloud,  with  envious  veil, 

Obscures  yon  bashful  light. 
Which  seems  so  modestly  to  steal 

Along  the  waste  of  night ! 

'Tfe  thus  the  world's  obtrusive  wrongs 

Obscure  with  malice  keen 
Some  timid  heart,  which  only  longs 

To  Uve  and  die  unseen. 

selects  from  the  women  of  the  couutr*,  as  his  favotiM 
Lib.  i.  cap.  181. 

*  Fontenelle,  in  his  playful  rifacimento  of  the  learned  ma 
terials  of  Van-Dale,  has  related  in  his  own  inimitable  man- 
ner an  adventure  of  this  kind  which  was  detected  anJ 
exposed  at  Alexandria.  See  L'Histoire  des  Oracles  dissert 
2,  chap.  vii.  Crebillon,  too,  in  one  of  his  most  amusing  little 
stories,  has  made  the  Genie  Mange-Taupes,  of  the  Isle  Jon- 
quille,  assert  this  privilege  of  spiritual  beings  in  a  maimel 
rather  formidable  to  tlie  husbands  of  the  island. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


THE  KISS. 

UsoT*  to  my  lip,  thou  sacred  kiss, 
On  wliich  my  soul's  beloved  swore 
That  there  should  come  a  time  of  bliss. 
When  she  would  mock  my  hopes  no  more. 
A.iid  fancy  shall  thy  glow  renew, 
la  sighs  at  morn,  and  dreams  at  night, 
A  ud  none  shall  steal  thy  holy  dew 
1  11  thou'rt  absolv'd  by  rapture's  rite. 
Sweet  hours  that  are  to  make  me  blest, 
Fly,  swift  as  breezes,  to  the  goal. 
And  let  my  love,  my  more  than  soul, 
Come  blushing  to  this  ardent  breast. 
Then,  while  in  every  glance  I  drink 
The  rich  o'erflowings  of  her  mind, 
O,  let  her  all  enamour'd  sink 
In  sweet  abandonment  resign' d. 
Blushing  for  all  our  struggles  past, 
*nd  murmuring,  "  I  am  thine  at  last !  " 


SONO. 

Think  on  that  look  whose  melting  ray 
For  one  sweet  moment  mix'd  with  mine, 

And  for  that  moment  scem'd  to  say, 
*•  I  dare  not,  or  I  would  be  thine  1 " 

Think  on  thy  cv'ry  smile  and  glance, 
On  all  thou  hast  to  charm  and  move ; 

And  then  forgive  my  bosom's  trance. 
Nor  tell  me  it  is  sin  to  love. 

O,  7int  to  love  thee  were  the  sin  ; 

i'or  sure,  if  Fate's  decrees  be  done. 
Thou,  thou  art  dcstin'd  still  to  win, 

As  I  am  destin'd  to  be  won  1 


THE  CATALOGUE. 

Comb,  tell  me,"  says  Rosa,  as  kissing  and  kiss'd, 

One  day  she  reclin'd  on  my  breast ; 
'  Come,  tell  me  the  number,  repeat  me  the  list 

"  (if  the  nymphs  you  have  lov'd  and  caress' d." 
0  Rosa  !  'cwas  only  my  fancy  that  roved. 

My  heart  at  the  moment  was  free  ; 
But  I'll  tell  thee,  my  girl,  how  many  I've  Hved, 

And  the  number  shall  finish  with  thee. 

My  tutor  was  Kitty ;  in  infancy  wild 
hhe  taught  me  the  way  to  be  blest ; 

'ho  taught  me  to  love  her,  I  lov'd  like  a  child. 
But  Kitty  could  fancy  the  rest 


This  lesson  of  dear  and  enrapturing  lore 

I  have  never  forgot,  I  allow  : 
I  have  had  it  by  rote  very  often  before, 

Buf  never  6y  heart  until  now. 

Pretty  Martha  was  next,  and  my  soul  ww  &d 
flame. 

But  my  head  was  so  full  of  romance 
That  I  fancied  her  into  some  chivalry  dam«>. 

And  I  was  her  knight  of  the  lance. 
But  Martha  was  not  of  this  fanciful  school. 

And  she  laugh'd  at  her  poor  little  knight ; 
While  I  thought  her  a  goddess,  she  thought  n  « 
a  fool. 

And  I'll  swear  ahe  was  most  in  the  right. 

My  soul  was  now  calm,  till,  by  Clori?'?  locir* 

Again  I  was  tempted  to  rove  ; 
But  Cloris,  I  found,  was  so  learned  in  books 

That  she  gave  me  more  logic  than  love. 
So  I  left  this  young  Sappho,  and  hasten'd  to  fij 

To  those  sweeter  logicians  in  bliss. 
Who  argue  the  point  with  a  soul-telling  eye. 

And  convince  us  at  once  with  a  kiss- 

O,  Susan  was  then  all  the  world  unto  me. 

But  Susan  was  pioiisly  given  ; 
And  the  M'orst  of  it  was,  we  could  never  agree 

On  the  road  that  was  shortest  to  Heaven. 
*'  O,  Susan  !  "  I've  said,  in  the  moments  of  mirth 

"  What's  devotion  to  thee  or  to  me  i 
"  I  devoutly  believe  there's  a  heaven  on  earth. 

"  And  believe  that  that  heaven's  in  tAee  I " 


IMITATION  OF  CATULLUS. 

TO    HIMSELF. 

Miser  Catulle,  desinas  ineptire,  ttc 

Cease  the  sighing  fool  to  play  ; 
Cease  to  trifle  life  awaj' ; 
Nor  vainly  think  those  joys  thine  o^'n, 
^\'^lich  all,  alas,  have  falsely  flown. 
What  hours,  Catullus,  once  were  thine. 
How  fairly  seem'd  thy  day  to  shine. 
When  lightly  thou  didst  fly  to  meet 
The  girl  whose  smile  was  then  so  sweet  ■  • 
^The  girl  thou  lov'dst  with  fonder  pain 
Than  e'er  thy  heart  car  feel  again. 

Ye  met  —  your  souls  seem'd  all  in  one 
Like  tapers  that  commingling  shone  ; 
Thy  heart  was  warm  enough  for  both, 
And  hers,  in  truth,  was  nothing  loaf 


56 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


Such  were  the  hours  that  once  were  thine  ; 
But,  ah  !  those  hours  no  longer  shine. 
For  now  the  nymph  delights  no  more 
In  what  she  lov'd  so  much  before  ; 
And  all  Catullus  now  can  do, 
Is  to  be  proud  and  frigid  too  ; 
Nor  follow  where  the  wanton  flies, 
Nor  sue  the  bliss  that  she  denies. 
False  maid  !  he  bids  farewell  to  thee. 
To  love,  and  all  love's  misery ; 
llie  heyday  of  his  heart  is  o'er, 
Nor  will  he  court  one  favor  more. 

Fly,  perjur'd  girl !  — but  whither  fly  ? 
Who  now  will  praise  thy  cheek  and  eye ) 
Who  now  will  drink  the  siren  tone, 
Which  tells  him  thou  art  all  his  own  ? 
O,  none  :  —  and  he  who  lov'd  before 
Can  never,  never  love  thee  more. 


"  Neither  do  I  condemn  thee ;  go,  and  sin  no  more ! " 

St.  John,  chap.  viH. 

D  WOMAN,  if  through  sinful  wile 
rhy  soul  hath  stray'd  from  honor's  track, 

Tis  mercy  only  can  beguile. 
By  gentle  ways,  the  wanderer  back. 

rhe  stain  that  on  thy  virtue  lies, 

Wash'd  by  those  tears,  not  long  will  stay ; 
A.8  clouds  that  sully  morning  skies 

May  all  be  wept  in  show'rs  away. 

3o,  go,  be  innocent,  —  and  live  ; 

The  tongues  of  men  may  wound  thee  sore  ; 
But  Heav'n  in  pity  can  forgive, 

And  bids  thee  "  go,  and  sin  no  more  ! " 


NONSENSE. 

GooE  reader  !  if  you  e'er  have  seen, 

When  Phoebus  hastens  to  his  pillow. 
The  mermaids,  with  their  tresses  green, 

Dancing  upon  the  western  billow  : 
If  you  have  seen,  at  twilight  dim. 
When  the  lone  spirit's  vesper  hymn 

Floats  wild  along  the  winding  shore, 
ff  you  have  seen,  through  mist  of  eve, 
The  fairy  train  their  ringlets  weave. 
Glancing  along  the  sj  angled  green  :  — 

If  you  have  seen  all  this,  and  more, 
Rod  bless  me,  what  a  deal  you've  seen  ! 


EPIGRAM, 

PBOH  THE   FBENCH. 

"  I  NEVES  give  a  kiss  (says  Prue), 
"  To  naughty  man,  for  I  abhor  it." 

She  will  not  ffive  a  kiss,  'tis  true  ; 

She'll  take  one  though,  and  thank  you  foi  it 


ON  A  SQUINTING  POETESS. 

To  no  one  Muse  does  she  her  glance  confine, 
But  has  an  eye,  at  once,  to  all  the  Nine  ! 


Moria  pur  quando  tuoI,  non  h  bisogna  mutar  ni  faccia  a 
voce  per  esser  un  Angelo.i 

Die  when  you  will,  you  need  not  wear 
At  Heaven's  Court  a  form  more  fair 

Than  Beauty  here  on  earth  has  given  : 
Keep  but  the  lovely  looks  we  see  — 
The  voice  we  hear  —  and  you  will  be 

An  angel  ready  made  for  Heaven  ! 


TO  ROSA. 

A  far  conserra,  e  cumulo  d'amantL         Pan  Kft 

And  are  you  then  a  thing  of  art. 
Seducing  all,  and  loving  none ; 

And  have  I  strove  to  gain  a  heart 

Which  every  coxcomb  thinks  his  own  ? 

Tell  me  at  once  if  this  be  true, 

And  I  will  calm  my  jealous  breast  i 

Will  learn  to  join  the  dangling  crew. 
And  share  your  simpers  with  the  rest. 

But  if  your  heart  be  not  so  free,  — 
O,  if  anothei*  share  that  heart. 

Tell  not  the  hateful  tale  to  mr , 
But  mingle  mercy  with  your  art. 

I'd  rather  think  you  "  false  as  hell," 
Than  find  you  to  be  all  divine,  — 

Than  know  that  heart  could  love  so  well. 
Yet  know  that  heart  would  7iot  be  mine  ' 


1  The  words  addressed  by  Lord  Herbert  of  Cberbui;  Ir 
the  beautiful  Nun  at  Murano.  —  See  his  life. 


jxjvenile  poems. 


n 


-       TO  PHILLIS. 

Phillis,  you  little  rosy  rake, 

That  heart  of  yours  I  long  to  rifle : 

Come,  give  it  me,  and  do  not  make 
^n  much  aio  about  a  trifle  I 


TO  A  LADY, 

ox   HEK  SINOIMa. 

1 BT  song  has  taught  my  heart  to  feel 
Those  sootliing  thoughts  of  heavenly  love. 

Which  o'er  the  sainted  spirits  steal 
When  liat'ning  to  the  spheres  above  ! 

When,  tired  of  life  and  misery, 

I  ^\i3h  to  sigh  my  latest  breath, 
0,  Emma  !  I  will  fly  to  thee. 

And  thou  shalt  slug  me  into  death. 

And  if  along  thy  lip  and  cheek 
That  smile  of  hcav'nly  softness  play, 

Whicli,  —  ah  !  forgive  a  mind  that's  weak,  — 
So  oft  has  stol'n  my  mind  away ; 

rhou'lt  seem  an  angel  of  the  sky. 
That  comes  to  charm  me  into  bliss : 

PI  gaze  and  die — Who  would  not  die. 
If  death  were  half  so  sweet  as  this  ? 


SONG. 

ON  THB   BiaTUDAT   OP  MBS.   » 

WXITTBX  Ur  IBBLAXD.     17W, 

>>*  all  my  happiest  hours  of  joy. 

And  even  I  have  had  my  measure. 
When  hearts  are  full,  and  every  eye 

Hath  kindled  with  the  light  of  pleasure, 
An  hour  like  this  I  ne'er  was  given. 

So  full  of  friendship's  purest  blisses ; 
V'oung  Love  himself  looks  down  from  heaven. 
To  smile  az.  such  a  day  as  this  is. 

Then  come,  my  friends,  this  hour  improve, 

1  et's  feel  as  if  we  ne'er  could  sever ; 
And  may  the  birth  of  her  we  love 
Be  thus  with  joy  rcmember'd  ever  ! 

.),  banish  ev'ry  thought  to-night. 

Which  could  disturb  our  soul's  communion ; 
Vbaudon'd  thus  to  dear  delight, 

W  e'll  ev'n  for  once  forget  the  Union  ! 


On  that  let  statesmen  try  their  powers. 
And  tremble  o'er  the  rights  they'd  die  for ; 

The  union  of  the  soul  be  ours. 
And  ev'ry  imion  else  we  sigh  for. 

Then  come,  my  friends,  &s 

In  ev'ry  eye  around  I  mark 

The  feelings  of  the  heart  o'erflowing ; 
From  every  soul  I  catch  the  spark 

Of  sjTnpathy,  in  friendship  glowinjj. 
O,  could  such  moments  ever  fly ; 

O,  that  we  ne'er  were  doora'd  to  lose  'em ; 
And  all  as  bright  as  Charlotte's  eye, 

And  all  as  pure  as  Charlotte's  bosom. 

Then  come,  my  Mends,  fr(\ 

For  me,  whate'er  my  span  of  years. 

Whatever  sun  may  light  my  roving  » 
Whether  I  waste  my  life  in  tears. 

Or  live,  as  now,  for  mirth  and  loving  , 
This  day  shall  come  with  aspect  kind. 

Wherever  fate  may  cast  your  rover  ; 
He'll  think  of  those  he  left  behind, 

And  drink  a  health  to  bliss  that's  over ! 

Then  come,  my  Meuds.  *« 


SONG.' 

Maky,  I  believ'd  thee  true. 

And  I  was  blest  in  thus  believing  f 

But  know  I  mourn  that  e'er  I  knew 
A  girl  so  fair  and  so  deceiving. 
Fare  thee  well. 

Few  have  ever  lov'd  like  me,  — 

Yes,  I  have  lov'd  thee  too  sincerely  ! 

And  few  have  e'er  deceiv'd  like  thee,  — 
Alas  !  deceiv'd  me  too  severely. 

Fare  thee  well !  — yet  think  a  while 

On  one  whose  bosom  bleeds  to  doubt  thee 

"Who  now  would  rather  trust  that  smile. 
And  die  with  thee  than  live  without  thfie 

Fare  thee  well !  I'U  think  of  thee. 
Thou  leav'st  me  many  a  bitier  token) 

For  see,  distracting  woman,  see. 

My  peace  is  gone,  my  heart  is  broken !  — 
Fare  thee  well ! 

1  71ies«  words  were  written  to  the  p«Uietie  SooUh  9M 
>  GaIU  Water." 


18                                                        ^VENILi 

:   PuEMS. 

"  Pleasure's  the  only  noble  end 

MORALITY. 

"  To  which  all  human  powers  shoidd  tendi 

"  And  Virtue  gi^ves  her  heav'nly  lore. 

A   FAMILIAR   F.PISTLE. 

"But  to  make  Pleasure  please  us  more. 

IDDBESSEO    TO 

"  Wisdom  and  she  were  both  design'd 

J.  AT— NS-N,  ESQ.,  M.  R.  I.  A. 

"  To  make  the  senses  more  refin'd, 

«'  That  man  might  revel,  free  from  cloying 

rHDUGii  long  at  school  and  college  dozing, 

"  Then  most  a  sage  when  most  enjoying ! 

O'er  books  of  verse  and  books  of  prosing. 

And  copying  from  their  moral  pages 

Is  this  morality  t  —  0,  no ! 

Fine  recipes  for  making  snges  , 

E'en  I  a  wiser  path  could  show. 

I'hough  long  with  those  divines  at  school, 

The  flow'r  within  this  vase  confin'd, 

VVLo  think  to  make  us  good  by  rule  ; 

The  pure,  the  unfading  flow'r  of  mind, 

Who  in  methodic  forms  advancing, 

Must  not  throw  all  its  sweets  away 

Teaching  morality  like  dancing, 

Upon  a  mortal  mould  of  clay : 

TeU  u.-.,  for  Heav'n  or  money's  sake, 

No,  no,  —  its  richest  breath  should  rise 

What  steps  wc  are  through  life  to  take  : 

In  virtue's  incense  to  the  skies. 

Though  thus,  my  friend,  so  long  employ' d, 

With  so  much  midnight  oil  destroy'd, 

But  thus  it  is,  all  sects  we  see 

I  must  confess,  my  searches  past, 

Have  watchwords  of  morality : 

I've  only  leam'd  to  doubt  at  last. 

Some  cry  out  Venus,  others  Jove  ; 

I  find  the  doctors  and  the  sages 

Here  'tis  Religion,  there  'tis  Love 

Have  differ' d  in  all  climes  and  ages, 

But  while  they  thus  so  widely  wander, 

And  tAvo  in  fifty  scarce  agree 

While  mystics  dream,  and  doctors  ponder  | 

On  what  is  pure  morality. 

And  some,  in  dialectics  firm. 

'Tis  hko  the  rainbow's  shifting  zone, 

Seek  virtue  in  a  middle  term  ; 

And  every  vision  makes  its  own. 

While  thus  they  strive,  in  Heaven's  defianr^ 

To  chain  morality  with  science ; 

The  doctors  of  the  Porch  advise. 

The  plain  good  man,  whose  actions  teacb 

As  modes  of  being  great  and  wise. 

More  virtue  than  a  sect  can  preach. 

That  we  should  cease  to  own  or  know 

Pursues  his  course,  unsagely  blest. 

The  luxuries  that  from  feeling  flow  :  — 

His  tutor  whisp'ring  in  his  breast ; 

•  Reason  alone  must  claim  direction. 

Nor  could  he  act  a  purer  part. 

*  And  Apathy's  the  soul's  perfection. 

Though  he  had  TuUy  aU  by  heart. 

♦  Like  a  dull  lake  the  heart  must  lie  ; 

And  when  he  drops  the  tear  on  woe. 

«  Nor  passion's  gale  nor  pleasure's  sigh. 

He  little  knows  or  cares  to  know 

'Though  Heav'n  the  breeze,  the  breath,  sup- 

That  Epictetus  blam'd  that  tear, 

phed, 

By  Heav'n  approv'd,  to  virtue  dear  I 

•  iJimt  curl  the  wave  or  swell  the  tide ! " 

0,  when  I've  seen  the  morning  beam 

Such  was  the  rigid  Zeno's  plan 

Floating  within  the  dimpled  stream  ; 

fo  form  his  philosophic  man ; 

While  Nature,  wak'ning  from  the  night, 

Such  were  the  modes  he  taught  mankind 

Has  just  put  on  her  robes  of  light. 

I'o  weed  the  garden  of  the  mind  ; 

Have  I,  with  cold  optician's  gaze. 

fLey  tore  from  thence  some  weeds,  'tis  true, 

Explor'd  the  doctrine  of  those  rays  ? 

But  tU  the  ticw'rs  were  ravag'd  too  1 

No,  pedants,  I  have  left  to  you 

Nicely  to  sep'rate  hue  from  hue. 

Now  listen  to  the  wily  strains 

Go,  give  that  moment  up  to  art. 

Which,  on  Cyrent's  sandy  plains. 

When  Heav'n  and  nature  claim  the  heurt  | 

When  Pleasure,  nymph  with  loosen'd  zone. 

And,  dull  to  all  their  best  attraction. 

tJsurp'd  the  philosopliic  throne,  — 

Go  —  measure  angles  of  refraction. 

Hear  what  the  courtly  sage's  '  tongue 

While  I,  in  feeling's  sweet  romance, 

To  his  surrounding  pupils  sung  :  — 

Look  on  each  daybeam  as  a  glance 

From  the  great  eye  of  Him  above. 

1  AristippuB. 

Wak'ning  his  world  with  looks  of  love  1 

JUVENILE  POEMS.                                                         ftk 

Her  locks  had  with  the  chords  so  wTieath'd, 

THE   TELLr-TALE  LYRE. 

One  knew  not  which  gave  forth  the  sound 

I've  heard,  tlicre  was  in  ancient  days 

Alas,  their  hearts  but  little  thought, 

A  Lyre  of  most  melodious  spell ; 

While  thus  they  talk'd  the  hours  aws"" 

fwA*  heav'n  to  hear  its  fairy  lays. 

That  every  sou«id  the  Lyre  was  taugb* 

If  half  be  true  that  legends  tell. 

Would  linger  long,  and  long  betra' 

Iwaa  play'd  on  by  the  gentlest  sighs. 

So  mingled  with  its  tuneful  sou* 

And  tc  their  breath  it  brcath'd  again 

Were  all  their  tender  murmurs  gcO'itw, 

In  such  entrancing  melodies 

That  other  sighs  unanswer'd  stole, 

As  ear  had  never  drunk  till  then  ! 

Nor  words  it  breath'd  but  theirs  alone. 

N  ot  harmony's  serenest  touch 

Unhappy  nymph  !  thy  name  was  sung 

So  stilly  could  the  notes  prolong  ; 

To  every  breeze  that  wander'd  by ; 

Tney  were  not  heavenly  song  so  much 

The  secrets  of  thy  gentle  tongue 

As  they  were  dreams  of  heav'nly  song  ! 

Were  breath'd  in  song  to  earth  and  sky 

If  sad  the  heart,  whose  murmuring  air 

The  fatal  Lyre,  by  Envy's  hand 

Along  the  chords  in  languor  stole. 

Hung  high  amid  the  whisp'ring  groves. 

Phe  numbers  it  awaken'd  there 

To  every  gale  by  which  'twas  fann'd, 

Were  eloquence  from  pity's  soul. 

Proclaimed  the  mystery  of  your  loves 

Or  if  the  sigh,  serene  and  light, 

Nor  long  thus  rudely  was  thy  name 

Was  but  the  breath  of  fancied  woes, 

To  earth's  derisive  echoes  given  ; 

The  string,  that  felt  its  airy  flight, 

Some  pitying  spirit  downward  came, 

Soon  whispcr'd  it  to  kind  repose. 

And  took  the  Lyre  and  thee  to  heaven. 

And  when  young  lovers  talk'd  alone, 

There,  freed  fit)m  earth's  unholy  wrongs. 

If,  mid  their  bliss  that  Lyre  was  near. 

Both  happy  in  Love's  home  shall  be , 

It  made  their  accents  all  its  own, 

Thou,  uttering  nought  but  seraph  songs. 

Ind  sent  forth  notes  that  heav'n  might  hear. 

And  that  sweet  Lyre  still  echoing  thee  t 

I'here  was  a  nymph,  who  long  had  lov'd. 

But  dar'd  not  tell  the  world  how  well : 

•"he  shades,  where  she  at  evening  rov'd, 

PEACE  AND   GLORY. 

Alone  could  know,  alone  could  tell. 

WRITTKV  OH  TBB  APPKOACn  Or  WJiM. 

Twas  there,  at  twilight  time,  she  stole, 

WuERE  is  now  the  smile,  that  lighten' i 

When  the  first  star  announc'd  the  night,  — 

Every  hero's  couch  of  rest  ? 

iVith  him  who  claim'd  her  inmost  soul. 

Where  is  now  the  hope,  that  brighten'd 

To  wander  by  that  soothing  light. 

Honor's  eye  and  Pity's  breast  ? 

Have  we  lost  the  wreath  we  braide<> 

[t  chanc'd  that,  in  the  fairy  bower 

For  our  weary  warrior  men  f 

Where  blest  they  wooed  each  other's  smile. 

Is  the  faithless  olive  faded  ? 

rhis  Lyre,  of  strange  and  magic  power. 

Must  the  bay  be  pluck'd  again 

Hur  g  whisp'ring  o'er  their  heads  the  while. 

Passing  hour  of  sunny  weather  ! 

And  as,  \^  ith  eyes  commingling  fire. 

Lovely,  in  your  light  a  while, 

They  listeu'd  to  each  other's  vow. 

Peace  and  Glory,  wed  together, 

riie  youth  full  oft  would  make  the  Lyre 

Wander'd  through  our  blessed  isk. 

A  pillow  for  the  maiden's  brow : 

And  the  eyes  of  Peace  would  glisten, 

Dewy  as  a  morning  sun, 

iJid,  while  the  melting  words  she  brcath'd 

When  the  timid  maid  would  ILsten 

Wtre  by  its  echoes  wafted  round, 

To  the  deeds  her  chief  had  done. 

JUVENILE  POEMS. 


.  8  their  hour  of  dalliance  over  ? 

Must  the  maluSn's  trembling  feet- 
"Waft  her  from  her  warlike  lover 

To  the  desert's  stiU  retreat  ? 
Fare  you  well !  with  sighs  we  banish 

Nymph  so  fair  and  guests  so  bright ; 
Yet  the  smUe,  with  which  you  vanish.^ 

Leaves  behiad  a  soothing  light ;  — 

Soothing  lights  that  long  shall  sparkle 

O'er  your  warrior's  sanguin'd  way, 
Through  the  field  where  horrors  darkle, 

Shedding  hope's  consoling  ray. 
Long  the  smile  his  heart  will  cherish. 

To  its  absent  idol  true ; 
While  around  him  myriads  perish, 

Glory  still  will  sigh  for  you  I 


SONG. 

Take  back  the  sigh,  thy  lips  of  art 

Li  passion's  moment  breath'd  to  me ; 
Yet,  no  —  it  must  not,  will  not  part, 
'Tis  now  the  life  breath  of  my  heart, 
And  has  become  too  pure  for  thee. 

Take  back  the  kiss,  that  faithless  sigh 

With  all  the  warmth  of  truth  impress'd  ; 
Yet,  no  — the  fatal  kiss  may  lie. 
Upon  thy  lip  its  sweets  woiild  die, 
Or  bloom  to  make  a  rival  blest. 

Take  back  the  vows  that,  night  and  day. 

My  heart  receiv'd,  I  thought,  from  thine ; 
Yet.  no  —  allow  them  still  to  stay. 
They  might  some  other  heart  betray, 
As  sweetly  as  they've  ruin'd  mine. 


LOVE  AND  REASON. 
Quand  I'bomine  commence  k  raisonner,  il  cesse  de  sentir." 

J.  J.  ROUSSEAU.I 

TwAS  in  the  summer  time  so  sweet, 
"When  hearts  and  flowers  are  both  in  season. 

That  —  who,  of  all  the  world,  should  meet, 
One  early  dawn,  but  Love  and  Keason  ! 

lijive  told  h'.s  dream  of  yesternight, 
While  Reason  talked  about  the  weather ; 

The  morn,  in  sooth,  was  feiii  and  bright, 
And  on  they  took  their  way  together. 

Quoted  somewhere  in  St.  Piene's  Etudes  de  la  Natiue. 


The  boy  in  many  a  gambol  flew, 
"While  Reason,  like  a  Juno,  stalk' d, 

And  from  her  portly  figure  threw 
A  lengthen' d  shadow,  as  she  walk'd. 

No  wonder  Love,  as  on  they  pass'd. 
Should  find  that  sunny  morning  chill. 

For  still  the  shadow  Reason  cast 

Fell  o'er  the  boy,  and  cool'd  Lim  stilL 

Li  vain  he  tried  his  wings  to  warm. 

Or  find  a  pathway  not  so  dim. 
For  still  the  maid's  gigar  cic  form 

Would  stalk  between  the  sun  and  him. 

"  This  must  not  be,"  said  little  Love  — 
"  The  sun  was  made  for  more  than  yo"!," 

So,  turning  through  a  myrtle  grove, 
He  bid  the  portly  nymph  adieu. 

Now  gayly  roves  the  laughing  boy 

O'er  many  a  mead,  by  many  a  stream ; 

In  every  breeze  inhaling  joy, 

And  drinking  bliss  in  every  beam. 

From  all  the  gardens,  all  the  bowers. 
He  cull'd  the  many  sweets  they  shaded, 

And  ate  the  fruits  and  smell' d  the  floweri^ 
Till  taste  wag  gone  and  odor  faded. 

But  now  the  sun,  in  pomp  of  noon, 
Look'd  blazing  o'er  the  sultry  plains  ; 

Alas  !  the  boy  grew  languid  soon, 
And  fever  thrill' d  through  all  his  veins. 

The  dew  forsook  his  baby  brow. 

No  more  with  healthy  bloom  he  smil'd  •• 
O,  where  was  tranquU  Reason  now, 

To  cast  her  shadow  o'er  the  child  ? 

Beneath  &  arc  a  and  aged  palm, 

His  foot  at  length  for  shelter  tuiniug, 

He  saw  the  nymph  reclining  calm. 
With  brow  as  cool  as  his  was  burning. 

"  O,  take  me  to  that  bosom  cold," 
In  murmurs  at  her  feet  he  said ; 

And  Reason  op'd  her  garment's  fold, 
And  flung  it  round  his  fever' d  head. 

He  felt  her  bosom's  icy  touch, 

And  soon  it  lull'd  his  pulse  to  rest ; 

For,  ah !  the  chiU  was  quite  too  much. 
And  Love  expir'd  on  Reason's  breast 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


Nat,  do  not  weep;  my  Fanny  dear  ; 

Wl.ile  in  these  irms  you  lie, 
This  world  hath  not  a  wish,  a  fear, 
That  ought  to  cost  that  eye  a  tear, 

That  heart  one  single  sigh. 

Th»  '» )r.  i  ■  —  ah,  Fanny,  Love  must  shun 
The  paths  where  many  rove ; 

One  bosom  to  recline  upon. 

One  heart  to  be  his  onlj  one, 
Are  quite  enough  for  Love. 

What  can  we  wish,  that  is  not  here 

Between  your  arms  and  mine  ? 
Is  there,  on  earth,  a  space  so  dear 
As  that  within  the  happy  sphere 
Two  loving  arms  intwine  ? 

Por  me,  there's  not  a  lock  of  jet 

Adown  your  temples  curl'd. 
Within  whose  glossy,  tangling  net. 
My  soul  doth  not,  at  once,  forget 

All,  all  this  worthless  world. 

Tis  in  those  eyes,  so  full  of  love, 

My  only  worlds  I  see  ; 
Let  but  tfieir  orbs  in  sunshine  move. 
And  earth  below  and  skies  above 

May  frown  or  smile  for  me. 


ASPASL\. 

'TwAS  in  the  fair  Aspasia's  bower. 
That  Love  and  Learning,  many  an  hoxir. 
In  dalliance  met ;  and  Learning  smil'd 
With  pleasure  on  the  playful  child. 
Who  often  stole,  to  find  a  nest 
Within  the  folds  of  Learning's  vest. 

There,  as  the  listening  statesman  hung 
In  transport  on  Aspasia's  tongue, 
The  destinies  of  Athens  took 
Tlicir  color  from  Aspasia's  look. 
0  happy  time,  when  laws  of  state, 
When  all  that  rul'd  the  country's  fate, 
Its  glory,  nuic;,  or  nlarniB, 
Was  plann'd  between  two  snow-white  arms ! 

Blest  rimes  !  they  could  not  always  last  — 
And  yet,  ev'n  now,  they  are  not  past, 
Hiongh  we  hnve  lost  the  giant  mould, 
,,  ,.  >  ■  L  "  (jr  nicn  were  cast  of  old, 


Woman,  dear  woman,  still  the  same, 
While  beauty  breathes  through  soul  or  fnmei 
While  man  possesses  heart  or  eyes, 
Woman's  bright  empire  never  dies  I 

No,  Fanny,  love,  they  ne'er  shall  sajt 
That  beauty's  charm  hath  pass'd  away ; 
Give  but  the  universe  a  soul 
Attun'd  to  woman's  soft  control. 
And  Fanny  hath  the  charm,  the  skill. 
To  wield  a  universe  at  will. 


THE  GRECIAN  GIRL'S  DREAM  OF  THB 
BLESSED  ISLANDS.' 

TO   HER  LOVER. 

fiXi  Tt  KOKoi 

ITu&ayopTjj,  haaoi  rt  x^P""  (rrripi^ay  tpayroi 
AiroAXcji'  ircpi  TlX(i)Tivov. 

OraeuL  Metric  a  Joan.  Opsop.  eottetta 

Was  it  the  moon,  or  was  it  morning's  ray, 
ITiat  call'd  thee,  dearest,  from  these  arms  away? 
Scarce  had'st  thou  left  me,  when  a  dream  ol 

night 
Came  o'er  my  spirit  so  distinct  and  bright. 
That,  while  I  yet  can  vividly  recall 
Its  witching  wonders,  thou  shalt  hear  them  alL 
Methought  I  saw,  upon  the  lunar  beam, 
Two  winged   boys,  such  as  thy  muse  might 

dream. 
Descending  from  above,  at  that  still  hour. 
And  gliding,  with  smooth  step,  into  my  bower. 
Fair  as  the  beauteous  spirits  that,  all  day, 
In  Amatha's  warm  founts  imprison'd  stay,* 
But  rise  at  midnight,  from  th'  enchanted  rill. 
To  cool  their  plumes  upon    some   moonlight 

hiU. 

t  It  WB!)  imagined  by  some  of  the  ancients  that  there  ia  iio 
ethereal  ocean  above  us,  and  that  the  sun  and  moon  are  twi 
floating,  luminous  islamtH,  in  which  the  spirits  of  tJie  olert 
reside.  Accordingly  we  find  tJiat  the  word  UKeafof  wm 
soinetimes  synonymous  with  arjo,  and  deatli  was  not  lui 
frequently  called  a,Kcai/oio  iropof,  or  "tiie  passage  sf  tM 
ocean." 

*  EunapiiM,  In  bis  life  of  larablichus,  tells  us  ol  two  beaii. 
tiful  little  spirits  or  loves,  which  lamblichus  raised  by  en 
chantment  from  the  wann  springs  at  Gadara ;  "  dicens  astan- 
tibus  (says  the  autlior  of  tlie  IJii  Fatidici,  |>.  160,)  illus  ess* 
loci  Genios  :  "  which  word.-s,  however,  are  nut  in  Eiinapiur 

I  fliid  from  Cellarius,  that  Amatlia,  in  tlio  iiriehliorli  Kid  ol 
Gadara,  was  also  celebrated  for  its  warm  springs,  and  I  hav« 
preferred  it  as  a  more  poetical  name  than  Gadara.  Cellariui 
quotes  Hieronymus.  "  Est  et  alia  villa  in  vicinia  Gadara 
nomine  Amatlia,  ubi  calidc  aquc  eriunnunt."  —  0»»<pvfh 
jSntiq.  lib.  iiL  cap.  13. 


12 


jTrv:?:NiLE  poems. 


At  once  I  knew  their  mission  ;  —  'twas  to  bear 
My  spiriu  upward,  through  the  paths  of  air, 
To  that  elysian  realm,  from  whence  stray  beams 
So  oft,  in  sleep,  had  visited  my  dreams. 
Swift  at  their  touch  dissolv'd  the  ties,  that  clung 
All  earthly  round  me,  and  aloft  I  sprung  ; 
While,  heav'nward  guides,  the  little  genii  flew 
llirough  paths  of  light,  refresh'd  by  heaven's 

own  dew. 
And  faim'd  by  airs  still  fragrant  with  the  breath 
Of  cloudless  jlimes  and  worlds  that  know  not 

death. 

Thou  know'st,  that,  far  beyond  our  nether  sky, 
And  shown  but  dimly  to  man's  erring  eye, 
A  mighty  ocean  of  blue  ether  rolls,' 
Gemm'd  with  bright  islands,  where  the  chosen 

souls, 
Who've  pass'd  in  lore  and  love  their  earthly 

hours. 
Repose  forever  in  unfading  bowers. 
That  very  moon,  whose  solitary  light 
So  often  guides  thee  to  my  bower  at  night. 
Is  no  chill  planet,  but  an  isle  of  love. 
Floating  in  splendor  through  ihose  seas  above, 


1  This  belief  of  an  ocean  In  the  heavens,  or  "  waters  above 
Iho  finr.anirnt,"  was  one  of  the  many  physical  errors  in 
ivhich  the  early  fatliers  bewihiered  themselves.  Le  P.  Bal- 
tus,  in  his  "  Defense  des  Saints  P^res  accuses  de  Plato- 
nisine,"  taking  it  for  granted  that  the  ancients  were  more 
correct  in  llieir  notions  (wliidi  by  no  means  appears  frtim 
what  I  liavc  already  quoted)  adduces  the  obstinacy  of  the 
fathers,  in  this  whimsical  opinion,  as  a  proof  of  tlieir  repug- 
nance to  even  truth  from  the  hands  of  the  philosophers.  This 
V'  a  strange  way  of  defending  the  fatliers,  and  attributes 
audi  more  than  they  deserve  to  the  philosophers.  For  an 
abs'ract  of  this  work  of  Haltus,  (the  opposer  of  Fontenelle, 
Van  Dale,  &c.,  in  the  famous  Oracle  controversy,)  see 
"  nibliotliequc  dos  Auteurs  Eccl^siast.  du  18"  siecle,  part  1, 
lorn,  ii." 

2  There  were  various  opinions  among  the  ancients  with  re- 
s],vi  t  to  their  lunar  establishment ;  some  made  it  an  riysiura, 
ai;  I  I'thers  a  purgatory;  while  some  supposed  it  to  be  a 
kind  of  entiepdt  between  heaven  and  earth,  where  souls 
Wt'.cli  had  left  their  bodies,  and  those  that  were  on  their  way 
\c  join  th  ni,  were  deposited  in  the  valleys  of  Hecate,  and 
«mai  led  ;ill  fu'Iher  orders.  Toij  ncpi  <r:^n'"iv  •<  m'  A'^j't'" 
»«r.iv  JT'jufii  KUt  ut'  (ivrrji  <cara)  x  '>P-t>' l^'S  Trjv  nepiyii'iv 
;  or. an.  —  Stub,   ib  i.  Eclog.  Physic. 

'  Tie  puiiil  ai.d  mistress  of  Epicurus,  who  called  her  his 
•  leat  little  Leontium  "  {Aeivrapiuv),  as  appears  by  a  frag- 
rieiit  of  (iiie  of  hi~  letters  in  Laertiiis.  This  Leontium  was 
I.  woman  of  talent ;  "  >he  had  the  impudence  (says  I'icero) 
10  wiite  .•it'-iirist  Theojilirastus  ; "  and  Cicero,  at  the  same 
Suie  gives  hern  name  which  is  neither  polite  nor  translata- 
ble. "  Meretrictila  eliam  Leontium  contra  Theophrastum 
Kribcre  ansa  est."  —  De  JVatur.  Dear,  f^lie  left  a  daughter 
ciklled  f)anae,  who  was  just  as  rigid  an  epicurean  as  her 
uother ;  something  like  VVieland's  Danae  in  Agathon. 

V,  would  sound  much  better,  1  think,  if  tfie  name  were 


And  peopled  ^yith  bright  forms,  aerial  grown, 
Nor  knowing  aught  of  earth  but  love  alone. 
Thither,  I  thought,  we  wing'd  our  airy  wayr  — 
Mild  o'er  its  valleys  stream'd  a  silvery  day, 
While,  all  around,  on  lily  beds  of  rest, 
Reclin'd  the  spirits  of  the  immortal  Blest.* 
O,  there  I  met  those  few  congenial  maids. 
Whom     Icve     hath    warm'd,     in    philosrphjt 

shades ; 
There  still  Leontium,'  on  her  sage's  breast 
Found  lore  and  love,  was  tutor'd  and  caressed  i 
And  there  the  clasp  of  Pythia's*  gentle  anna 
Repaid  the  zeal  which  deified  her  charms. 
The  Attic  Master,*  in  Aspasia's  eyes, 
Forgot  the  yoke  of  less  endearing  ties  : 
While  fair  Theano,*  innocently  fair, 
Wreath'd  playfully  her  Samian's  flowing  hair,' 
Whose    soul    now    fix'd,    its    transmigrations 

past. 
Found  in  those  arms  a  resting-place,  at  last ; 
And  smiling  own'd,  whate'er  his  dreamy  thought 
In  mystic  numbers  long  had  vainly  sought, 
The  One  that's  form'd  of  Two  whom  love  hatb 

bound, 
Is  the  best  number  gods  or  men  e'er  found. 


Lcontia,  as  it  occurs  the  first  time  in  Laertius  ;  but  M.  Ma- 
nage will  not  hear  of  this  reading. 

*  Pythia  was  a  woman  whom  Aristotle  loved,  and  b'. 
whom  after  her  death  he  paid  divine  honors,  solemnizing 
her  memory  by  the  same  sacrifices  which  the  Athenians  of- 
fered to  the  Goddess  Ceres.  For  this  impious  gallantry  the 
philosopher  was,  of  course,  censured  ;  but  it  would  be  well 
if  certain  of  o\ir  modem  Stagirites  showed  a  little  of  this 
superstition  about  the  memory  of  their  mistresses. 

6  Socrates,  who  used  to  console  himself  in  the  society  of 
Aspasia  for  those  "  less  endearing  ties  "  which  he  found  at 
home  with  Xantippe.  For  an  account  of  this  extraordinary 
creature,  Aspasia,  and  her  schmd  of  erudite  luxury  at  Ath- 
ens, see  L'Histoire  de  I'Academie,  &c.  torn.  xxxi.  p.  69. 
S^gur  rather  fails  on  the  inspiring  subject  of  Aspasia.  — 
"  Les  Femmes,"  vmi.  i.  p.  1'29. 

The  Author  of  the  "  Voyage  du  Monde  de  Descar'es  •■"  has 
also  placed  these  philosophers  in  the  moon,  and  has  allotted 
seigneiiries  to  them,  as  well  as  to  the  asti'nomers  vpart  li. 
p.  143) ;  but  he  ought  not  to  have  forgotten  their  wives  a;ijl 
mistresses;  "  curse  non  ipsa  in  niotle  relinquunt." 

«  There  are  some  sensible  letters  extant  under  the  nim.w  of 
this  fair  Pythagorean.  They  are  -"Idressed  to  her  fem.'i.!o 
friends  upon  the  education  of  children,  the  treatment  )f  ser- 
v!»nts,&c.  One,  in  particular,  to  Nirostrata,  whose  hi.sbard 
had  given  her  reasons  for  jealousy,  contains  such  truly  co;\ 
siderate  and  rational  advice,  that  it  ought  to  be  translated  loi 
the  edification  of  all  married  ladies.  Serf  6;»Jji"s  Opiiscui 
Myth.  Phys.  p.  741. 

'  Pythagoras  was  remarkable  for  fine  hair,  and  D'-£oi 
Thiers  (in  his  Histoire  des  Perriiques)  seems  to  tuk^  fc; 
granted  it  was  all  his  own  ;  as  he  has  not  menlionea  hi:» 
among  these  ancients  who  were  ohligcd  to  have  recourse  H 
the  "  coma  apposititia."     L'Hist.  des  Ferruques,  chap. 


JUVENILE  POEMS 


«l 


Bui  think,  my  Theon,  with  what  joy  I  thrill' d, 
W^hen  near  a  fount,  which  through  the  valley 

riU'd, 
My  fancy's  eye  beheld  a  form  recline, 
l)f  lunar  race,  but  so  resembling  thine 
That.  O.  'twas  but  fidelity  in  me. 
To  fl>,  to  clasp,  to  worship  it  for  thee. 
No  aiil  of  words  the  unbodied  soul  requires, 
Tu  wr.ft  a  wish  or  embassy  desires  ; 
But  by  a  power,  to  spirits  only  given, 
A  deep,  mute  impulse,  only  felt  in  heaven, 
Swifu  r  than  meteor  shaft  through  summer  skies, 
From  soul  to  soul  the  glanc'd  idea  flies. 

O,  my  beloved,  how  divinely  sweet 
Is  '.lie  pure  joy,  when  kindred  spirits  meet ! 
Like  him,  the  river  god,'  whose  waters  flow, 
With  love  their  only  light,  through  caves  below, 
Wal'ting  in  triumph  all  the  flowery  braids, 
And  festal  rings,  with  which  Olympic  maids 
Have  dcck'd  his  current,  as  an  offering  meet 
To  lay  at  Arethusa's  shining  feet. 
Think,   when    he   meets   at  last  his  fountain 

bride, 
W'hat  perfect  love  must  thrill  the  blended  tide ! 
Eacli  lost  in  each,  till,  mingling  into  one, 
Their  lot  the  same  for  shadow  or  for  sun, 
A  type  of  true  love,  to  the  deep  they  run. 
'Twas  thus  — 

But,  Theon,  'tis  an  endless  theme, 
And  thou  grow'st  weary  of  my  half- told  dream. 
O  would,  my  love,  we  were  together  now. 
And  I  would  woo  sweet  patience  to  thy  brow. 
And  make  thee  smile  at  all  the  magic  tales 
Of  starlight  bowers  and  planetary  vales. 
Which  my  fond  soul,  inspir'd  by  thee  and  love. 
In  slumber's  loom  hath  fancifully  wove, 
but  no  ;  no  more  — soon  as  to-morrow's  ray 
O'er  soft  Ilissus  ehall  have  died  away, 
I'll  come,  and,  while  love's  planet  in  the  west 
Rhincs  o'er  our  meeting,  tell  thee  all  the  rest. 


TO   CLOE. 

IlirrATED    FROM-MAJlTIAt,. 

I  Oct  Ln  resign  *;hat  eye  of  blue, 

Ilowe'er  its  splendor  used  to  thrill  me  ; 

1  Thr  River  Al|iheus,  Which  flowed  by  Pina  or  Olympia, 

inil  iiitii  which  il  was  cii'toinary  to  throw  oflferin^  of  difler- 
Int  kitt'l<i,diiriiii!  the  celfliratioii  of  the  Olympic  gninoti.  In 
the  iirrity  rniiiKiire  of  Clili>ph(ii  and  Ijeiiripiie,  the  river  is 
•ipiKi-cf!  ui  r.irr>-  these  otfrriiiirt  t»  bridal  gifts  to  the  foiin- 
*in  .\rethui«%.  Kui  firi  rijr  .KficO^voav  uvtu}  ro>  AX<pci(>v 
^itipuatij^i.  'o7ai>    r>y  i)  Tuf  o)^iiniriiin/iopTii,K.T  A   Lib.!. 


And  ev'n  that  cheek  of  roseate  hue,  — 
To  lose  it,  Clpe,  scarce  would  kill  me. 

That  snowy  neck  I  ne'er  should  miss. 
However  much  I've  rav'd  about  it ; 

And  sweetly  as  that  lip  can  kiss, 
I  think  I  could  exist  without  it. 

In  short,  so  well  I've  learn'd  to  fast, 

That,  sooth  my  love,  I  know  uot  whetbn 

I  might  not  bring  myself  at  last. 
To  —  do  without  you  altogether. 


THE  WKEATH  AND  THE  CHAIN 


I  BRING  thee,  love,  a  golden  chaun, 
I  bring  thee  too  a  flowery  wreath ; 

The  gold  shall  never  wear  a  stain. 

The  flow'rets  long  shall  sweetly  breath* 

Come,  tell  me  which  the  tie  shall  be, 

To  bind  thy  gentle  heart  to  me. 

The  Chain  is  form'd  of  golden  threads. 

Bright  as  Minerva's  yellow  hair, 
When  the  last  beam  of  evening  sheda 

Its  calm  and  sober  lustre  there. 
The  Wreath's  of  brightest  myrtle  wove, 

With  sun-lit  droits  of  bliss  among  it, 
And  many  a  rose  leaf,  cuU'd  by  Love, 

To  heal  his  lip  when  bees  have  stung  it 
Come,  tell  me  which  the  tie  shall  be. 
To  bind  thy  gentle  heart  to  me. 

Yes,  yes,  I  read  that  ready  eye, 

Which  answers  when  the  tongue  is  loath. 
Thou  lik'st  the  form  of  either  tie. 

And  spread'st  thy  playful  hands  for  both. 
Ah  !  —  if  there  wore  not  something  wrong. 

The  world  would  see  them  blended  oft ; 
The  Chain  would  make  the  Wreath  so  stionjr  ! 

The  Wreath  would  make  the  Chain  so  ttofl ! 
Tlien  might  the  go?  1,  the  flow'rets  be 
Sweet  fetters  for  my  love  and  me. 

But,  Fanny,  so  unblcst  they  twine. 

That  (heaven  alone  cati  tell  the  reacc  n  \ 
When  mingled  thus  they  cease  to  shire. 

Or  shine  but  for  a  transient  season. 
Whether  the  Chain  may  press  too  mujh. 

Or  that  the  Wreath  is  slightly  braided. 
Let  but  the  gold  the  flow'rets  touch. 

And  all  their  bloom,  their  glow  is  faded  I 
O,  better  to  be  always  free. 
Than  thus  to  bind  my  love  to  me 


54 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


The  timid  girl  now  hung  her  head. 

And,  as  she  turn'd  an  upward  glance, 
I  saw  a  doubt  its  twilight  spread 

Across  her  brow's  divine  expanse. 
Just  then,  the  garland's  brightest  rose 

Gave  one  of  its  love-breathing  sighs  — 
0,  who  can  ask  liow  Fanny  chose, 

That  ever  look'd  in  Fanny's  eyes  ? 
•'The  Wreath,  my  life,  the  Wreath  shall  be 
•  The  tie  to  bind  my  soul  to  thee." 


And  hast  thou  mark'd  the  pensive  shade, 
That  many  a  time  obscures  my  brow, 

'Midst  all  the  joys,  beloved  maid. 

Which  thou  canst  give,  and  only  thou  ? 

O,  'tis  not  that  I  then  forget 

The  bright  looks  that  before  me  shine ; 
For  never  throbb'd  a  bosom  yet 

Could  feel  their  witchery,  like  mine. 

When  bashful  on  my  bosom  hid, 
And  blushing  to  have  felt  so  blest, 

Thou  dost  but  lift  thy  languid  lid. 
Again  to  close  it  on  my  breast ;  — 

Yes,  —  these  are  minutes  all  thine  own, 
Thine  own  to  give,  and  mine  to  feel ; 

Yet  ev'n  in  them,  my  heart  has  known 
The  sigh  to  rise,  the  tear  to  steal. 

For  I  have  thought  of  former  hours. 

When  he  who  first  thy  soul  possess'd, 
Like  me  awak'd  its  witching  powers. 

Like  me  was  lov'd,  like  me  was  blest. 

Upon  his  name  thy  murmuring  tongue 
Perhaps  hath  all  as  sweetly  dwelt ; 

Upon  his  words  thine  ear  hath  himg, 
With  transport  all  as  purely  felt. 

For  him  —  yet  why  the  past  recall, 
To  damp  and  wither  present  bliss  ? 

Thou'rt  now  my  own,  heart,  spirit,  all. 
And  heaven  could  grant  no  more  than  this  ! 

•forgive  me,  dearest,  O,  forgive ; 

I  would  be  first,  be  sole  to  thee. 
Thou  shouldst  have  but  begun  to  live, 

The  hoiir  that  save  thv  heart  to  me. 


Thy  book  of  life  till  then  efrac'a. 

Love  should  have  kept  thai  i«6f  alotie 

On  which  he  first  so  bngfitly  crac'd 
That  thou  wert,  so-ii  *ncl  all,  my  o-wn. 


TO '>!«  PICTURE. 

Go  then,  if  she,  who*«-  shade  thou  art. 
No  more  will  let  thee  soothe  my  pain ; 

Yet,  tell  her,  it  has  cost  this  heart 
Some  pangs,  to  give  thee  back  again. 

Tell  her,  the  smile  was  not  so  dear, 

With  which  she  made  thy  sembl<*nce  min^ 

As  bitter  is  the  burning  tear. 
With  which  I  now  the  gift  resign. 

Yet  go  —  and  could  she  still  restore, 
As  some  exchange  for  taking  thee, 

The  tranquil  look  which  first  I  wore. 
When  her  eyes  found  me  calm  and  free  | 

Could  she  give  back  the  careless  flow. 
The  spirit  that  my  heart  then  knew  — 

Yet,  no,  'tis  vain  —  go,  picture,  go  — 
Smile  at  me  once,  and  then  —  adieu ! 


FRAGMENT  OF  A  MYTHOLOQICAX 
HYMN  TO  LOVE.» 

Blest  infant  of  eternity  ! 
Before  the  daystar  learn'd  to  move, 
In  pomp  of  fire,  along  his  grand  career, 

Glancing  the  beamy  shafts  of  light 
From  his  rich  quiver  to  the  farthest  sphere, 
Thou  wert  alone,  O  Love ! 
Nestling  beneath  the  wings  of  ancient  Nignii 
Whose  horrors  seem'd  to  smile  in  shadowing 
thee. 

No  form  of  beauty  sooth'd  thine  eye. 

As  through  the  dim  expanse  it  wanfler'd  wido ; 

No  kindred  spirit  caught  thy  sigh. 

As  o'er  the  -watery  waste  it  Ungering  died. 

1  Love  and  Psyche  are  here  considered  as  the  active  and 
passive  principles  of  creation,  and  the  universe  is  supposed 
to  have  received  its  first  harmonizing  impulse  from  the  nup- 
tial sympathy  between  these  two  powers.  A  marriage  it 
generally  the  first  step  in  cosmogony.  Timaeus  held  Form 
to  be  the  father,  and  Matter  the  mother  of  the  World ;  Elion 
and  Berouth,  I  think,  are  Sanchoniatho's  first  spiritual  lov- 
ers, and  Manco-capac  and  his  wife  introduced  creation 
amongst  the  Peruvians.  In  short,  Harlequin  seems  to  hav» 
studied  cosmogonies,  when  he  said  "  f  itto  il  mondo  i  (atu 
come  la  nostra  famiglia. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


Unfelt  the  pulse,  unkncwn  the  power, 
That  latent  in  his  heart  was  sleeping,  — 

O  Sympathy  !  that  lonely  hour 
Saw  Love  himself  thy  absence  weeping. 

Bat  look,   what  glory  through  the  darkness 

beams  ! 
Celestial  airs  along  the  water  glide  !  — 
Whit  Spirit  art  thou,  moving  o'er  the  tide  . 
So  beautiful  ?    O,  not  of  earth. 
But,  in  that  glowing  hour,  tlie  birth 
Of  the  young  Godhead's  own  creative  dreams. 

'Tis  she  ! 
Psyche,  the  first-bom  spirit  of  the  air. 
To  thee,  O  Love,  she  turns. 
On  thee  her  eyebeam  bums  : 
Blest  hour,  before  all  worlds  ordain'd  to  be ! 

They  meet  — 
The  blooming  god  —  the  spirit  fair 

Meet  in  communion  sweet. 
Now,  Sympathy,  the  hour  is  thine ; 
All  nature  feels  the  thrill  divine, 
ITie  veil  of  Chaos  is  withdrawn, 
Ai  a  their  fiist  kisn  is  great  Creation's  dawn  ! 


TO  HIS  8BKENB  HIOHXE88 

THE  DUKE  OF  MONTPENSIER, 

t*V  HU  POBTRATT  OP  THE  LADT  ADELAIOB  FORBES 
DonmgUm  Park,  1802. 

To  catch  the  thought,  by  painting's  spell, 
Howe' or  remote,  howe'er  refin'd. 

And  o'er  the  kindling  canvas  tell 
The  silent  story  of  the  mind  ; 

O'er  nature's  form  to  glance  the  eye, 
And  fix,  by  mimic  light  and  shade, 

Iler  morning  tinges,  ere  they  fly, 
Iler  evening  blushes,  ere  they  fade ;  — 

Yes,  these  are  Painting's  proudest  powers; 

The  gift,  by  which  her  art  divine 
Above  all  others  proudly  towers,  — 

And  these,  O  Prince  !  are  richly  thine. 

And  yet,  when  Friendship  sees  thee  trace. 
In  almost  living  truth  exoress'd. 

This  bright  memorial  of  a  face 
On  which  her  eye  delights  to  rest ; 

While  o'er  the  lovely  look  serene. 
The  smile  of  peace,  the  bloom  of  youth, 
» 


The  cheek,  that  blushes  to  be  seen. 
The  eye  that  tells  the  bosom's  truth  ; 

While  o'er  each  line,  so  brightly  true, 
Our  eyes  with  lingering  pleasure  rove. 

Blessing  the  touch  whose  various  hue 
Thus  brings  to  mind  the  form  we  lore , 

We  feel  the  magic  of  thy  art. 
And  own  it  with  a  zest,  a  zeal, 

A  pleasure,  nearer  to  the  heart 
Than  critic  taste  can  ever  fceU 


THE  FALL  OF  HEBE. 

A   DrTHTBAHBIC   ODE.* 

TwAS  on  a  day 
When  the  immortals  at  their  banquet.  !*▼  . 
The  bowl 
Sparkled  with  starry  dew, 
The  weeping  of  those  myriad  urns  of  light. 

1  Though  I  have  styled  thii  poem  a  Dithyrambic  Ode,  I 
cannot  presume  to  eay  that  it  possesses,  in  any  degree,  the 
characteristics  of  that  species  of  poetry..  The  nature  of  the 
ancient  Ditliyrair.bic  is  very  imperfectly  known.  According 
to  M.  Burette,  a  licentious  irregularity  of  metre,  an  extrav* 
gant  research  of  thought  and  expression,  and  a  rude  enilwi 
rassed  construction,  are  among  its  most  distingiiiiihing  fe« 
turos ;  and  in  all  tliese  respects,  I  have  but  too  closely,  I  I'eai 
fjllowed  my  models.  Burette  adds,  "  Ces  caractircs  dei 
dit>'rambes  se  font  sentir  4  ceux  qui  lisent  attentivetiicnt  Ins 
odes  de  Pindare."  —  Jlf^moirw  de  VAcad.  vol.  x.  p.  306.  The 
same  opinion  may  be  collected  from  Schmidt's  dissertation 
Hi)on  the  subject.  I  think,  however,  if  the  Dithyrambic*  of 
Pindar  were  in  our  possession,  we  should  find  that,  however 
wild  and  fanciful,  they  were  by  no  means  the  tanteless  Jargon 
they  are  represented,  and  that  even  their  irrepiliirity  was 
what  Boileau  calls  "  un  beau  d^sordre."  Chiabrcra,  who 
has  been  styled  the  Pindar  of  Italy,  and  from  whom  all  its 
poetry  upon  the  Greek  model  was  called  Chiahrere^ico  {a» 
Cre.^imbeni  informs  us,  lib.  i.  cap.  12),  has  given,  nmoni^ 
his  Vendcmmie,  a  Dithyrambic, "  all'  uso  de'  Greci ; "  full  ol 
those  compound  epithets,  which,  we  are  told,  were  t  chi»« 
characteristic  of  the  style  {avvQcrovi  it  Atjci;  rroiotr 
Suid.  ^idxipajiSoiti.)  ;  such  aa 

Briglindorato  Pegam 

Nubicalpe^tator. 
But  I  cannot  nippose  that  Pindar,  even  amidst  all  the  lic«nec 
of  dithyrambics,  would  ever  have  descended  to  bsil.td  Ui 
gtiage  like  the  following : 

Bella  Filh,  e  Mia  Clori, 

Non  pii^  dar  preglo  a  tiie  bellezze  e  taci, 

Che  se  Bacco  fa  vez7.i  alle  mie  labbra 

Fo  le  tlci.e  a'  vostri  baci 

— — — ^-^  esser  vorrei  CoppiM. 

E  se  troppo  desiro 

Deh  fiMBi  io  Botiigller. 

Binu  dtl  CBiABaBB  i,  pan  m.  p.  MV 


M 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


Within  whose  orbs,  the  almighty  Power, 
At  nature's  dawning  hour, 
Btor'd  the  rich  fluid  of  ethereal  soul.' 

Around, 
Soft  odorous  clouds,  that  upward  wing  their  flight 

From  eastern  isles 
CWhere  they  have  bath'd  them  in  the  orient  ray. 
And  with  rich  fragrance  all  their  bosoms  fill'd,) 
In  circles  flew,  and,  melting  as  they  flew, 
A  liquid  daybreak  o'er  the  board  distill' d. 

AU,  all  was  luxury  ! 
Al'  must  be  luxury,  where  Lyaeus  smUes. 
His  locks  divine 
Were  crown' d 
With  a  bright  meteor  braid, 
Which,  like  an  ever-springing  wreath  of  vine. 

Shot  into  brilliant  leafy  shapes. 
And  o'er  his  brow  in  lambent  tendrils  play'd  : 
While  'mid  the  foliage  hung, 
Like  lucid  grapes, 
A  thousand  clustering  buds  of  light, 
CuU'd  from  the  gardens  of  the  galaxy. 

Upon  his  bosom  Cytherea's  head 

Lay  lovely,  as  when  first  the  Sirens  sung 

Her  beauty's  davni, 
And  all  the  curtains  of  the  deep,  undrawn, 
Keveal'd  her  sleeping  in  its  azure  bed. 
The  captive  deity 
Hung  lingering  on  her  eyes  and  lip. 
With  looks  of  ecstasy. 

Now,  on  his  arm. 
In  blushes  she  repos'd. 
And,  while  he  gazed  on  each  bright  charm, 
I'o  shade  his  burning  eyes  her  hand  in  dalliance 
stole. 

And  now  she  rais'd  her  rosy  mouth  to  sip 
The  nectar' d  wave 
Lyaeus  gave, 
And  from  her  eyelids,  h  alf  way  clos'd. 
Sent  forth  a  melting  gleam. 
Which  fell,  like  sundew,  in  the  bowl : 
While  her  bright  hair,  in  mazy  flow 
Of  gold  descending 

'  r^li  i  1  Platonic  fancy  The  philosopher  supposes,  in 
bb  Tim«us,th8t,  when  the  Deity  had  formed  the  soul  of  the 
worid,  he  proceeded  to  the  composition  of  other  souls,  in 
which  process,  says  Plato,  he  made  use  of  the  same  cup, 
though  the  ingredients  he  mingled  were  not  quite  so  pure  as 
fi)r  the  former ;  and  having  refined  the  mixture  with  a  little 
f  his  own  essence,  he  distributed  it  among  the  stars,  which 
kerred  as  reservoirs  of  the  fluid.  —  Tatir'  etrrc  xat  TraXtv  siri 
Tov  irpuTepc  xparripa  tv  a»  rrit  -ov  u  vto(  4">X1''  "cpavvvs 


Adown  her   AfV's  luxurious  glow. 

Hung  o'er  tlie  goblet's  side. 
And  was  reflected  ii\  its  crystal  tide. 
Like  a  bright  crc>cus  flower. 
Whose  sunny  leaver ,  at  evening  hour 
With  roses  of  Cyt»»i*e  blending,' 
Hang  o'er  the  mirvor  oi  some  silvery  stream 

Tlie  Olympian  cup 
Shone  in  the  hand* 
Of  dimpled  Hebe,  as  Siie  wiug'd  her  teet 
Up 
The  empyreal  moant. 
To  drain  the  soul  drops  at  IhoL*  stellar  foimt ; ' 
And  still 
As  the  resplendent  rill 
Guki^ed  forth  into  the    cup  with  mantling 
heat, 
Her  watchful  care 
Was  still  to  cool  its  liquid  fire 
•^'i**!  snow-white  sprinklings  of  that  feath- 
ery air 
The  <^ildren  of  the  Pole  respire, 
In  *h«s«  enchanted  lands,' 
Where  hfe  ii  all  a  spruig,  and  north  winds  neve* 
blow 

Pi>^  O, 

Bri^h)-  Rebe,  what  a  tear. 
And  w)>?«;  o.  blush  were  thine, 
When,  as  th^  breath  of  every  Grace 
Wafted  thy  feet  aJOAg  the  studded  sphere, 
With    a   bright    cup    for    Jove    himself  t» 
drink, 

1  We  learn  from  "'>  y  i^'astus,  that  the  roses  of  Cyren' 
were  particularly  fragrant  —  HvoiriiaTa  ra  Ss  ra  ev  Kvprivi 
ItoSa. 

'  Heraclitus  (Physicut)  «'f  the  soul  to  be  a  spark  of  th» 
stellar  essence  —  "Scintilla  t'tttlaris  essentite." — Macso 
Bius,  in  Somn.  Scip.  lib.  i.  clap.  1\ 

*  The  country  of  the  Hy|jtrloi  ^ans.  These  people  weiv 
supposed  to  be  placed  so  far  nortu  ilat  the  north  wind  coule 
not  affect  them  ;  they  lived  longOk  Vm  n  any  other  mortals 
passed  their  whole  time  in  music  a;\t  dancing,  &.c  &c.  Bw 
the  most  extravagant  Action  related. -I  tht,m  is  that  to  whicl 
the  two  lines  preceding  allude.  It  v*s  imagined  tha  .  ir 
stead  of  our  vulgar  atmosphere,  the  R/i  ^iboreans  breaihod 
nothing  but  featliers  !  According  to  H^'rv  dotus  and  Pliny, 
this  idea  was  suggested  by  the  quantity  v  f  .■new  which  was 
observed  to  fall  in  those  regions;  thus  tlii^rr«er:  Ti  i>i 
TZTtpa  iiKal^ovras  Tr\v  xmva  Tuvi  2ku9(Ij  n  "ct  ( lovi  ircpioi- 
Kuvi  ioKtti)  "Ktytiv. —  Herodot.  lib.  iv.  ca^^.  ."l  Ovid  teUx 
the  fable  otherwise :  see  Metamorph.  lib.  xv- 

Mr.  O'Halloran,  and  some  other  Irish  Anf^i  ")ri"»s,  hav« 
been  at  great  expense  of  learning  to  prove  thav.  the  tafang* 
country,  where  they  took  snow  for  feathers,  was  dt  •'  »fld 
and  that  the  famous  Abaris  was  an  Irish  Druid.  Mt,  Eow. 
land,  however,  will  have  it  that  Abaris  was  a  Welshri<i» 
and  that  his  name  is  only  a  corruption  if  Ap  Rees  1 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


8) 


Some  star,  that  shone  beneath  thy  tread, 

Raising  its  amorous  head. 
To  kiss  those  matchless  feet, 

Chock'd  thy  career  too  fleet ; 
And  all  heaven's  host  of  eyes 
iintranc'd,  but  fearful  all, 
IftW  thee,  sweet  Hebe,  prostrate  fiall 

Upon  the  bright  floor  of  the  azure  sk  es ; ' 
Where,  'mid  its  stars,  tliy  beauty  lay, 
As  blossom,  shaken  from  the  spray 
Of  a  spring  thorn 
Lies  'mid  th'^  Uquid  sparkles  of  the  mom. 
Or,  as  in  temples  of  the  Paphian  shade. 
The  worshippers  of  Beauty's  queen  behold 
An  image  of  their  rosy  idol,  laid 
Upon  a  diamond  shrine. 

The  wanton  wind. 
Which  had  pursued  the  flying  fair. 
And  sported  'mid  the  tresses  unconflned 
Of  her  bright  hair, 
/ow,  as  she  fell,  —  O  wanton  breeze  ! 
Riiiflcd  the  robe,  whose  graceful  flow 
Hung  o'er  those  limbs  of  unsunn'd  snow, 
Purely  as  the  Elcusinian  veil 
Hangs  o'er  the  Mysteries  !  ■ 

The  brow  of  Juno  flush'd  — 
Love  bless'd  the  breeze  ! 
The  Muses  blush'd; 
And  every  cheek  was  hid  behind  a  lyre. 
While  every  eye  looked  laughing  through  the 
strings. 

But  the  bright  cup  ?  the  nectar'd  draught 
Which  Jove  himself  was  to  have  quafTd  ? 
Alas,  alas,  uptum'd  it  lay 
By  the  fall'n  Hebe's  side  ; 


I  It  is  Servius,  I  believe,  who  mentions  this  unlucky  trip 
nrhirh  Hebe  made  in  lier  occupation  of  cupbearer  ;  and 
lldfrinan  tells  it  after  him :  "  Cum  Hebe  pocula  Jovi  admin- 
Krans,  perque  lubricum  minus  caut6  incedena,  cecidisset," 

•  The  arcane  symbols  of  this  ceremony  were  deposited  in 
Ike  ci.sta,  where  tlicy  lay  relif;iou8ly  concealed  from  the  eyes 
9f  the  profane.    They  were  generally  carried  in  the  proces- 

lon  by  an  ass  ;  and  hence  llie  proverb,  which  one  may  so 
Mten  apply  In  the  world,  "  asinus  portat  mysteria."  See  the 
Divine  Lei;ation,  book  ii.  sect  4. 

•  In  'Me  Ueoponica,  lib.  ii.  cap.  17,  there  ia  a  fable  some- 
irhat  like  this  descent  of  the  nectar  to  earth.  Ev  evpaya) 
ruK  dfuv  i«c<>xo*>«>'(<»',  «"  ''Of  vCKxapoi  iroAAov  vapaxti- 
(lyov,  avaatiprrfaai  x"?'"^  ^o»  Epura  xat  aviatiaai  Tw 
rrtpcj  TOO  tparripiif  rrfv  Patrir,  xat  vtpirpcxpai  ptv  avroir 
r»  it  vfKTop  tif  TTiv  yrir  K.x"'^"',  «•  ''•  ^.  Vid.  Autor.  de 
(e  Rust,  ediu  C.intab.  1704. 

•  The  constellation  Lyra.    The  astroloBers  attribute  great 


While,  in  slow  lingering  drops,  tV  ethereal  tide, 
As  conscious  of  its  own  rich  essence,  ebb'd 
away. 

Who  was  the  Spirit  that  remember' d  Man, 
In  that  blest  hour, 
And,  with  a  wing  of  love, 
Brush'd  off  the  goblet's  scatter'd  tears, 
As,  trembling  near  the  edge  of  heaven  th«j 

ran. 
And  sent  them  floating  to  our  orb  below  i ' 
Essence  of  immortality  I 

The  shower 
Fell  glowing  through  the  spheres ; 
While  all  around  new  tints  of  bliss. 
New  odors  and  new  light, 
Enrich'd  its  radiant  flow. 

Now,  with  a  liquid  kiss, 
It  stole  along  the  thrilling  wire 
Of  Heaven's  luminous  Lyre,* 
Stealing  the  soul  of  music  in  its  flight : 
And  now,  amid  the  breezes  bland, 
That  whisper  from  the  planets  as  they  roll. 
The  bright  libation,  softly  fann'd 
By  all  their  sighs,  meandering  stole. 
They  who,  from  Atlas'  height, 

Beheld  this  rosy  flame 
Descending  through  the  waste  of  night, 
Thought   'twas  some   planet,  whose  empyrea 
frame 
Had  kindled,  as  it  rapidly  revolv'd 
Around  its  fervid  axle,  and  dissolv'd 
Into  a  flood  so  bright  1 

The  youthful  Day, 
Within  his  twilight  bower. 
Lay  sweetly  sleeping 
On  the  flush'd  bosom  of  a  lotos  flower ;  * 


virtues  to  this  sign  in  ascendenti,  which  are  anuSKtiitsrf  w 

Pontano,  in  his  Urania : 

Ecce  novem  cum  pcctine  chordas 

Emodulans,  mulcetqiie  novo  vaga  sidera  cantu. 
Quo  captie  naacentum  aniiuc  Concordia  durunt 
Pectora,  Sec 

*  The  Egyptians  represented  the  dawn  of  day  by  a  younf 
boy  seated  upon  a  lotos.  Eire  AiyvTTTovi  iuoaiton  apxi* 
aiiaroXris  Traijioc  vtayvov  ypaifiavTai  tni  Auru  KaOc^D/Kvov, 
—  Plutarch,  itcpi  Tuv  /tn  xpav  cuptrp.  See  also  hia  Treatis* 
de  Isid.  et  Osir.  Observing  tliat  the  lotos  showed  lu  bead 
above  watei  at  sunrise,  and  sank  again  at  his  setting,  tbey 
conceived  the  idea  of  consecrating  this  flower  to  O-jiria,  ol 
the  sun. 

'I'his  symbol  of  a  youth  aittmg  upon  a  lotoa  ia  tw7  ft* 
quent  on  the  Abraxases,  or  Basilidian  stones.  See  Mont 
hucon,  torn.  ii.  planche  158,  and  tlte  "  Aupplenent,"  &« 
tom.  ii.  lib.  vii  chap.  i» 


When  round  him,  in  profusion  weeping, 
Dropp'd  the  celestial  shower. 

Steeping 
The  rosy  clouds,  that  curl'd 
About  his  infant  head, 
J  ike  myrrh  upon  the  locks  of  Cupid  shed. 

But,  when  the  waking  boy 
Wav'd  his  exhaling  tresses  through  the  sky, 
O  mom  of  joy  !  — 
The  tide  divine, 
All  glorious  with  the  vermil  dye 
It  drank  beneath  his  orient  eye, 
Distill'd,  in  dews,  upon  the  world, 
iJLnd  every  drop  was  wine,  was  heavenly  wine  ! 

Blest  be  the  sod,  and  blest  the  flower 
On  which  descended  first  that  shower, 
All  fresh  from  Jove's  nectareous  springs ;  — 
O  far  less  sweet  the  flower,  the  sod. 
O'er  which  the  Spirit  of  the  Rainbow  flings 
The  magic  mantle  of  her  solar  God  !  * 


RINGS   AND    SEALS. 

'Uaircp  aippayiitt  fa  (fnXruiara. 

AcHILLEi  Tatiui,  lib.  U. 

«•  Go  !  "  said  the  angry,  weeping  maid, 

«'  The  charm  is  broken  !  —  once  betray' d, 

••  Never  can  this  wrong'd  heart  rely 

"  On  word  or  look,  on  oa*h  or  sigh. 

*'  Take  back  the  gifts,  so  fondly  given, 

"  With  promis'd  faith  and  vows  to  heaven  ; 

'« That  little  ring  which,  night  and  morn, 

*'  With  wedded  truth  my  hand  hath  worn ; 

••  That  seal  which  oft,  in  moments  blest, 

"Thou  hast  upon  my  lip  impress'd, 

"  And  sworn  its  sacred  spring  should  be 

••A  fountain  seal'd*  for  only  thee  : 

«'  Take,  take  them  back,  the  gift  and  vow, 

»•  All  sullied,  lost  and  hateful  now  ! 

I  took  the  ring  —  the  seal  I  took. 
While,  O,  her  every  tear  and  look 
Were  such  as  angels  look  and  shed, 
When  man  is  by  the  world  misled. 

1  The  ancients  esteemed  those  flowers  and  trees  the 
rweetest  upon  which  the  rainbow  had  appeared  to  rest ;  and 
the  wood  they  chiefly  burned  in  sacrifices,  was  that  which 
0ie  smile  of  Iris  had  consecrated.  Plutarch.  Sympos.  lib. 
V.  cap.  2,  where  (as  Vossius  remarks)  Kaiovai,  instead  of 
toKovnt,  is  unaoubtedly  the  genuine  reading.  See  Vossius, 
br  some  cunous  particularities  of  the  rainbow,  De  Origin,  et 
frt/gnss.  Idololat.  lib.  iii.  cap,  13. 

"  Thci»  are  gardens,  supposed  to  be  those  of  King  Solo- 


Gently  I  whisper'd,  "  Fanny,  dear ! 

"  Not  half  thy  lover's  gifts  are  here: 

•'  Say,  where  are  all  the  kisses  given, 

"  From  morn  to  noon,  from  noon  to  even,  — 

"  Those  signets  of  true  love,  worth  more 

"  Than  Solomon's  own  seal  of  yore,  — 

•'  Where  are  those  gifts,  so  mveet,  so  manj  ' 

"  Come,  dearest,  —  give  back  all,  if  any. 

While  thus  I  whisper'd,  trembling  too, 
Lest  all  the  nymph  had  sworn  was  true, 
I  saw  a  smile  relenting  rise 
'Mid  the  moist  azure  of  her  eyes, 
Like  daylight  o'er  a  sea  of  blue. 
While  yet  in  mid  air  hangs  the  dew. 
She  let  her  cheek  repose  on  mine. 
She  let  my  arms  around  her  twine; 
One  kiss  was  half  allowed,  and  then  — 
The  ring  and  seal  were  hers  again. 


MISS  SUSAN  B— CKF— D.« 

ON    HER   SINGING. 

I  MOUE  than  once  have  heard,  at  night, 
A  song,  like  those  thy  lip  hath  given. 

And  it  was  sung  by  shapes  of  light, 
Who  look'd  and  breath'd,  like  thee,  of  heavaa 

But  this  was  all  a  dream  of  sleep. 

And  I  have  said,  when  morning  shone, 

•'  Why  should  the  night  witch.  Fancy,  keep 
«•  These  wonders  for  herself  alone  ?  "  ' 

I  knew  not  then  that  fate  had  lent 
Such  tones  to  one  of  mortal  birth  ; 

I  knew  not  then  that  Heaven  had  sent 
A  voice,  a  form  like  thine  on  earth. 

And  yet,  in  all  that  flowery  maze 

Through  which  my  p0*h  of  life  has  led. 

When  I  have  heard  the    weetest  lays 
From  lips  of  rosiest  lustre  shed  ; 

When  I  have  felt  the  warbled  word 
From  Beauty's  lip,  in  sweetness  vyir  g 

mon,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Bethlehem.  The  friars  show 
a  fountain,  which,  they  say,  is  the  '  sealed  fountain  '  to  whieu 
the  holy  spouse  in  the  Canticles  is  compared  ;  and  they  pre- 
tend a  tradition,  that  Solomon  shut  up  these  springs  and  put 
his  signet  upon  the  door,  to  keep  them  for  his  own  drinking. 
—  MaundreU's  Travels.  See  also  the  notes  o  Mr  Vnodi 
Translation  of  the  Song  of  Solomon. 
*  The  present  Duchess  of  Hamilton. 


Willi  music's  3wn  melodious  bird. 
When  on  the  rose's  bosom  lying  ; 

Though  form  and  song  ut  once  combin'd 
Their  loveliest  bloom  and  softest  thrill. 

My  heart  hath  sigh'd,  my  ear  hath  pin'd 
For  something  lovelier,  softer  still :  — 

0,  I  have  found  it  all,  at  last. 
In  thee,  thou  sweetest  living  lyre, 

Through  which  the  soul  of  song  e'er  pass'd, 
Or  feeling  breath'd  its  sacred  fire. 

hl\  that  I  e'er,  in  wildest  flight 
Of  fancy's  dreams,  could  hear  or  see 

Of  music's  sigh  or  beauty's  light, 
Is  realiz'd,  at  once,  in  thee  1 


IMPROMPTU, 

ON   LBATINQ   SOME    FRIENDS. 
O  dulces  comitum  valete  ctetus !      Catvllu* 

No,  never  shall  my  soul  forget 
ITn  friends  I  found  so  cordial  hearted ; 

Dear  shall  be  the  day  we  met. 
And  dear  shall  be  the  night  we  parted. 

II  fond  regrets,  however  sweet, 
Must  with  the  lapse  of  time  decay, 

Yet  still,  when  .thus  in  mirth  you  meet, 
Fill  high  to  him  that's  far  away  I 

l^ng  be  the  light  of  memory  found 

Alive  within  your  social  glass  ; 
Let  that  be  still  the  magic  round. 

O'er  which  Oblivion  dares  not  pass. 


A  WARNING. 

TO 


J  rAiB  as  heaven  and  chaste  as  light  I 
Did  nature  mould  thee  all  so  bright, 
rhat  thou  shouldst  e'er  be  brought  to  weep 
O'er  languid  virtue's  fatal  sleep, 
O'er  shame  extinguish'd,  honor  fled. 
Peace  lost,  heart  wither'd,  feeling  dead  ? 

No,  no  !  a  star  was  bom  with  thee, 
^'Tiieh  shcls  eternal  purity, 
rhou  hast,  within  those  sainted  eyes, 
S<!  fair  r.  transcript  d  the  skies. 


In  lines  of  light  such  heavenly  lore, 

That  man  should  read  them  and  adore. 

Yet  have  I  known  a  gentle  maid 

Whose  mind  and  form  were  both  array'd 

In  nature's  purest  light,  like  thine  ; 

Who  wore  that  clear,  celestial  sign. 

Which  seems  to  mark  the  brow  that's  fur 

For  destiny's  peculiar  care  : 

Whose  bosom  too,  like  Dian's  own. 

Was  guarded  by  a  sacred  zone. 

Where  the  bright  gem  of  virtue  shone  ; 

Whose  eyes  had,  in  their  light,  a  charm 

Against  all  wrong,  and  guile,  and  harm. 

Yet,  hapless  maid,  in  one  sad  hour. 

These  spells  have  lost  their  guardian  poww ; 

liie  gem  has  been  bcguil'd  away  ; 

Her  eyes  have  lost  their  chastening  ray ; 

The  modest  pride,  the  guiltless  shame, 

The  smiles  that  from  reflection  came. 

All,  all  have  fled,  and  left  her  mind 

A  faded  monument  behind  ; 

The  ruins  of  a  once  pure  shrine,  ^ 

No  longer  fit  for  guest  divine. 

O,  'twas  a  sight  I  wept  to  see  — 

Heaven  keep  the  lost  one's  fate  from  thee  I 


"Tib  time,  I  feel,  to  leave  thee  now. 
While  yet  my  soul  is  something  free ; 

While  yet  those  dangerous  eyes  allow 
One  minute's  thought  to  stray  &om  tho* 

O,  thou  becom'st  each  moment  dearer ; 

Every  chance  that  brings  me  nigh  the* 
Brings  my  ruin  nearer,  nearer,  — 

I  am  lost,  unless  I  fly  thee. 

Nay,  if  thou  dost  not  scorn  and  hate  jie 
Doom  me  not  thus  so  soon  to  fail  { 

Duties,  fame,  and  hopes  await  me,  — 
But  that  eye  would  blast  them  all  I 

For,  thou  hast  heart  as  false  and  coia 

As  ever  yet  allur'd  or  sway'd. 
And  couldst,  without  a  sigh,  behold 

The  ruin  which  thyself  had  made. 

Yet,  —  could  I  think  that,  truly  fond, 
I'hat  eye  but  once  would  smile  on  me, 

Ev'n  as  thou  art,  how  far  beyond 

Fame,  duty,  wealth,  that  smile  would  be  1 


ft 


JTTVENILE  POEMS. 


O,  but  to  win  it,  night  and  day, 
Inglorious  at  thy  feet  reclin'd, 

I'd  sigh  my  dreams  of  fame  away, 
The  world  for  thee  forgot,  resign' d. 

But  no,  'tis  o'er,  and  —  thus  we  part, 
Never  to  meet  again,  —  no,  never. 

False  woman,  what  a  mind  and  heart 
Thy  treachery  has  undone  forever  I 


WOMAN. 

Away,  away  — '■  you're  all  the  same, 
A  smiling,  fluttering,  jilting  throng ; 

And,  wise  too  late,  I  burn  with  shame, 
To  think  I've  been  your  slave  so  long. 

Blow  to  be  won,  and  quick  to  rove. 
From  folly  kind,  from  cunning  loath, 

Too  cold  for  bliss,  too  weak  for  love, 
Yet  feigning  all  that's  best  in  both ; 

Btill  panting  o'er  a  crowd  to  reign,  — 
More  joy  it  gives  to  woman's  breast 

To  make  ten  frigid  coxcombs  vain, 
Than  one  true,  manly  lover  blest. 

Away,  away  —  your  smile's  a  curse  — 
O,  blot  me  from  the  race  of  men, 

Kind  pitying  Heaven,  by  death  or  worse. 
If  e'er  I  love  such  things  again. 


Hovet  ra  (piXrara, 


EuRiriDES. 


Come,  take  thy  harp  —  'tis  vain  to  muse 
Upon  the  gathering  ills  we  see  ; 

0,  take  thy  harp  and  let  me  lose 
All  thoughts  of  ill  in  hearing  thee. 

Sing  to  me,  love  !  —  though  death  were  near. 
Thy  song  could  make  my  soul  forget  — 

N  »y,  nay,  in  pity,  dry  that  tear, 
All  may  be  well,  be  happy  yet. 

Let  me  but  see  that  snowy  arm 
Onse  more  upon  the  dear  harp  lie, 

And  I  will  ceasa  to  dream  of  harm. 
Will  smile  at  fate,  while  thou  art  nigh. 

Give  me  that  strain  of  mournful  touch, 
We  us'd  to  live  long,  long  ago. 


Before  our  hearts  had  known  as  much. 
As  now,  alas  !  they  bleed  to  know. 

Sweet  notes  !  they  tell  of  former  peace. 
Of  all  that  look'd  so  smiling  then. 

Now  vanish' d,  lost —  O  pray  thee,  cease^ 
I  cannot  bear  those  sounds  again. 

Art  thou,  too,  wretched  ?  yes,  thou  art ; 

I  see  thy  tears  flow  fast  with  mine  — 
Come,  come  to  this  devoted  heart, 

'Tis  breaking,  but  it  still  is  thine ! 


A  VISION  OF  PHILOSOPHY. 

'TwAS  on  the  Red  Sea  coast,  at  morn,  we  met 
The  venerable  man ; '  a  healthy  bloom 
Mingled  its  softness  with  the  vigorous  thought 
That  tower' d  upon  his  brow ;   and,  when  h« 

spoke, 
'Twas  language  sweeten'd  into  song  —  such  holy 

sounds 
As  oft,  they  say,  the  wise  and  virtuous  hear. 
Prelusive  to  the  harmony  of  heaven, 
When  death  is  nigh ;  *  and  still,  as  he  unclos'd 
His  sacred  lips,  an  odor,  all  as  bland 
As  ocean  breezes  gather  from  the  flowers 
That  blossom  in  elysium,'  breath' d  around. 
With  silent  awe  we  listen'd,  while  he  told 
Of  the  dark  veil  which  many  an  age  had  hung 
O'er  Nature's  form,  till  long  explored  by  man. 
The  mystic  shroud  grew  thin  and  luminous. 
And   glimpses   of   that    heavenly  form  shone 

through :  — 


1  In  Plutarch's  Essay  on  the  Decline  of  the  Oracles,  Cle- 
ombrntus,  one  of  the  interlocutors,  describes  an  extraordinary 
■lan  whom  he  had  met  with,  after  long  research,  upor  th« 
banks  of  the  Red  Sea.  Once  in  every  year  this  supernati  ra 
personage  appeared  to  mortals,  and  conversed  with  tliem , 
the  rest  of  his  time  he  passed  among  the  Genii  and  th« 
Nymphs.  Xlcpi  rriv  spvOpav  ^a^aaaav  cii^ii,  avdpcxi  olj 
ava  rav  eroi  dira^  evTVyx"^''OVTa,  ruAXa  6c  cvf  rai;  nifj- 
0aif,  voixaci  Kai  &ai\ioai,oii  ecpaaKC.  He  spoke  in  a  tone 
not  far  removed  from  singing,  and  whenever  he  opened  hit 
lips,  a  fragrance  filled  the  place  :  cpOcyyoiievuv  it  rov  rc-rot 
ev(o6ia  Karetxiy  tov  uToparni  {jitaTov  airuTritoiroj.  F?.3II 
him  Cleombrotus  learned  the  doctrine  of  a  plurality  c( 
worlds. 

a  The  celebrated  Janus  Dousa,  a  little  bufore  his  deatli, 
imagined  that  he  heard  a  strain  of  music  in  the  air     See  th<i 
poem  of  Heinsius  "  In  harmoniam  quam  f  ailc  ante  "bitum 
audire  sibi  visus  est  Dousa."    Page  501. 
1  ep6a  fiaKapijJv 

vaaov  (OKeavtSti 

avpai  nepiirveovaiv  a»- 

Oe/ta  6t  ^vaov  (fiXeyet 

FiHDAH.  Ctyny.  ii 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


Df  magic  wonders,  that  were  l(.nown  and  taught 
By  him  (or  Cham  or  Zoroaster  named) 
Who  mut'd  amid  the  mighty  cataclysm. 
O'er  hla  rude  tablets  of  primeval  lore ; ' 
And  g»ithering  round  him,  in  the  sacred  ark, 
1  he  mighty  secrets  of  that  former  globe, 
Let  not  the  living  star  of  science  '  sink 
B^ceaf:  the  waters,  which  ingulph'd  a  world  1 


Cnan.  (be  aon  of  Noah,  U  supposed  to  have  taken  with 
s,^  inl'.  the  ark  the  principal  doctrines  of  magical,  ur  rather 
•f  natural,  science,  which  he  had  inscribed  upon  some  very 
duralile  substances,  in  order  tliat  they  might  resist  the  rav- 
ages of  the  deluge,  and  transmit  tlie  secrets  of  antediluvian 
knowledge  to  his  posterity.  See  the  extracts  made  by  Bayle, 
tn  his  article,  Ciiam.  The  identity  of  Cham  and  Zoroaster 
de|>cnds  u()on  tlie  authority  of  Beroeus  (or  rather  the  iropos- 
X'  I  Anntus),  and  a  few  more  such  respectable  testimonies. 
<^ti  Naudi's  Apologie  pour  les  Grands  Hommes,  ice,  chap, 
viii.,  where  he  takes  more  trouble  than  U  necessaiy  in  re- 
luting  this  gratuitous  supposition. 

*  I'hamuni  k  (losteris  hujus  artis  admiratoribus  Zoroas- 
mim,  seu  vivum  astrum,  propterea  fuisse  dictum  et  pro  Deo 
babitum.  —  BocharU  Qeograph.  Sacr.  lib.  iv.  cap.  1. 

*  Orpheus.  —  Paulinus,  in  his  Hebdomades,  cap.  2,  lib.  iii. 
baa  endeavored  to  show,  aAer  the  Platonists,  that  man  is  a 
diapa^ion,  or  octave,  made  up  of  a  diatesseron,  which  is  his 
aoul.  and  a  diapente,  which  is  his  body.  Those  frequent 
allusions  to  music,  by  which  the  ancient  philosophers  illus- 
trated tiieir  sublime  theories,  must  have  tendelf  very  much 
to  elevate  the  character  of  tlie  art,  and  to  enrich  it  witii  as- 
sociations of  tlie  grandest  and  most  interesting  nature.  See 
B  preceding  note,  for  tlieir  ideas  ujwn  the  harmony  of  tlie 
■pheres.  Heraclitus  compared  the  mixture  of  good  and  evil 
In  this  world,  to  the  blended  varieties  of  hannony  in  a  mu- 
■ical  instrument  (Plutarcli.  de  Aiiiino:  Procreat.) ;  and  Eu- 
tyiihamus,  the  Pythagorean,  in  a  fragment  preserved  by 
Stobcus,  describes  human  life,  in  its  perfection,  as  a  sweet 
and  well-tuned  lyre.  Some  of  the  ancients  were  so  fanciful 
as  to  suppose  that  the  operations  of  the  memory  were  regu- 
lated by  a  kind  of  musical  cadence,  and  that  ideas  occurred 
to  it  "  per  arsin  et  the^in,"  while  others  converted  the  whole 
nan  ii'o  a  mere  hannonized  machine,  whose  motion  de- 
pended upon  a  certain  tension  of  tlie  body,  analogous  to 
that  of  the  strings  in  an  instrument  Cicero  indeed  ridi- 
cules Aristoxenus  for  tills  fancy,  and  says,  "  Let  him  teach 
■inging,  and  leave  philosophy  to  Aristotle ; "  but  Aristotle 
klmself,  tliough  decidedly  opposed  to  the  harmonic  specula- 
tions of  the  Pythagoreans  and  Platonists,  could  sometimes 
condescend  to  enliven  his  doctrines  by  reference  to  tlie 
beauties  of  musical  science ;  as,  in  the  treatise  Hcpi  noanov 
lUtiouted  to  him,  KaOairtp  it  t¥  X'P'^i  Kopv(paiov  Karap^ait- 
TOi,  »  r,  X. 

The  Abb4  Batteux,  in  his  inqufry  into  the  doctrine  of  the 
Stoics  afibutes  to  those  philosophers  the  same  mode  of  il- 
VMration.  "Ltmeitoit  cause  active  iroiciyainu;;  le  corps 
P«tM passive  hit  tov  iraaxciv  :  —  I'une  agissant  dans  I'autre ; 
M  y  prenant,  par  son  action  mime,  un  caractire,  des  formes, 
les  modifications,  qu'elle  n'avoit  pas  par  cllc-meme  ;  &  peu 
ftia  omme  I'air,  qui,  chass^  dans  un  instrument  de  musique, 
bit  ronnoltre,  par  les  diflerens  sons  qu'il  produit,  les  difl%> 
rentes  modifications  qu'il  y  re^oiL"  See  a  fine  simile  founded 
apon  lliis  notion  in  Cardinal  Polignac's  poem,  lib.  5,  v.  734. 

*  Pythagoras  is  represented  in  lamblichus  as  descending 
•rill  (real  solemnity  ih>m  Mount  Carmel,  for  which  reason 


Of  visions,  by  Calliope  reveal'd 
To  him,'  who  trac'd  upon  his  typic  lyie 
The  diapason  of  man's  mingled  frame. 
And  the  grand  Doric  heptachord  of  heaven. 
With  all  of  pure,  of  wondrous  and  arcane, 
"Which  the  grave  sons  of  Mochus,  many  a  nigh^ 
Told  to  the  yoimg  and  bright-haii-'d  visitant 
Of  Carmel's  sacred  mount.* — Tlieu,  in  a  flv  a 


the  Carmelites  have  claimed  him  as  one  of  their  Ihiteraity. 
This  Mochus  or  Moschus,  with  the  descendants  of  whom 
Pythagoras  conversed  in  Phcenicia,  and  from  whom  he  de- 
rived the  doctrines  of  aiomic  philosophy,  is  supposed  b)  soius 
to  be  tlie  same  with  Moses.  Huctt  has  adopted  this  idea, 
Demonstration  Evang^Iique,  Prop.  iv.  chap.  3,  (  7  ;  and  Le 
Clerc,  a/nongst  others,  has  refuted  iL  See  Biblioth.  Choibie, 
torn.  L  p.  75.  It  is  certain,  however,  tliat  tlio  doctrine  of 
atoms  was  known  and  promulgated  long  before  Giiicunia. 
"  With  the  fountains  of  DeiiKx:ritus,"  says  Cicero,  "  the 
gardens  of  Epicurus  wire  watered  ; "  and  the  teamed  au 
thor  of  the  Intellectual  System  has  shown,  that  all  the  early 
philosophers,  till  the  time  of  Plalo,  were  atuiiiists.  We  find 
Epiciinis,  however,  boasting  that  his  tenets  were  new  and 
unborrowed,  and  (icrhaps  few  among  the  ancients  had  any 
stronger  claim  to  originality.  In  truth,  if  we  examine  therr 
schools  of  philosophy,  notwithstanding  tlie  peculiarities 
which  seem  to  distinguish  them  from  each  otiier,  we  may 
generally  observe  tliat  the  difference  is  but  verbal  and  tri 
fling ;  and  that,  among  those  various  and  learned  heresies, 
tliere  is  scarcely  one  to  be  selected,  whose  opinions  are  it* 
own,  original  and  exclusive.  The  doctrine  of  the  world'i 
eternity  may  be  traced  through  all  the  sects.  The  coniiiiua> 
metempsychosis  of  Pythagoras,  the  grand  periodic  year  of 
the  Stoics,  (at  the  conclusion  of  which  the  universe  is  :>up 
posed  to  return  to  its  original  order,  and  commence  a  new 
revolution,)  the  srccessive  dissolution  and  combination  ot 
atoms  maintained  by  the  Epicureans  —  all  these  tenets  an 
but  difierent  intimations  of  the  same  general  belief  iu  tlie 
eternity  of  the  world.  As  explained  by  Sl  Austin,  tlie  pe 
riodic  year  of  the  Stoics  disagrees  only  so  far  with  the  idea 
of  the  Pythagoreans,  tliat  instead  of  an  endless  uanaiuisdion 
of  the  soul  tlirough  a  variety  of  bodies,  it  restores  the  sam* 
body  and  soul  to  repeat  their  former  round  of  existence,  » 
tliat  the  "  identical  Plato,  who  lectured  in  tlie  Academy  o> 
Atliens,  shall  again  and  again,  at  certain  intervaU,  durinf 
tlie  lapse  of  eternity,  appear  in  the  same  Academy  and  r> 

sume  the  same  functions  —  " sic  eadeui  teinpora  tern 

poraliiimque  rerum  volumina  repeti,  ut  v.  g^  sicui  in  ist« 
seculo  Plato  philosopbus  in  urhe  Atheniensi,  in  ei.  scholt 
que  Academia  dicta  est,  discipulos  dccuti,  ita  per  innunie 
rabilia  retro  secula,  multum  plexis  quidem  intcrvallis,  soj 
certis,  et  idem  Plato,  et  eadem  civitas,  eademqiie  scbola, 
iidemque  disci  puli  repetiti  et  per  innumerabilia  deinde  «ecula 
repetendi  e^int.  —  De  CivitaL  Dei,  lib.  xiL  cap.  13.  Vautni, 
in  his  dialogues,  has  given  us  a  similar  explication  of  ths 
periodic  revolutions  of  the  world.  "  E&  de  causSl,  qui  nunc 
sunt  in  usu  ritus,  centies  millies  fuerunt,  totiesque  renascen- 
tur  quoties  ceciderunt."    52. 

The  paradoxical  notions  of  the  Stoics  upon  the  beauty,  tht 
riches,  the  dominion  of  their  imaginary  sage,  are  among  tb« 
most  distinguishing  characteristics  of  their  school,  and.  ac- 
cording to  their  advocate  Lipsius,  were  peculiar  to  that  sec\ 
"  Priora  ilia  (decreta)  que  passim  in  philosophantium  sclioli« 
feri  obtinent,  ista  quiE  |>eculiaria  huic  scctic  et  habcnt  con 
i  tradictionem  :  L  e.  paradoza.  '  —  ManuduU.  ad  Staie.  Phdut 


72 


JUVENILE   POEMS. 


Of  calmer  converse,  he  beguil'd  us  on 
Thijugh  many  a  maze  of  Garden  and  of  Porch, 


li'ui.  iii.  dissertat .  2.  But  it  is  evident  (as  the  Abb6  Gamier 
has  remarked,  Meiuoirea  de  I'Acad.  torn,  xxxv.)  tliat  even 
tlieae  absurdities  of  the  Stoics  are  borrowed,  and  tliat  Plato 
W  the  source  of  all  their  extravagant  paradoxes.  We  find 
tlieir  dogir.i,  •■  dives  qui  sipiens,"  (which  Clement  of  Alex- 
tndria  ha*  transferred  from  the  Philosopher  to  the  Christian, 
^aedagog.  lib.  iii.  cap.  6,)  expressed  in  tlie  prayer  of  Socra- 
,es  at  tl'e  end  of  the  Phsdrus  U  <pi\t  nuf  re  aai  aXAot 
boot  Ttjfe  ^eoiy  ioiijTC  iiot  KaXoj  ycveaOai  ravSodcv  Talojdev 
ie  hr  X  £x&),  TOis  tvTos  aval  n>i  •piXia-  irXovaiof  6c  co/ii^ot/zi 
To»  u  icj)op.  And  many  other  instances  might  be  adduced 
from  the  AvTepaarai,  the  IIoXitkco?,  &.c.,  to  prove  that 
Uiese  weeds  of  paradox  were  all  gathered  among  the  bowers 
of  the  Academy.  Hence  it  is  that  Cicero,  in  the  preface  to 
hi6  Paradoxes,  calls  them  Socratica ;  and  Lipsius,  exulting 
in  the  patronage  of  Socrates,  says  "  Ille  totus  est  noster." 
This  is  indeed  a  coalition,  which  evinces  as  much  as  can  be 
wished  the  confused  similitude  of  ancient  philosophical  opin- 
ions :  the  father  of  scepticism  is  here  enrolled  amongst  the 
founders  of  the  Portico  ;  he,  whose  best  knowledge  was  that 
of  nis  own  ignorance,  is  called  in  to  authorize  the  preten- 
sions of  the  most  obstinate  dogmatists  in  all  antiquity. 

Eutilius,  in  his  Itinerarium,  has  ridiculed  the  sabbath  of 
the  Jews,  as  "  lassati  mollis  imago  Dei ;  "  but  Epicurus  gave 
an  eternal  holiday  to  his  gods,  and,  rather  than  disturb  the 
ilumbers  of  Olympus,  denied  at  once  the  interference  of  a 
Providence.  He  docs  not,  however,  seem  to  have  been  sin- 
i^lar  in  this  opinion.  Theophilus  of  Antioch,  if  he  deserve 
any  credit,  imputes  a  similar  belief  to  Pytliagoras  :  — ^fjo-i 
{WvBayopai)  tc  ToiviravTbiv  Seodj  avOpMircov  unSev  (j)povTi- 
^€iv.  And  Plutarch,  though  so  hostile  to  the  followers  of 
Epicurus,  has  unaccountably  adopted  the  very  same  theo- 
logical error.  Thus,  after  quoting  the  opinions  of  Anaxag- 
uras  an(J  Plato  upon  divinity,  he  adds,  Koij/oif  ow  afiap- 
ravovinv  ainporcpoi,  6rj  tov  Scov  cnoirioav  cirtarcipoixtvov 
rion  avQpojTrivoiv,  —  Dt  Placit.  Ph'dosnph.  lib.  i.  cap.  7 
Plato  himself  has  attributed  a  degree  of  indifference  to  the 
gods,  which  is  not  far  removed  from  the  apathy  of  Epicu- 
rus's  heaven ;  as  thus,  in  bis  Philebus,  whpre  Protarchus 
asks,  OuK'iui'  ttKOi  ye  ovre  x<i'pctv  Seovi,  ovre  to  evavrivv  > 
and  Socrates  answers,  Tlavv  jxtv  ovv  ciko;,  aaxil^ov  yovi/ 
avTcov  tKUTCpov  yiyvoytivov  eariv !  —  while  Aristotle  sup- 
poses a  still  more  absurd  neutrality,  and  concludes,  by  no 
very  flattering  analogy,  that  the  deity  is  as  incapable  of  vir- 
tue as  of  vice.  Kai  yap  uaircp  ovScn  ^np'ov  can  xaxta, 
oud'  apcrri,  uvtoi;  ov6e  ^euv.  —  Ethic.  Micomach,  lib.  vil. 
cap.  1.  In  truth,  Aristotle,  upon  the  subject  of  Providence, 
\/as  little  more  correct  than  Epicurus.  He  supposed  tlie 
moon  to  be  the  limit  of  divine  interference,  excluding  of 
R<ju[se  this  sublunary  world  from  its  influence.  The  first 
'Jcfinition  of  the  world,  in  his  treatise  Uepi  Kocrpov  (if  this 
treatise  be  really  the  work  of  Aristotle)  agrees,  almost  ver- 
buni  verbo,  with  that  in  the  letter  of  Epicurus  to  Pythocles  ; 
wid  biitn  omit  tlie  mention  of  a  deity.  In  his  Ethics,  too,  he 
inti' nates  a  doubt  whether  the  gods  feel  any  interest  in  the 
tolicems  of  mankind.  —  Ei  yap  ri{  eTnpeXeia  twv  avdpti}- 
wtvMv  V7T0  ^etov  yivETOt.  It  is  true,  he  adds  'Haircp  Sokci, 
but  even  this  is  very  sceptical. 

In  these  erroneous  conceptions  of  Aristotle,  we  trace  the 
lause  of  that  general  neglect  which  his  philosophy  experi- 
enced among  the  early  Christians.  Plato  is  seldom  much 
More  orthodox,  but  tlie  obscure  enthusiasm  of  his  style  al- 
ow ed  tliem  ♦"  accommodate  all  his  fancies  to  their  own 


Through  many  a  system,  where  the  scatter'd  lU'*^ 
Of  heavenly  truth  lay,  like  a  broken  beam 


purpose.    Such  glowing  steel  was  easily  moulded,  and  PU 
tonism  became  a  sword  in  the  hands  of  the  fathers. 

The  Providence  of  the  Stoics,  so  vaunted  in  their  Hchool 
was  a  power  as  contemptibly  inefTicient  as  the  rest.  At 
was  fate  in  the  system  of  the  Portica  I'he  chains  of  de» 
tiny  were  thrown  over  Jupiter  himself,  and  their  deity  wa» 
like  the  Borgia  of  the  epigrammatist,  "  et  Caesar  et  nihil.' 
Not  even  the  language  of  Seneca  can  reconcile  this  degra 
dation  of  divinity.  "  Ille  ipse  omnium  conditor  ac  rectol 
scripsit  quidum  fata,  sed  sequitur ;  semper  paret,  sgmel  jua- 
sit."  —  Lib.  de  Providentid.,  cap.  5. 

With  respect  to  the  difference  between  the  Stoics,  Peripa- 
tetics, and  Academicians,  the  following  words  of  Cicero 
prove  that  he  saw  but  little  to  distinguish  them  from  eact 
other: — " Peripateticos  et  Academicos,  noininibus  dilVe- 
rentes,  re  congruentes  j  a  quibus  Stoic!  ipsi  verbis  magia 
quain  sentcntiis  dissenserunt."  —  Aademic  lib.  ii.  5 ;  and 
perhaps  what  Reid  has  remarked  u|)on  one  of  their  points 
of  controversy  might  be  applied  as  effectually  to  the  recon- 
cilement of  all  the  rest  "  The  dispute  between  the  Stoics 
and  Peripatetics  was  probably  all  for  want  of  definition 
The  one  said  they  wore  good  under  the  control  of  reason, 
the  other  that  they  should  be  eradicated."  —  Essays,  vol.  iiL 
In  short,  it  appears  a  no  less  difiicult  matter  to  establish  the 
boundaries  of  opinion  between  any  two  of  the  philosophical 
sects,  than  it  would  be  to  fix  the  landmarks  of  those  estates 
in  the  moon,  which  Ricciolus  so  generously  allotted  to  his 
brother  astronomers.  Accordingly  we  observe  some  of  the 
greatest  men  of  antiquity  passing  without  scruple  from  school 
to  school,  according  to  the  fancy  or  convenience  of  the  mo- 
ment. Cicero,  the  father  of  Roman  philosophy,  is  some- 
times an  Academician,  sometimes  a  Stoic ;  and,  more  than 
once,  he  acknowledges  a  conformity  with  Epicurus  ;  "non 
sine  causa  igitiir  Epicurus  ausus  est  dicere  semper  in  pluri- 
bus  bonis  esse  sapientein,  quia  semper  sit  in  voluptatibus." 
—  Tusculan.  QiuEst.  lib.  v.  Though  often  pure  in  his  the- 
ology, Cicero  sometimes  smiles  at  futurity  as  a  fiction  ;  thus, 
in  his  Oration  for  Cluentius,  speaking  of  punishments  in  the 
life  to  come,  he  says,  "  Qua;  si  falsa  sunt,  id  quod  omnes  in- 
telligunt,  quid  ei  tandem  aliud  mors  eripuit,  praiter  sensum 
doloris.'":  —  though  here  we  should,  perhaps,  do  him  but 
justice  by  agreeing  with  his  commentator  Sylvius,  who  re- 
marks upon  this  passa(,e,  "  Hiec  autem  dixit,  ut  causae  sum 
subserviret."  The  p<  jt,  Horace,  roves  like  a  butterfly 
tlirough  the  schools,  and  now  wings  along  the  walh  of  the 
Porch,  now  basks  among  the  flowers  of  the  Garden ,  vi  hile 
Virgil,  with  a  tone  of  mind  strongly  philosophical,  hai  jet 
left  us  wholly  uncertain  as  to  the  sect  which  he  espi  use  t 
The  balance  of  opinion  declares  him  to  have  been  an  Epi- 
curean, hut  the  ancient  author  of  his  life  asserts  that  he  wai 
an  Academician  ;  and  we  trace  through  his  p<ietry  the  tenits 
of  almost  all  the  leading  sects.  The  same  kind  of  eclectic 
indifference  is  observable  in  most  of  tne  Roman  writers 
Thus  Propertius,  in  the  fine  elegy  to  Cynthia,  on  his  denar« 
ure  for  Athens, 

Illic  vel  studiis  animum  emr  ndare  Platonis, 
Incipiam,  aut  hortis,  docte  Epicure,  tuis. 

Lib  iii  Eleg.  2J 

Though  Broeckhusius  here  reads,  "  dux  Epicure,"  whica 
seems  to  fix  the  poet  under  the  banners  of  Epicurus.  Evea 
the  Stoic  Seneca,  whose  doctrines  have  been  considerea  se 
orlliodox,  that  St  Jerome  has  ranked  him  amongst  the  ec- 
'lesiastical  writers,  while  Boccaccio  doubts  (in  consideraiiop 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


71 


From  the  pure  sun,  which,  though  refracted  all 

Into  a  thousand  hiics,  is  sunshine  still,' 

And  bright  through  every  change  !  —  he  spoke 

of  Him, 
rhe  lone,*  eternal  One,  who  dwells  aboye, 
And  of  the  soul's  untraceable  descent 
From  that  high  fount  of  spirit,  through  the  grades 
Of  intellectual  being,  till  it  mix 
With  atoms  vague,  corruptible,  and  dark  ; 
Nor  yet  ev'n  then,  though  sunk  in  earthly  dross, 
Corrupted  all,  nor  its  ethereal  touch 
Quite  lost,  but  tasting  of  the  fountain  still. 
As  some  bright  river,  which  has  roll'd  along 
Through  meads  of  flowery  light  and  mines  of 

gold, 
When  pour'd  at  length  into  the  dusky  deep, 
Disdains  to  take  at  once  its  briny  taint, 
But  keeps  unchanged  a  while  the  lustrous  tinge 
Or  balmy  freshness  of  the  scenes  it  left.^ 

And  here  the  old   man   ceased  —  a  winged 

train 
Of  nymphs  and  genii  bore  him  from  our  eyes. 
The  fair  illusion  fled  !  and,  as  I  wak'd, 
'Twas  clear  that  my  rapt  soul  had  roamed,  the 

while. 
To  that  bright  realm  of  dreams,  that  spirit  world. 
Which  mortals  know  by  its  long  track  of  light 
O'er  midnight's  sky,  and  call  the  Oalaxy.* 


of  his  snippoaed  correspondence  with  St.  Paul)  whether  Dante 
ib<iul(i  li.ive  placed  him  in  Limbo  with  the  rest  of  the  Pagans 
—  even  t^e  rigid  Seneca  has  bestowed  such  commendatioiia 
on  Epicurus,  that  if  only  those  passages  of  his  works  were 
preserved  to  us,  we  could  not  hesitate,  I  tliink,  in  pronoun- 
cing hini  a  confirmed  Epicurean.  With  similar  inconsistency, 
we  find  Purphyry,  in  liis  work  upon  ab:-tlnence,  referring  to 
Epicurus  as  an  example  of  the  most  strict  Pythagorean  tem- 
perance ;  and  Lancelotti  (the  author  of  "  Farfalloni  degli 
antiri  Irjtorici  ")  haa  been  seduced  l>y  this  grave  reputation 
n{  Epicurus  into  the  absurd  error  of  associating  him  with 
Chrysippus,  as  a  chief  of  the  Stoic  scliotd.  There  is  no  doubt, 
Indeed,  that  however  Uie  Epicurean  sect  might  have  relaxed 
ih>ni  its  original  purity,  the  morals  of  its  founder  were  as 
jorrcct  as  those  of  any  among  the  ancient  philosophers  ;  and 
&i«  datrines  upon  pleasure,  as  explained  in  the  letter  to 
Usnoeceus,  are  rational,  amiable,  and  consistent  with  our 
ia:>:Te.  A  late  writer.  Do  Sablons,  in  his  Grands  Hommes 
veng3>.  expresses  strong  indignation  against  the  Encyclo- 
;^iste)<  "hr  their  Just  and  animated  praises  of  Epicurus,  and 
ii^vissintt  the  question,  "  si  ce  philosophe  6toit  vertueux," 
lenies  it  upon  no  other  authority  than  the  calumnies  collected 
ty  Plutarch,  who  him»j>.f  confesses  that,  on  this  particular 
•ubject,  he  consulted  only  opinion  and  report,  without  paus- 
ing to  investigate  their  truth.  —  AXX<i  rij»>  iu^ay,  ov  rriv 
tXriOciav  aKomvitev.  To  the  factious  zeal  of  his  illiberal 
ivals,  the  Stoi^js,  Epictirus  chiefly  owed  these  groes  misre[>- 
^••'itaticns  si  the  life  and  opinions  of  himself  and  his 
10 


TO  MRS. 


To  see  thee  every  day  that  came, 
And  And  thee  still  each  day  the  same  { 
In  pleasure's  smile,  or  sorrow's  tear, 
To  me  still  ever  kind  and  dear  ;  — 
To  meet  thee  early,  leave  thee  late. 
Has  been  so  long  my  bliss,  my  fate^ 
That  life,  without  this  cheering  ray^ 
Which  came,  like  sunshine,  every  day, 
And  all  my  pain,  my  sorrow  chaa'd, 
Is  now  a  lone  and  loveless  waste. 

Where  are  the  chords  she  us'd  to  to 
The  airs,  the  songs  she  lov'd  so  much  ? 
Those   songs    are  hush'd,  those  chorda   v% 

still. 
And  so,  perhaps,  will  every  thrill 
Of  feeling  soon  be  lull'd  to  rest, 
Which  late  I  wak'd  in  Anna's  breast. 
Yet,  no  —  the  simple  notes  I  play'd 
From  memory's  tablet  soon  may  fade ; 
The  songs,  which  Anna  lov'd  to  hear. 
May  vanish  from  her  heart  and  ear  ; 
But  friendship's  voice  shall  ever  find 
An  echo  in  that  gentle  mind. 
Nor  memory  lose  nor  time  impair 
The  sympathies  that  tremble  there. 


associates,  which,  notwithstanding  the  learned  cxertlonf 
Gassendi,  have  still  loft  an  odium  on  the  name  of  his  pbt 
losophy  ;  and  we  ought  to  examine  the  ancient  accountJ<  o. 
this  philosopher  with  about  the  same  degree  of  cautious  be- 
lief which,  in  reading  ecclesiastical  history,  we  yield  to  'he 
invectives  of  the  fatliers  against  the  heretics,  —  trusting  as 
little  to  Plutarch  upon  a  dogma  of  Epicurus,  as  we  wou'd  to 
tlie  vehement  St.  Cyril  upon  a  tenet  of  Nestonus.    JloOl.) 

The  preceding  remarks,  I  wish  the  reader  to  observe,  were 
written  at  a  time,  when  1  thought  the  studies  to  which  they 
refer  iiuich  more  imjKJrtant  as  well  as  more  amusing  than,  I 
freely  confess,  tliey  appear  to  me  at  present. 

t  Lactantius  a.sscrts  that  all  the  truths  of  Cnristianitj- may 
be  found  dispersed  through  the  ancient  philosophical  sects, 
and  that  any  one  who  would  collect  these  scattered  fnigmeutf 
of  orthodoxy  might  form  a  code  in  no  res|>ect  difTciine  from 
that  of  the  Christian,  "Si  extitisset  aliquis,  qui  veritaf'tn 
sparsam  per  singulos  per  sectasque  difTusam  collificrct  in 
unum,  ac  rcdigeret  in  corpus,  is  profecto  nou  dtsaentiret  a 
nobis." —  Inst.  lib.  vL  c.  7. 

*  To  fiii"t'  Kai  Cfitlfi'iy, 

*  This  bold  Platonic  image  I  have  taken  ftora  a  passa^ 
in  rather  Bouchet's  letter  upon  the  Metcmpsychoeis,  inserted 
in  Picart's  C£r6m.  Relig.  torn.  iv. 

*  According  to  P}'thagoras,  the  people  of  Dreams  are  souk 
collected  together  in  tlie  Galaxy.  —  Ar//iO(  6c  ov  ipuv,  icart 
TlvOtyopaVfalxpvxai  Aj  o-ui-avrr^ii  ^ijffif  rif  r  vyaXtflV 
—  Porphyr.  de  Antr*  Xptfk. 


H 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


TO  LADY  HEATHCOTE, 

»H   AN    OLD    EINQ    FOUND    AT    TUNBRIDQE   WELLS. 

"  Tunnebridge  est  k  la  mgme  distance  de  Londres,  que 
Fontainebleau  I'est  de  Paris.  Ce  qu'il  y  a  de  beau  et  de  ga- 
tfuit  dajis  !'un  et  dans  I'autre  sexe  s'y  rassemble  au  terns  des 
IBUX.    1  a  compagnie,"  &c.  &c. 

Se«  Mimoiru  it  Orammont,  Second  Part,  chap.  iiL 

Tunhridgt  WeUs. 

When  Grammont  grac'd  these  happy  springs, 
And  Tunbridge  saw,  upon  her  Pantiles, 

The  merriest  wight  of  all  the  kings 
That  ever  rul'd  these  gay,  gallant  isles ; 

Like  us,  by  day,  they  rode,  they  walk'd. 

At  eve,  they  did  as  we  m^y  do, 
And  Grammont  just  like  Spencer  talk'd, 

And  loT«ly  Stevrart  smil'd  like  you. 

fhe  only  different  trait  is  this. 
That  woman  then,  if  man  beset  her, 

Was  rather  given  to  saj'hig  "  yes," 
Because,  —  as  yet,  she  knew  no  better. 

Each  night  they  held  a  coterie, 
Where,  every  fear  to  slumber  charm'd, 

Lovers  were  all  they  ought  to  be, 
And  husbands  not  the  least  alarm'd. 

Then  call'd  they  up  their  school-day  pranks, 
Nor  thought  it  much  their  sense  beneath 

To  play  at  riddles,  quips,  and  cranks. 
And  lords  show'd  wit,  and  ladies  teeth. 

As  —  "  Why  are  husbands  like  the  mint  ?  " 
Because,  forsooth,  a  husband's  duty 

Is  but  to  set  the  name  and  print 
That  g-ve  a  currency  to  beauty. 

'•  '\rVTiy  is  i  rose  in  nettles  hid 

"  Like  a  young  widow,  fresh  and  fair  ? " 
Because  'tis  sighing  to  be  rid 

Of  wetda  that  "  have  no  business  there  !  " 

And  thus  they  miss'd  and  thus  they  hit, 
And  now  they  struck  and  now  they  parried  ; 

^nd  some  lay  in  of  full-gro\\Ti  wit. 
While  others  of  a  pun  miscarried. 

Twas  one  of  those  facetious  nights 
That  Grammont  gave  this  forfeit  ring 

Pot  breaking  grave  conundrum  rites, 
Or  p'uining  ill,  or  —  some  such  thing :  — 


From  whence  it  can  be  fairly  trae'd. 

Through  many  a  branch  and  many  a  bougbg 

From  twig  to  twig,  until  it  grac'd 
The  snowy  hand  that  wears  it  now. 

All  this  I'll  prove,  and  then  to  you 

O  Tunbridge  !  and  your  springs  ironical, 

I  swear  by  Heathcote's  eye  of  blue 
To  dedicate  th'  important  chronicle. 

Long  may  your  ancient  inmates  give 
Their  mantles  to  your  modern  lodgers, 

And  Charles's  loves  in  Heathcote  live. 
And  Charles's  bards  revive  in  Rogers. 

Let  no  pedantic  fools  be  there  ; 

Forever  be  those  fops  abolish' d. 
With  heads  as  wooden  as  thy  ware. 

And,  heaven  knows  !  not  half  so  polish' d. 

But  still  receive  the  young,  the  gay, 
The  few  -who  know  the  rare  delight 

Of  reading  Grammont  every  day. 
And  acting  Grammont  every  night. 


THE   DEVIL  AMONG    THE    SCHOLARS 

A   FRAGMENT. 

Chrtsost.  HomU.  in  Epist.  ad  BcbNtat 

»  «  * 

But,  whither  have  these  gentle  ones, 
These  rosy  nymphs  and  black-eyed  nuns 
With  all  of  Cupid's  wild  romancing, 
Led  my  truant  brains  a-dancing? 
Instead  of  studying  tones  scholastic. 
Ecclesiastic,  or  monastic. 
Off  I  fly,  careering  far 
In  chase  of  Pollys,  prettier  far 
Than  any  of  their  namesakes  art,,  — 
The  Polymaths  and  Polyhistors, 
Polyglots  and  all  their  sisters. 
.So  have  I  known  a  hopeful  youth 
Sit  down  in  quest  of  lore  and  truth, 
With  tomes  sufficient  to  confound  liim 
Like  Tohu  Bohu,  heap'd  around  him, 
Mamurra '  stuck  to  Theophrastus, 
And  Galen  tumbling  o'er  Bombastus.* 

1  Mamurra,  a  dogmatic  philosopher,  who  navtff  'Iribtod 
about  any  tiling,  except  who  was  his  father. —  "  M  ii'.i  iit  r« 
unquam  prseterquam  de  patro  dubitavit."  —  In  Vit.  lie  wa« 
very  learned — "  L4-dedans,  (that  is,  in  his  head  when  it 
was  opened,)  le  Punique  heurte  le  Persan,  I'H^breu  choquf 
I'Arabique,  pour  ne  point  parler  de  la  mauvaise  intelligence 
du  Latin  avec  le  Grec,"  &c. —  See  L'Histoire  de  Montm,a\r, 
tom.  ii.  p.  91. 

*  Bombastus  wa«  one  of  the  ranies  of  thaf  gre?t  sc!k^> 


JU\'ENILE  POEMS. 


74 


WHien  lo  !  while  all  that's  learn'd  and  wise 
Absorbs  the  boy,  he  lifts  his  eyes, 
And  through  the  window  of  his  study 
Beholds  some  damsel  fair  and  ruddy, 
With  eyes,  as  briglitly  turn'd  upon  him  as 
l*he  angel's '  were  on  Hieronymus. 
Quick  fly  the  folios,  widely  scatter'd. 
Old  Homer's  laurell'd  brow  is  batter'd. 
And  Sappho,  headlong  sent,  flies  just  in 
Tlie  reverend  eye  of  St.  Augustin. 
Raptur'd  he  qaits  each  dozing  sage, 
0  woman,  for  thy  lovelier  page  : 
Sweet  book !  —  unlike  the  books  of  art,  — 
^Vhose  errors  are  thy  fairest  part ; 
In  whom  the  dear  errata  column 
Is  the  best  page  in  all  the  volume !  ' 

But  to  begin  my  subject  rhyme  — 
'Twas  just  about  this  devilish  time, 
When  scarce  there  happen'd  any  frolics 
That  were  not  done  by  Diabolics, 
A  ccld  and  loveless  son  of  Lucifer, 
WTio  woman  scorn' d,  nor  saw  the  use  of 
her, 

and  quack  Paracelsus.  —  "  Philippus  Bombafitus  latet  sub 
iplendido  tegmine  Aureoli  Theoplirasti  Pnracelsi,"  says  Sta- 
doUus  de  circuniforanel  Litcratorum  vauitate. —  He  uxed  to 
fight  the  devil  every  night  with  a  broadsword,  to  the  no 
iniall  terror  of  his  pupil  Oporinus,  who  has  recorded  the 
circumstance.  (Vide  Oporin.  Vit.  apud  Christian.  GPtyph. 
Vit.  Select,  quonindam  Eruditissimonim,  &.C.)  Paracelsus 
lad  but  a  poor  opinion  of  Galen  :  —  "  My  very  beard  (says 
he  in  his  Paragrmnuni)  has  more  learning  iu  it  than  either 
Oalcn  or  Avicenna." 

>  The  angel,  who  scolded  St.  Jerom  for  reading  Cicero,  as 
Cratian  tells  the  sv^ty  in  his  "  Concordantia  discordantiuni 
Canonum,"  and  says,  that  for  this  reason  bishops  were  not 
allowed  to  read  the  Classics:  "  Episcopus  Gentilium  libros 
non  legat."  —  Distinct.  37.  But  Gratian  is  notorious  for 
lying —  besides,  angels,  as  the  illustrious  pupil  of  Pantenus 
assures  us,  have  got  no  tongues.  Ovx'  (1>(  fliuv  ra  oira, 
airais  tietivoif  h  yA'orra-  o«J*  ui*  opyava  rtf  iur)  ^uvris 
ttyyeXotf. —  Clnn.  Alex^md.  StromaL 

»  The  idea  of  the  K.-ibl>ins,  res[>ectingthe  origin  of  woman, 
IS  not  a  little  singular.  They  think  that  man  was  originally 
fcrmed  with  a  tail,  like  a  monkey,  but  that  the  Deity 
cut  otr  this  appendage,  and  made  woman  of  it  Upon 
Jiis  extraordinary  supposition  tlie  following  reflection  is 
founded:.— 

If  f  urh  is  the  tie  between  women  and  men. 

The  ninny  who  weds  is  a  pitiful  elf. 
For  he  takes  to  his  tail  like  an  idiot  again. 

And  thus  makes  a  deplorable  a|)e  of  himselC 

Yet,  if  we  may  judge  as  the  fashions  prevail. 
Every  husband  remembers  th'  original  plan. 

And,  knowing  his  wife  is  no  more  than  his  tail, 
Why  he  —  leaves  her  behind  him  as  much  tis  he  can. 

I  Scaliger.  de  Emendat  Temper.  —  Dagon  was  thought 
4r  oUk«n  to  be  a  certain  sea  monster,  who  came  every  day 


A  branch  of  Dagon's  family, 
(Which  Dagon,  whether  Ho  or  She, 
Is  a  dispute  that  vastly  better  is 
Referr'd  to  Scaliger'  et  c<eteris,) 
Finding  that,  in  this  cage  of  fools, 
The  wisest  sots  adorn  the  schools, 
Took  it  at  once  his  head  Satanic  in. 
To  grow  a  great  scholastic  manikin,  — 
A  doctor,  quite  as  learn'd  and  fine 
Scotus  John  or  Tom  Aquinas,* 
Lully,  Hales  Irrefragabilis, 
Or  any  doctor  of  the  rabble  is. 
In  languages,*  the  Polyglots, 
Compar'd  to  him,  were  Babel  sots  ; 
He  chatter' d  more  than  ever  Jew  did  ;  — 
Sanhedrim  and  Priest  included. 
Priest  and  holy  Sanhedrim 
W  ere  one-and-seventy  fools  to  him. 
But  chief  the  learned  demon  felt  a 
Zeal  so  strong  for  gamma,  delta. 
That,  all  for  Greek  and  learning's  glory, 
He  nightly  tippled  "  Grieco  more," 
And  never  paid  a  bill  or  balance 
Except  upon  the  Grecian  Kalends  :  — 

out  of  the  Rod  Sea  to  teach  the  Syrians  husbandry  — 5«i« 
Jaques  Gafiarel  (Curiosit^s  Inouies,  chap,  i.),  who  says  In 
tJiinks  tliis  story  of  the  sea  monster  "  carries  little  sliow  of 
probability  with  it." 

*  I  wish  it  were  known  with  any  degree  of  certainty 
whether  the  Commentary  on  Bocthius  attributed  to  Thomao 
Aquinas  be  really  the  work  of  this  Angelic  Doctor.  There 
are  some  bold  assertions  hazarded  in  it :  for  instance,  he 
says  that  Plato  kept  school  in  a  town  called  Acadcmia,  aiu 
that  Alcibiades  was  a  very  beautiful  woman  whom  some  of 
Aristotle's  pupils  fell  in  love  witli: — "Alcibiades  muliet 
fuit  pulcherrima,  quam  videntes  quidam  discipuli  Aristote- 
lis,"  ice  —  See  Freytag  Adparat.  Littcrar.  art.  86,  tom.  i. 

i  The  following  compliment  was  paid  to  Laurentius  Valla 
upon  bis  accurate  knowledge  of  the  Latin  language. 

Nunc  postquam  manes  dcfunctus  Valla  petivit, 
Non  audet  Pluto  verba  Latina  loquL 

Since  Val  arriv'd  in  Pluto's  shade. 
His  nouns  and  pronouns  all  so  pat  in, 

Pluto  himself  would  be  afraid 
To  say  bis  soul's  his  own,  in  I/uin ! 

See  for  tliese  lines  the  "  Auctorura  Censio  "  of  Du  V«r 
dier  (page  29). 

*  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  Martin  Luther,  with  ill 
his  talents  for  reforming,  should  yet  bo  vulgar  enough  to 
laugh  at  Camerarius  for  writing  to  him  in  Greek.  "  Mastei 
Joachim  (says  he)  iias  sent  me  some  dates  and  some  raisma, 
and  has  also  written  me  two  letters  in  (ireek.  As  soon  a» 
I  am  recovered,  I  shall  answer  them  in  Turkish,  that  he  too 
may  have  the  pleasure  of  reading  what  he  does  not  under 
stand."  "  Grsca  sunt,  leg!  non  possun','  is  '.he  ignorant 
speech  attributed  to  Accursius  j  but  very  unjustly :  —  for,  fu 
from  asserting  that  Greek  could  not  be  read,  that  worthf 
Jurisconsult  upon  the  Law  6  D.  de  Honor.  Possess,  expressi} 
says,  "  Gnecc  liters  potsnnt  intelligi  et  legi."    ( Vide  IV"*' 


From  whence  your  scholars,  when  they  want 

tick, 
Say,  to  be  Attic's  to  be  on  tick, 
In  logics,  he  was  quite  Ho  Panu  ;  * 
Knew  as  much  as  ever  man  knew. 
He  fought  the  combat  syllogistic 
With  so  much  skill  and  art  eristic, 
Tiiat  though  you  were  the  learned  Stagirite, 
At  once  upon  the  hip  he  had  you  right. 
In  music,  though  he  had  no  ears 
Except  for  that  amongst  the  spheres, 
(Which  most  of  all,  as  he  averr'd  it. 
He  dearly  loved,  'cause  no  one  heard  it,) 
Yet  aptly  he,  at  sight,  could  read 
Each  tuneful  diagram  in  Bede, 
And  find,  by  Euclid's  corollaria. 
The  ratios  of  a  jig  or  aria. 
But,  as  for  all  your  warbling  Delias, 
Orpheuses  and  Saint  Cecilias, 
He  own'd  he  thought  them  much  surpass'd 
By  that  redoubted  Hyaloclast  ' 
WhL  still  contriv'd  by  dint  of  throttle, 
Where'er  he  went  to  crack  a  bottle. 

Likewise  to  show  his  mighty  knowledge,  he, 
On  things  unknown  in  physiology. 
Wrote  many  a  chapter  to  divert  us, 
^Like  that  great  little  man  Albertus,) 
Wherein  he  show'd  the  reason  why, 
When  children  first  are  heard  to  cry, 
If  boy  the  baby  chance  to  be. 
He  cries  O  A !  —  if  girl,  O  E  !  — 
Which  are,  quoth  he,  exceeding  fair  hints 
Respecting  their  first  sinful  parents  ; 


Libfor.  Rarior.  Collection.  Fascic.  IV.)  — Scipio  Cartero- 
uidchus  seems  to  have  been  of  opinion  that  there  is  no  salva- 
tion out  of  tliG  pale  of  Greek  Literature :  "  Via  prima  salutis 
Graia  panilctur  ab  urbe :  "  and  the  zeal  of  Laurentius  Rho- 
domannus  cannot  be  sufficiently  admired,  when  he  exhorts 
his  countrymen,  "  per  gloriam  Christi,  per  salutem  patrise, 
per  reipubliciB  decus  et  emolumentum,"  to  study  the  Greek 
language.  Nor  must  we  forget  Pliavorinus,  the  excellent 
Bishop  of  Nocera,  who,  careless  of  all  tlie  usual  commenda- 
•ions  of  a  Christian,  required  no  further  eulogium  on  his 
lonib  tlian  "  Here  lieth  a  Greek  Lexicographer." 

1  'O  jraiu  —  Tlie  introduction  of  this  language  into  Eng- 
ash  noetry  has  a  good  effect,  and  ought  to  be  more  unive'- 
lally  adopted.  A  word  or  two  of  Greek  in  a  stanza  would 
lerve  as  ballast  to  the  most  "  light  o'  love  "  verses.  Auso- 
d''i8,  among  the  ancients,  may  serve  as  a  model  — 

Oo  yap  fioi  ^cn'i  toTiv  in  hac  regione  iievovn 
A^iov  ab  nostris  cirtSevca  esse  KaftrivaiS. 

Ronsard    the  French  poet,  has  enriched  his  sonnets  and 
jdes  with  many  an  exquisite  morsel  from  the  Lexicon.    His 
"chAre  Entelechie,"  in  addressing  his  mistress,  can  only  be 
iMjuallud  by  Cowlev's  "  Antiperistasis." 
<  Oi  Glass-Breaker.  —  Morhofius  has  given  an  account  of 


"  O  Eve  !  "  exclaimeth  little  madam. 
While  little  master  cries  "  O  Adam  !  "  ■ 

But,  'twas  in  Optics  and  Dioptrics, 
Our  daemon  play'd  his  first  and  top  tricks. 
He  held  that  sunshine  passes  quicker 
Through  wine  than  any  other  liquor ; 
And  though  he  saw  no  great  objection 
To  steady  light  and  clear  reflection, 
He  thought  the  aberrating  rays. 
Which  play  about  a  bumper's  blaze. 
Were  by  the  Doctors  look'd,  in  common,  oa 
As  a  more  rare  and  rich  phenomenon. 
He  wisely  said  that  the  sensor  ,am 
Is  for  the  eyes  a  great  emporium. 
To  which  these  noted  picture  stealers 
Send  all  they  can  and  meet  with  dealers. 
In  many  an  optical  proceeding 
The  brain,  he  said,  show'd  great  good  breeding ; 
For  instance,  when  we  ogle  women 
(A  trick  which  Barbara  tutor'd  him  in), 
Although  the  dears  are  apt  to  get  in  a 
Strange  position  on  the  retina. 
Yet  instantly  the  modest  brain  / 

Doth  set  them  on  their  legs  again  !  * 

Our  doctor  thus,  with  "  stuff 'd  sufficiercy ' 
Of  all  omnigenous  omnisciency. 
Began  (as  who  would  not  begin 
That  had,  like  him,  so  much  within?) 
To  let  it  out  in  books  of  all  sorts, 
Folios,  quartos,  large  and  small  sorts, 
Poems,  so  very  deep  and  sensible 
That  they  were  quite  incomprehensible ;  * 

this  extraordinary  man,  in  a  work,  published  1682,  —  "  Di 
vitreo  scyplio  fracto,"  &c. 

8  Translated  al.Tiopt  literally  from  a  passage  in  Albertus  d< 
Secretis,  &c. 

*  Alluding  to  that  habitual  act  of  the  judgment,  by  which, 
notwithstanding  the  inversion  of  the  image  upon  the  retina, 
a  correct  impression  of  the  object  is  conveyed  to  the  senso- 
rium. 

6  Under  this  description,  I  believe  "  the  Devil  among  thi 
Scholars"  may  be  included.  Vet  Leibnitz  found  out  tM 
uses  of  incomprehensibility,  when  he  was  appointed  secr». 
tary  to  a  society  of  philosophers  at  Nuremberg,  chiefly  fof 
his  ingenuity  in  writing  a  cabalistical  lettnr,  not  one  word 
of  which  either  they  or  himself  could  interpret.  See  the 
F.loge  Historique  de  M.  de  Leibnitz,  I'Euiipe  Savante. — 
People  in  all  ages  have  loved  to  be  puzzled.  We  find  Cicero 
tha_iking  Atticus  for  li<-iving  sent  him  a  work  of  Serapion 
"ex  quo  (says  he)  quidem  ego  (quod  inter  nos  liceat  dicere) 
miKesimam  partem  vix  intelligo."  Lib.  ii.  epist.  4.  And 
we  know  that  Atricen,  tiie  leanied  Arabian,  read  Aristotle'i 
Metaphysical  fo'ty  «^me'  over  for  ths  mero  plea--ure  cf  bein| 
able  to  inform  t;:e  vorld  that  be  could  no»  comprel^end 
one  syllable  throughou.  them.  (JV'Cclis  Massa  in  Vit 
Avicen.) 


OL£S  OF  ANACREON. 


7i 


Prose,  which  had  been  at  learning's  Fair, 
And  bought  up  all  the  trumpery  there, 
The  tatter'd  rags  of  every  vest, 
In  wliich  the  (Jrceks  and  Romans  dress'd. 
And  o'er  her  figure  swoll'n  and  antic 
Scattcr'd  them  all  with  airs  so  frantic, 
That  those,  who  saw  what  fits  she  had, 
Declar'd  unhappy  Prose  was  mad  ! 
Epics  he  wrote  and  scores  of  rebuses^ 
All  as  ueat  as  old  'i'lumebus's  ; 


Eggs  and  altars,  cyclopajdiaa, 

Grammars,  prayer  books  —  O,  'twere  tcdloui^ 

Did  I  but  tell  thee  half,  to  follow  me  : 

Not  the  scribbling  bard  of  Ptolemy, 

No  —  nor  the  hoary  Trismcgistus, 

(^Vhose   writings   all,   thank   heaver.  !   hv% 

miss'd  us,) 
E'er  fill'd  with  lumber  such  a  wareroom 
As  this  great  "  porcus  literarum  !  ' 


ODES    OF    ANACREON 

•TRANSLATED  INTO  ENGLISH  VERSE,  WITH  NOTES. 


TO    HIS   &OTAL   HIGHNESS 

THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES. 

Sib  •.  —  In  allowing  me  to  dedicate  this  Work 
It  your  Royal  Highness,  you  have  conferred 
upon  me  an  honor  which  I  feel  very  sensibly : 
and  I  have  only  to  regret,  that  the  pages  which 
you  have  thus  distinguished  are  not  more  de- 
serving of  such  illustrious  patronage. 
Believe  mc,  Sik, 
With  every  sentiment  of  respect. 

Your  Royal  Highness's 
Very  grateful  and  devoted  Servant, 

THOMAS  MOORK 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  mention,  that,  in  ar- 
ranging the  Odes,  the  Translator  has  adopted 
the  order  of  the  Vatican  MS.  For  those  who 
wish  to  refer  to  the  original,  he  has  prefixed  an 
[odex,  whi  jh  marks  the  number  of  each  Ode  in 
Barnes  and  the  other  editions. 


INDEX. 

1.  ANAKPECIN  i<5mi-  ,.t  . 
S.  &OTt  fiai  Xvpri»  'Oftripov 
X  A;  &    (,o>y  fatpttf  a    rrf 

Tor  apyvpov  Topcvitw     . 
tt  XaXXtTcxoo  II )(  Topivaov 


BABNEI. 

63. 
48. 
49. 
17. 
1& 
59. 


7.  htyovaiv  al  yv^atKCi    . 

8.  Ot)  /<oi  fjicXct  TU  Tvyov 

9.  Aifics  fit  Tovf  5fot)j  ooi 

10.  Ti  (701  icXtis  iroii)(7(<>    . 

11.  Epura  Kripinp  Ttf 

12.  O!  /tcv  KaXrjv  Kv8ri6iit> 

13.  0cX<i),  ScXdi  (ptXriaai 

14.  E(  ^vXXa  navra  ievipoit 

15.  EjiacTfiir/  ireXeia 

16.  Aye,  i^uypaifiojv  aptare 

17  Fpaijie  fioi  BaOvXXov  ojto) 

18.  Airt  ^01,  S"Te  yvvatKCi 

19.  Ilapa  rriv  aKtnv,  BadvXXs 

20.  A{  Mdvooi  tuv  Yiptiira  , 

21.  'H  yrj  fitXaiua  wititi 

22.  'H  TavraXov  wot'  sartt 

23.  9cXai  Xcyctv  Arpeiiaf 

24.  >ri'(T/f  KCpara  ravpois     . 

25.  £v  licv  iptXr)  x^^'^'^*     • 

26.  £»  ftev  Xiyei;  ra  Qr/Siii 

27.  E(  tcrxioti  jten  \irroi 

28.  'O  avrip  h  ri)f  KvOnpm 

29  \aXtKnv  TO  uri  (tiXnatt 

30  ESoKovf  ovap  Tpoxa^ii* 
3L  'XaKivdttno  ut  ^aSibt 
32.  Et(   pvi-ati/atf  Ttptivati 
VQ.  yicaovVKTioii  noB  ti>pai{ 

34.  Miita/iijo/iti'  at,  rtTTi^ 

35.  Epa>{  iT'ir'  tv  poioioi     . 

36.  '<)  vXovTOi  eiyc  xfi^<'0* 

37.  Aia  i/VKTof  tyKaOtnSuiv 

38.  '^Xnpo^  irtti'ptii  oivov      . 

39.  '^l^(J  ycpovTa  rtpvvov 

40.  Eirti^ij  fiftuTOi  trvxOnv 

41.  Ti  naXof  t<TTi  Paii(,nv 

42.  no9f(,;  fi(v  ^tnvvoov      , 

43.  y.rti^avovi  fitv  KpOTal>'^tln 

44.  To  ^(liov  TO  T<jt¥  tptitria* 
49b  'Oray  Wfw  tow  01909    . 


BABRB 

11. 
15. 
31. 
1% 
10. 
13. 
14. 
32. 

9 
S8. 
39. 
21 
22. 
30. 
19. 
20. 

1. 

2. 
33. 
16 
53. 
45. 
40 
44. 

7 

4 

'•> 

43 
4C. 
23, 

a 

4i 

47 

4B 

a 
r 


f8 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


•OB 

46.  iSe,  TTtiii  tapos  (fiavcvros 

47.  Eyci)  yepojii  jxev  ei/n      . 

48.  'Oral'  b  BaKX'is  eiccXOn 

49.  Tow  Aiof  6  Traif  Bukxos 

50.  'Or'  eyca  wicj  tov  oivuv 
i>\,  Mr;  jit  <pvyrii  opoiaa       . 

58.  Ti  jxt  Tovi  vniiov;  Siiacrxcis 
'A  'Or'  eyoi  vtwv  b/itXav 
Ji4.  'O  TUvpOi  ovroi,  (O  rrat 
&5    'ZTC<payr;(popov  jizt'  Hpoj 

56  O  TOV  tv  TTovots  arctpri 

57  Apa  Tti  Topcvac  ttovtov 
58,  'O  SpaittTtii  b  xpvaoi  . 
69.  Tov  ncXavoxp(i}Ta  fiorpvv 

60.  Ava  0ap6iTov  Sovricroj    . 

*  *  « 

61.  rioXiot  ftcu  fijiiv  riir\ 

62.  \yt  Sri,  (pep'  flfitv,  co  nat 

63.  Toi/  Epwra  j'op  rov  hSpov 

64.  ruui/oii(ia(  CT    cXa<j>ri8oXe 

65.  IIuAs  QpriKiri,  Ti  Sn  fie 

66.  ©fawc  avao-fl-a,  Kuirpt    . 

67.  a  Jrai  napdevtov  0Xin<ov 
88.  Eyo)  J'  out'  av  \iiaX6eit}( 


BABNKI 
37. 

38. 
26. 
27. 
39. 
34. 
36 
54. 
35. 
51. 
50. 
49. 
66. 
52. 
64. 

.% 
.57. 
58. 
60. 
61. 
62. 
67. 


For  the  order  of  the  rest,  see  the  Notes. 


AN  ODE 

BY   THE    TRANSLATOB. 

Eni  jiolivois  ranriat, 
Trt'ios  nor'  b  ytcXtarrii 
'\Xapoi  yeXbjv  txciro, 
Mtfrytov  re  Kai  Xvpi^oiV 
Aiiipi  avTuv  a!  S'  cpittres 
'AiraXoi  avvcxopcvaav 
'O  ficXn  ra  rr/j  Kvdqpq; 

E!rOI£(,    IpVXIi    O't'cTTOVi' 

'O  6e  XcvKa  iruotpvpoKri 
Kpiva  av  poioiai  TtXc\a{ 
E0iA£i  aTe<p(ov  yepovra' 
'H  Sc  ^ca'ov  avaaaoif 
XOiMH  TTor'  £{  OXviiirov 
Eaopkxj'  AvoKpeovTa, 
'Eaopuiaa  tov;  epwras, 
'XnonciSiaccai  cnrf 
Xo<pe,  S'  a)f  AvaKpeavra 
Tov  ou(t>u]TaTuv  anavTWVf 
KaXcovatv  ol  aoipiarai, 
Ti,  ycpuv,  Tcov  liiuv  /jicv 
To({  cpuiv.,  TO}  Avail), 
K'  oVK  cpoi  Koarctv  tSuKOS 
T<   (ptXrjfjia  Trii   KvOripris, 
Ti  KvneXXa  tov  Avaiov, 
A(£i  y'  CTpv<()ii<jas  aSoiVf 

OvK    CIIOVS    VOftOVS   StSaOKbtVf 

OvK  e/iov  Ajixuv  ^arott 
'O  6c  TfjiOf  yitXiarrii 
lkt)Ti  Svcrxcpmvt,  (jitiiri, 
*On,  ^ca,  GOV  y'  avev  ittv, 
'O  coipioraTOS  avavriov 
Qapa  To>v  (7000)1'  KaXovitaf 


Mcra  T(oy  naXatv  yvvaixav 
AipcXoii  is  TCpirva  irai^io, 
'ily  Xvpri  yap,  tpov  TjTOp 
Avanvti  fiovuvs  tptiiraf 
'Q.6s  PiuTuv  yaXnvnv 
^iXciov  paXt(TTa  vavTOiv, 
Ou  aodioe  usXo>Soi  eim  ; 
Tij  auij)U)TCpOi  fiev  tarif 


CORRECTIONS  OF  THE  PRECEDINa 
ODE, 

SUGGESTED    "VC   AN    EMINENT    GREEK   SCHOLAB. 


'Enr  vop(pvpcois  Tairij(7t 
Tfi'ids  ttot'  (pSorroios 
IXapdi  ycXoiv  tKCiTO, 
ficdvoiv  re  xal  Xvpi^itiv         4 
vcpl  8'  avTOv  dpif  'EpaiTCi 
Tpopepois  TToatv  xdpiuuv. 
ra  PcXeixv'  b  fiiv  Kt)6ijp^j 
iitoUl  KaXrii,  AXaTovi 
mpdevTos,  ix  Ktpavvuv'         9 
6  ^£  XcvKa  KaXXi(pvXXots 
Kpiva  avv  l>66oiai  jrXefaf, 
i<piXet  (TTCipuiv  yipovra, 
KaTOi  &'  ciOvs  i^  'OXipirov        "i 
Xoipin  Scaiva  0daa,  ^ 

itropCta'  'AvaKpiovTa,  15 

iaopCioa  Tovi  "Eptoray, 
iiroptiiiuyaa  iprjai' 
2(50', — irrel  BpoTwv  al  tovto 
KaXiovat  <[)vXa  ndvra,  19 

KaXcovciv  ul  aoipiarai, — 
ri,  ycpoiv,  puTr/v  bScveis 
fftdTov  TpiSov  TCuv  piv 
lie'ra  rijjv  KaXoiv  'Eptorui', 
liCTa  TOV  KaXov  AmoIov, 
ipi  S'  (ii6e  Aa(  dri^ctsf         25 


Eti  ^SSivoi;  Ta-rrrjin 
Trji'os  ttot'  'S  peXiaTijt 


Xjopi  avTov  ol  S'  Epwrij 
'ArroAoi  avvtxopevcay 

E7roi£i,  fpvxriS  olaTovt 


'■'U  Ss  ^ISva.  ayaaaa 


'TiropF.tSia(r<rSi  etirt 
TOv  au(puTaT9v  airsfrui 


Tnli  Epwert,  TM  Atiaift) 
K'  OVK  tpot  KpaTtiv  citoKai 


1.  wop([>vpioii  vox  trisyllabica.  Anacr.  Fngni.  xxix.  3 
ed.  Fischer,  vopipvpiri  t'  'A^pofJirrj.  Id.  Fragm.  xxxti.  1 
a<paipii  SevTC  pe  -aop^vpiri,  ut  legendum  plane  ex  Athenso 
' AXiKopipipoii  Tanrjoi  dixit  Pseud-Anacreon,  Od.  viii.  3 
Theocr.  Id.  xv.  125.  iropipvpcoi  Si  TaitriTti  avoi,  paXaKw- 
Tcpoi  virvb), 

5.  Tmesis  pro  dpfcx^peva-av.  Theocr.  Id  tii  112.  ira> 
TtUvTO  (ovOai  Kcpl  i:iSaKas  d/xipX  piXtcmat,  h.  e  dp^cvdt 
rtoiTo. 

6.  Pseud-Anacr.  Od.  lii   12.  TpDiiepoTs  sroo-iv  x"P^^^^- 

7,  10.  6  piv,  hie — b  St,  ille.  Bion.  Id.  i  62.  x^  c*» 
di'aruf,  I  5j  6'  em  t6^ov  eSatv',  k,  t.  A.  itidem  de  Anioribaa 

8,  9.  £n-oi£i  —  Ik  Kcpnvvov.  Pseud-Anacr.  Cid.  xxTiir  18 
TO  Si  (SXeppa  vvv  dXridois  |  dird  tov  irvpos  iruiriaov. 

10,  U.  KaXXtfiXXoti—pdSoiat.  Pseud-Anacr  Od  w.9 
TO  poSnv  TO  KaXXiipvXXov, 

13.  Tmesis  pro  KmaSSaa.  Pseud-Anacr.  Od.  iii.  15.  di-t 
S'  eidii  AtSx"""  "'/'os,  h.  e.  dvdxpaf. 

18.  8upple  oVo;<a,  quo  tovto  referatur.  Eurip.  Phoen.  ISL 
TOVTO  yap  TTarrip  |  eOcTO.  h.  e.  roiro  Svopa.  fipoTdv  ipvXt 
TrdvTa  adumbratum  ex  Pseud-Anicr.  Qd.  iii.  4.  pepfirou 
Sk  0CAi  Tiivra. 

21.  Pseud-Anacr.  Od.  xxiv.  2.  Pi6tov  TpiSov  bSeveiy. 

25.  iEsch..£umen.  538.  unSi  vtv,  I  xeoSot  (Vcjv,  d&eta  l$il 
Aa£  drj-  i  arii. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


n 


rl  flXl/ia  Tilt  Kvdfjprit, 
rl  rvK^Aa  to3  Avaiov, 
lOati  Tpv(pwi>  diiSctf, 

Ifiir  oi  XaxcJf  idtroy ; 
i  6i  Tiji'of  itcXo>idi, 
Xi  wafiU  niov  yt  nn  foi 
XaXHaifC    i^r',  avevOc 
'  tri  f:d  au^di  xaXoiftai 
Viif  2  ruit'  aoipdv  awavTiitv, 
^iXlti),  wiiiif  Avpr^u, 
ptri  Tuy  xaAuv  yvfatgCiv, 
i'ttXioc  il  Ttpirya  tal^u)' 
tiOipi)  yap,  i)i  Kcap  itii, 

fiiirov  ic  riiv  yaX^VTjv 
^iXiuiv  iiiXiara  Tiitruy, 
vpipos  ci  iitX<i>Sfs  tifti ; 
'{  atxpiircpov  ycviir'  iv I 
luldcy  aoipijTtpos  rii  i 


30 


36 


41 


Aid  y'  trpvt^iivaf  (fStov 
OvK  cpov  Xax<^»  auT-.i> 

>Mqr(  Svaxtpa'i't,  <^ri<ri 

'Oti,  if  a,  iTov  y'  ovev  ptv 
'O  ouipuiTaTii  ilitavTiiiv 


'fXi  \vpri  yap,  Iftov  rirop 
USf  BXarov  yaXnvn* 
OS  ao^f  ntXbiSos  tifit 
Tti  ao<f<i}Ttpoi  ptv  tan- 


REMARKS  ON  ANACREON. 

Ti'EBE  is  but  little  known  with  certainty  of 
the  life  of  Anacreon.  Chamselcon  Heracleotes,' 
Tho  wrote  upon  the  subject,  has  been  lost  in 
Jie  general  wreck  of  ancient  literature.  The 
editors  of  the  poet  have  collected  the  few  trifling 
anecdotes  which  are  scattered  through  the  ex- 
tant authors  of  antiquity,  and,  supplying  the 
leticiency  of  materials  by  fictions  of  their  own 
imagination,  have  arranged,  what  they  call,  a 
life  of  Anacreon.  These  specious  fabrications 
are  intended  to  indulge  that  interest  which  we 
naturally  feel  in  the  biography  of  illustrious 
men  ;  but  it  is  rather  a  dangerous  kind  of  illu- 
sion, as  it  confounds  the  limits  of  history  and 
romance,*  and  is  too  often  supported  by  unfaith- 
ful citation.' 


32.  waplK  v6ov  yt  fifi  pat  xoXfiraivt,  ne  prater  rationem  in 
me  aari.  II.  Y.  133.  "Hpij, /iJ>  x"^'"'"'*'*  "■"?'*  »''^<"''  Siini- 
lein  pusitioiiem  particularum  pij  fioi  exbibet  Fseud-Anacr. 
Oil.  xiTiii.  in. 
'  He  U  qiidted  by  Athcnsus  ek  tm  itcpt  rov  AvaKptovroi, 
^  The  Ilixturv  of  Anacreon,  by  Ga^on  (le  Poete  sans  tard, 
tf  h*  "tj  lea  Himself),  is  professedly  a  romance;  nor  does 
Madc.oisrlle  Pnideri,  from  wnmn  he  borrowed  ihe  idea, 
giretei  .  to  historical  veracity  in  her  account  of  Anacreon  and 
Bapjiho.  These,  then,  are  allowable.  But  bow  can  Barnes 
t«e  forgiTsn,  who,  with  all  the  confidence  of  a  biographer, 
bires  t'vsry  wandering  of  the  poet,  and  settles  him  at  last, 
in  his  old  age,  in  a  country  villa  near  Tioa? 

*  The  learned  Bayle  han  detected  soine  infidelities  of  quo- 
tation in  Le  Fevre.  (Dictioimairt  Historiqw,  ^c)  Madame 
0;icier  is  not  more  aa-urate  than  ber  fatlier :  they  have 
timost  intd4  Anacreon  prime  vinister  ts  the  monarch  of 
lainos. 

*  llie  Asiatics  were  ai  remarkable  for  genius  as  for  Iiix- 
ory  '*Ini;onia  At'iatic.i  inclyta  per  gentes  fec&re  Poetic, 
^nwrenii,  inde  Mininermus  el  Antimachu»,lcc  "—  Solinus. 


Our  poet  M'as  bom  in  the  city  of  T6o8,*  is 
the  delicious  region  of  Ionia,  and  the  time  oi 
his  birth  appears  to  have  been  in  the  sixth  cen- 
tury before  Christ.*  He  flourished  at  that 
remarkable  period,  when,  under  the  polished 
tyrants  Hipparchus  and  Polycrates,  Athens  and 
Samos  were  become  the  rival  asylums  of  genius. 
There  is  nothing  certain  known  about  his  family, 
and  those  who  pretend  to  discover  in  Plato  thai 
he  was  a  descendant  of  the  monarch  CodruS; 
show  much  more  of  zeal  than  of  either  accu- 
racy or  judgment.' 

The  dispo-sition  and  talents  of  Anacreon  rec- 
ommended him  to  the  monarch  of  Samos,  and 
he  was  formed  to  be  the  friend  of  such  a  prince 
as  Polycrates.  Susceptible  only  to  the  pleas- 
ures, he  felt  not  the  corruptions  of  the  court ; 
and,  while  Pythagoras  fled  from  tho  tyrant, 
Anacreon  was  celebrating  his  praises  on  th*^ 
IjTO.  We  are  told  too  by  Maximus  Tyrius, 
that,  by  the  influence  of  his  amatory  songs,  he 
softened  the  mind  of  Polycrates  into  a  spirit  of 
benevolence  towards  his  subjects.^ 

The  amours  of  the  poet,  and  the  rivalship  of 
the  tyrant,*  I  shall  pass  over  in  silence ;  and 
there  are  few,  I  presume,  who  will  regret  the 
omission  of  most  of  those  anecdotes,  which  the 
industry  of  some  editors  has  not  only  promulged. 
but  discussed.  Whatever  is  repugnant  to  mod- 
esty and  virtue  is  considered  in  ethical  science; 
by  a  supposition  very  favorable  to  humanity, 
as  impossible ;  and  this  amiable  persuasion 
should  be  much  more  strongly  entertained, 
where  the  transgression  wars,  with  nature  as 
well  as  virtue.  But  why  are  we  not  allowed 
to  indulge  in  the  presumption  ?     Why  are  we 


8  I  have  not  attempted  to  define  the  particular  Olympiad, 
but  have  adopted  tlie  idea  of  Bayle,  who  says,  "  Je  n'ai 
point  marqud  d'Olynipiade ;  car  pour  un  homme  qui  a  vfcu 
85  ans,  il  me  semble  que  I'un  ne  doit  point  s'enfeniicr  dart 
des  bornes  si  dtroites." 

*  This  mistake  is  founded  on  a  false  interpretation  o<  i 
very  obvious  passage  in  Plato's  Dialogue  on  Temperance  ;  il 
originated  will)  Madame  Dacier,  and  has  been  received  iia 
plicilly  by  many.  Gail,  a  late  editor  of  Anacreon,  seem*  '.: 
claim  to  itimself  the  merit  of  detecting  this  ermr ;  but  Bi^'li 
bad  observud  it  beforn  him. 

'  AvoKpcoiv  ^apioif  IIiiXvirpaTJiv  l^pcpwat.  Maxim.  Tyr. 
(  SI.  Maximus  Tyrius  mentions  this  among  other  iii>taiirps 
of  the  influence  of  poetry.  If  Gail  had  read  .Maxiuins  Tyr 
iuB,  how  could  he  ridicule  this  idea  in  Moutonnet,  as  uiwni. 
ttaenticated  ? 

>  In  the  romance  of  Clelia,  the  anecdote  to  which  I  aUixlf 
it  told  of  a  young  girl,  with  whom  Anacreon  lell  in  V.rt 
while  she  personated  the  god  A|ki1Io  in  a  nia-'k.  Ru; 
here  Mademoiselle  Scudep.  u>niiulted  nature  n:  >re  Uua 
truth. 


M 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


officiously  reminded  that  there  have  been  really 
(such  instances  of  depravity  ? 

Hipparchus,  who  now  maintained  at  Athens 
the  power  which  his  father  Pisistratus  had 
usurped,  was  one  of  those  princes  who  may  be 
said  to  have  polished  the  fetters  of  their  sub- 
jects.. He  was  the  first,  according  to  Plato, 
who  edited  the  poems  of  Homer,  and  com- 
manded them  to  be  sung  bj'  the  rhapsodists  at 
the  celebration  of  the  Panathensea.  From  his 
court,  which  was  a  sort  of  galaxy  of  genius, 
Anacreon  could  not  loi^g  be  absent.  Hippar- 
chus sent  a  barge  for  him ;  the  poet  readily 
embraced  the  invitation,  and  the  Muses  and  the 
Loves  were  wafted  with  him  to  Athens.' 
.  The  manner  of  Anacreon's  death  was  singu- 
lar. We  are  told  that  in  the  eighty-fifth  year 
of  his  age  he  was  choked  by  a  grape  stone ;  * 
and,  however  we  may  smile  at  their  enthusiastic 
partiality,  who  see  in  this  easy  and  charac- 
teristic death  a  peculiar  indulgence  of  Heaven, 
we  cannot  help  admiring  that  his  fate  should 
have  been  so  emblematic  of  his  disposition. 
Caelius  Calcagninus  alludes  to  this  catastrophe 
In  the  following  epitaph  on  our  poet : '  — 

Those  lips,  then,  hallowM  sage,  which  pour'd  along 
A  music  sweet  as  any  cygnet's  song, 

Tlie  grape  hath  clos'd  f  irever ! 
Here  let  the  ivy  kiss  tlie  poet's  tomb. 
Here  let  the  rose  he  loved  with  laurels  bloom. 

Ill  bands  tliat  ne'er  sliall  sever 


1  There  is  a  very  interesting  French  poem  founded  upon 
this  anecdote,  imputed  to  Desyvetaux,  and  called  "  Anacrton 
Citoyen." 

s  Fabric  ius  appears  not  to  trust  very  implicitly  in  this 
story.    "  Uvie  passte  acino  tandem  suffocatus,  si  credimus 
Buidte  in  oiyoTrorr/s;  alii  enim  hoc  mortis  genere  periisse 
tradunt  Sophocleni."  —  Fabricii  Bihliothec.  OriCC.  lib.  ii.  cap. 
15.     ft  must  be  confessed  tliat  Lucian,  who  tells  us  that 
Bophocles  was  choked  by  a  grape  stone,  in  the  very  same 
treatise  mentions  the  longevity  of  Anacreon,  and  yet  is  silent 
on  the  manner  of  his.  death.    Could  he  have  been  ignorant 
of  such  a  remarkable  coincidence,  or,  knowing,  could  he 
Jiave  neglected  to  remark  it .'    See  Regnier's  introduction  to 
his  Anacreon. 
8  At  te,  sancte  senex,  acinus  sub  Tartara  misit ; 
Cygneae  clausit  qui  tibi  vocis  iter. 
Vos,  hederm,  tunnilum,  tumulum  vos  cingite,  laurl, 

*'oc  rosa  pcrpetuo  vernet  odora  loco  ; 
\t  vitis  procul  liiiic,  procul  hinc  odiosa  facessat, 

Qute  causam  dirse  protulit,  uva,  necis, 
Creditur  ipse  minus  vitem  jam  Bacchus  amare. 
In  vatem  tantum  quce  fuit  ausa  nefas. 
The  author  of  this  epitaph,  CjbUus  Calcagninus,  has  trans- 
lated or  imitated  the  epigrams  tiy  Tr\v  ^Upavoi  /Jouy,  which 
Ue  given  under  the  name  of  Anacreon. 

4  Barnes  is  convinced  (but  very  gratuitously),  of  the  syn- 
dmuism  o!  Anacreon  vai  Sappho.  In  citing  his  authorities, 


But  far  be  thou,  O,  far !  unholy  vine. 

By  whom  the  favorite  minstrel  of  the  Nine 

Lost  his  sweet  vital  breath ; 
Thy  God  himself  now  blushes  to  confess. 
Once  hallow'd  /ine !  he  feels  he  loves  thee  less, 

Since  poor  Anacreon's  death. 

It  has  been  supposed  by  some  writers  that 
Anacreon  and  S:ippho  were  contemporaries ; 
and  the  very  thought  of  an  intercourse  betweco 
persons  so  congenial,  both  in  warmth  of  passion 
and  delicacy  of  genius,  gives  such  play  to  tha 
imagination,  that  the  mind  loves  to  indulge  in 
it.  But  the  vision  dissolves  before  historical 
truth  ;  and  Chameleon  and  Hermcsianax,  who 
are  the  source  of  the  supposition,  are  con- 
sidered as  having  merely  indulged  in  a  poetical 
anachronism.* 

To  infer  the  moral  dispositions  of  a  poet  from 
the  tone  of  sentiment  which  pervades  his  works, 
is  sometimes  a  very  fallacious  analogy ;  I  ut 
the  soul  of  Anacreon  speaks  so  unequivocally 
through  his  odes,  that  we  may  safely  consult 
them  as  the  faithful  mirrors  of  his  heart.*  We 
find  him  there  the  elegant  voluptuary,  diffusing 
the  seductive  charm  of  sentiment  over  passions 
and  propensities  at  which  rigid  morality  must 
frown.  His  heart,  devoted  to  indolence,  seems 
to  have  thought  that  there  is  wealth  enough  in 
happiness,  but  seldom  happiness  in  mere  wealth. 
The  cheerfulness,  indeed,  with  which  he  bright- 
ens his  old  age  is  interesting  and  endearing; 
like  his  own  rose,  he  is  fragrant  even  in  decay 


he  has  strangely  neglected  the  hne  quoted  by  Fulvius  Ur»" 
nus,  as  from  Anacreon,  among  the  testimonies  to  Bapotto .  — 

Ei/ii  '^aS(j)v  tiaapai  'Zavipw  wapdevov  aovifiuyvov, 

Fabricius  thinks  that  they  might  have  been  contemporary, 
but  considers  their  amour  as  a  tale  of  imagination.  VosaiM 
rejects  the  idea  entirely:  as  do  also  Olaus  Borrichiui  and 
others. 

6  An  Italian  poet,  in  some  verses  on  Bclleau's  transU.tioc 
of  Anacreon,  pretends  to  imagine  that  our  bard  did  not  fin 
as  he  wrote :  — 

LyiEum,  Venerem,  Cupidinemque 
Senex  lusit  Anacreon  poeta. 
Sed  quo  tempore  nee  capaciores 
Rogabat  cyathos,  nee  inquietis 
Urebatur  amuribus,  sed  ipsis 
Tantum  versibus  et  jocis  amabat, 
Nullum  pra;  se  habitum  gerens  Muanti* 


To  Love  and  Bacchus  ever  young 

While  sage  Anacreon  touch'd  the  lyr% 
He  neither  felt  the  loves  he  sung. 

Nor  fiU'd  his  bowl  to  Bacchus  higher 
Those  flowery  davg  had  faded  long. 

When  youth  could  act  the  lover's  part 
And  passion  trembled  in  his  sone, 

But  never,  never,  reached  his  bean 


i 


But  the  most  peculiar  feature  of  his  mind  is 
(hat  love  of  simplicity,  which  he  attributes  to 
hl:nself  80  feelingly,  and  which  breathes  char- 
scteristically  throughout  all  that  he  has  sung. 
In  truth,  if  we  omit  those  few  vices  in  our 
tBtimnte  which  religion,  at  that  time,  not  only 
connived  at,  but  consecrated,  we  shall  be  in- 
alined  to  say  that  the  disposition  of  our  poet 
vaa  amiable ;  that  his  morality  was  relaxed, 
bnt  not  abandoned ;  and  that  Virtue,  with  her 
torn  loosened,  may  be  an  apt  emblem  of  the 
ehaiicter  of  Anacreon.' 

Of  his  person  and  physiognomy  time  has  pre- 
Ber>cd  such  uncertain  memorials,  that  it  were 
better,  perhaps,  to  leave  the  pencil  to  fancy ;  and 
few  can  read  the  Odes  of  Anacreon  -without  im- 
agining to  themselves  the  form  of  the  animated 
old  bard,  crowned  with  roses,  and  singing  cheer- 
fully to  his  lyre.  But  the  head  of  Anacreon, 
prefixed  to  this  work,*  has  been  considered  so 
authentic,  that  we  scarcely  could  be  justified  in 
the  omission  of  it ;  and  some  have  even  thought 
that  it  is  by  no  means  deficient  in  that  benevo- 
ent  suavity  of  expression  which  should  charac- 
terize the  countenance  of  such  a  poet. 

After   the  very   enthusiastic  eulogiums  be- 

I  Anacrenn'M  character  has  been  varioiii<]y  colored.  Barnes 
lingers  on  it  with  enthusiastic  admiration  :  but  he  is  always 
•ztravagant,  if  not  sometimes  also  a  little  profane.  Baillet 
ruPH  too  much  into  the  opposite  extreme,  exaggerating  also 
the  testimonies  which  he  has  consulted  ;  and  we  cannot 
■urcly  agree  with  him  when  he  cites  such  a  compiler  as  Ath- 
enteus,  as  "  un  des  plus  savans  critiques  de  I'antiquit^.''  - 
J*-;nnent  dn  Sfavans,  M.  CV. 

Barnes  amid  hardly  have  read  the  passage  to  which  he 
refcin,  when  he  accuses  Lo  Fevre  of  having  censured  our 
poet's  char.'icter  in  a  note  on  Longinus  ;  tlie  note  in  question 
being  manifest  irony,  in  allusion  to  some  censure  passed 
up'<n  Le  Fevre  for  his  Anacreon.  It  is  clear,  indeed,  that 
jraise  rather  than  censure  is  intini.nted.  See  Johannes  Vul- 
pius  (de  Ulilitate  Poetices),  who  vindicates  our  poet's  rep- 
atation. 

I  It  is  taken  from'  the  Bibliotheca  of  Fulvius  Ursinus. 
Btdori  h.is  copied  the  same  head  into  his  Imagines.  Johan- 
am  FatH>r,  in  nis  description  of  the  coin  of  Ursinus,  men- 
Oons  another  nead  i>n  a  very  beautiful  camelian,  which  he 
■apposes  was  worn  in  a  ring  by  some  admirer  of  the  poet 
in  the  Iciinographia  of  Canini  tliere  is  a  youthful  head  of 
Anarreon  from  a  Grecian  medal,  with  the  letters  TEIOS 
■round  it ;  i>n  the  reverse  there  is  a  Neptune,  holding  a  spear 
hi  his  right  hand,  and  a  dolphin,  with  the  word  TIANilN 
Insrribod,  in  thj  left ;  "  volendoci  denotare  (says  Canini)  che 
quelle  clttadini  la  coniassero  in  honore  del  sue  com|>atriota 
poeta."  There  is  also  among  the  coins  nf  De  Wilde  one, 
which,  thjugh  it  bears  no  effigy,  was  probably  struck  to  the 
memory  *{  Anacreon.  It  has  the  word  THUIN,  encircled 
with  an  ivy  crown.  "  At  quidni  respicit  htec  corona  Anac- 
Montem,  nobilem  lyricum  .' "—  De  f^ilde, 

*  Besides  those  which  are  extant,  he  wrote  hymns,  elegies, 
lpi,~VHms,  ^tr.  Some  of  the  epigrams  still  exist  Horace, 
11 


stowed  both  by  ancients  and  modems  upon  th« 
poems  of  Anacreon,'  we  need  not  be  diffider* 
in  expressing  our  raptures  at  their  beauty,  not 
hesitate  to  pronounce  them  thp  most  polished 
remains  of  antiquity.*  They  are,  indeed,  oT 
beauty,  all  enchantment.*  He  steals  us  so  in« 
sensibly  along  with  him,  that  we  sympatl.  ize  f  rei 
in  his  excesses.  In  his  amatory  odes  there  is  i 
delicacy  of  compliment  not  to  be  found  in  anj 
other  ancient  poet.  Love  at  that  period  wai 
rather  an  unrefined  emotion :  and  the  inter- 
course of  the  sexes  was  animated  more  by  passion 
than  by  sentiment.  They  knew  not  those  littl*" 
tendernesses  which  form  the  spiritual  part  of 
affection  ;  their  expression  of  feeling  was  there- 
fore rude  and  unvaried,  and  tlie  poetry  of  love 
deprived  it  of  its  most  captivating  graces.  Anac- 
reon, however,  attained  some  ideas  of  this  purei 
gallantry  ;  and  the  same  delicacy  of  mind  which 
led  him  to  this  refinement,  prevented  him  alst 
from  yielding  to  the  freedom  of  language,  which 
has  sullied  the  pages  of  all  the  other  poets. 
His  descriptions  are  warm ;  but  the  warmth  i» 
in  the  ideas,  not  the  words.  He  is  sportive  with- 
out being  wanton,  and  ardent  without  being 
licentious.     His  poetic  invention  is  always  most 


in  addition  to  the  mention  of  him  (lib.  iv.  od,  9),  alludes  alat 
to  a  poem  of  his  m>on  the  rivalry  of  Circe  and  Pencl<i[ie  in 
the  afTections  of  Ulysses,  lib.  i.  od.  17  ;  and  the  scholiast 
upon  Nicander  cites  a  fragment  from  a  poeui  upon  Sleep  by 
Anacreon,  and  attributes  to  him  likewise  a  medicinal  trea 
tise.  Fulgentius  mentions  a  work  of  his  upon  the  war  b» 
tween  Jupiter  and  the  Titans,  and  the  origin  of  the  cons' 
cration  of  the  eagle 

*  See  Horace,  Maximns  Tyrius,  &c.  "  His  stylo  (says 
Sc^liger)  is  sweeter  than  thfe  juice  nf  the  Indian  reod."  — 
PiSeL  lib.  i.  cap.  44.  "  Fmrn  the  softness  of  his  verses  (says 
Olaus  Borrirhius)  tlio  ancients  bestowed  on  him  the  epithets 
sweet,  delicate,  graceful,  &c." — DUsertationen  ^cademiat, 
de  Poetis,  diss.  3.  Scaliger  again  praises  him  thus  in  a  pun  ; 
speaking  of  the  ^cAot,  or  (mIc,  "  Anacreon  auteni  non  solum 
dedit  luec  iiiXn  sed  etiam  in  ipsis  mella."  See  tlie  passago 
of  Rapin,  quoted  by  all  the  editors.  I  cannot  omit  citing 
also  the  following  very  spirited  apostrcphe  of  the  author  or 
the  Commentary  prefixed  to  the  Parma  edition  :  "  O  voc 
sublimes  animae,  vos  Apollinis  alumni,  qui  po«<t  un'iin  Air 
manem  in  tot!  Ilellade  lyricam  poesim  ex.siiscitasti::,  coliiiii 
tis,  ampliflcastis,  qiieso  vos  an  ullus  unqiiam  fiicrit  vates  <p.  i 
T»,io  cantori  vel  natune  csndore  vel  metri  suavitate  palmarr 
pni.'ir'inrit."  See  likewise  Vincenzo  Gravini  della  R;ij 
Poetic.  Ilbro  pr:!»»o,  p.  97.  Amf)ng  the  Ilitrntti  of  Mailn( , 
there  is  t-..e  of  .Vnacreor.  beginning  "  Cingetcnii  la  frort«,  ' 
&.C.  tec 

s  "  We  may  |>e.jeive,'  says  Vossius,  "  that  the  itoi-atioi. 
of  his  words  conduces  very  much  to  the  sweetness  of  hi* 
style."  Henry  Stephen  remarks  the  same  beauty  in  a  note 
on  the  forty  f<  urth  ode.  This  figure  ot  iteration  is  his  moM 
appropriate  grace  :  —  but  the  modem  writers  of  Juvenilia 
and  Basia  have  adopted  it  to  an  excess  >vhich  destrov"  th» 
effect 


orilliantly  dispiayed  in  those  allegorical  fictions 
which  so  many  have  endeavored  to  imitate, 
though  all  have  (jonfessed  them  to  be  inimitable. 
Simplicity  is  the  distinguishing  feature  of  these 
jdes,  and  they  interest  by  their  innocence,  as 
•nuch  as  they  fascinate  by  thr^ir  beauty.  They 
may  be  said,  indeed,  to  be  t).e  vory  infants  of 
llie  Muses,  and  to  lisp  in  numbers. 

I  shall  not  bo  accused  of  enthusiastic  parti- 
a'iij  by  those  who  have  read  and  felt  the  origi- 
nal ;  but,  to  others,  I  am  conscious,  this  should 
not  be  the  language  of  a  translator,  whose  faint 
reflection  of  such  beauties  can  but  ill  justify  his 
admiration  of  them. 

In  the  age  of  Anacreon  music  and  poetry 
were  inseparable.  These  kindred  talents  were 
for  a  long  time  associated,  and  the  poet  always 
sung  his  own  compositions  to  the  lyre.  It  is 
probable  that  they  were  not  set  to  any  regular 
air,  but  rather  a  kind  of  musical  recitation, 
which  was  varied  according  to  the  fancy  and 
feelings  of  the  moment.'  The  poems  of  Anac- 
reon were  sung  at  banquets  as  late  as  the  time 
of  Aulus  Gellius,  who  tells  us  that  he  heard 
one  of  the  odes  performed  at  a  birthday  enter- 
tainment.' 

The  singular  beauty  of  our  poet's  style,  and 
the  apYjarent  facility,  perhaps,  of  his  metre  have 
attracted,  as  I  have  already  remarked,  a  crowd 
of  imitators.  Some  of  these  have  succeeded 
with  wonderful  felicity,  as  may  be  discerned 
in  the  few  odes  which  are  attributed  to  writers 
of  a  later  period.  But  none  of  his  emulators 
have  been  half  so  dangerous  to  his  fame  as 
those  Greek  ecclesiastics  of  the  early  ages,  who, 
being  conscious  of  their  own  inferiority  to  their 
great  prototypes,   determined  on  removing  all 


'  III  the  Paris  edition  tliere  are  four  of  the  original  odes 
f^i  til  niHsic,  by  Le  Sueur,  Gossec,  Meliul,  and  Clie'rubini. 
"  On  chaiite  du  Latin,  et  de  I'ltalien,"  says  Gail,  "  quelque- 
ft»i  in&me  »ans  les  entendre  ;  qui  einpeche  que  nous  ne 
ciiaiitions  des  odes  Grecques  ? "  The  chromatic  leaniing 
lA  those  composers  is  very  unlike  what  we  are  told  of  the 
riiiiple  melody  of  the  ancients  ;  and  they  have  all,  as  it  ap- 
pears to  ine,  mistaken  the  accentuation  of  the  words. 

2  The  Parma  commentator  is  rather  careless  in  referring 
»ii  this  passage  of  Aulus  Gellius  (lib.  xix.  9).  The  ode  was 
Mrt  sung  by  the  rhetorician  Julianus,  as  he  says,  but  by  the 
ifiinstrels  of  both  sexes,  who  were  introduced  at  the  euter- 
i\ininent. 

3  See  what  Coloinesius,  in  his  "  Literary  Treasures,"  has 
ijuiited  from  Alcyonius  de  Exilio;  it  may  be  found  in  Bax- 
i«r.  Oolomesius,  after  citing  the  passage,  adds,  "  H«c  auro 
loiitra  cara  non  jiotui  non  apponere." 

vVe  may  perceive  by  the  beginning  of  the  ^ret  hymn  of 
bishop  Syncsius,  that  he  made  Anacreon  an4  Sappho  his 
A<  dels  ot  composition. 


possibility  of  comparison,  and,  under  a  sem 
blance  of  moral  zeal,  deprived  the  world  of 
some  of  the  most  exquisite  treasures  of  ancient 
times.^  The  works  of  Sappho  and  Alcaem 
were  among  those  flowers  of  Grecian  literature 
which  thus  fell  beneath  the  rude  hand  of  ec- 
clesiastical presumption.  It  is  true  they  pre- 
tended that  this  sacrifice  of  genius  was  hal.c  we'l 
by  the  interests  of  religion:  but  I  have  alieadj 
assigned  the  most  probable  motive ;  *  and  if 
Gregorius  Nazianze'nus  had  not  written  Anac- 
reontics, we  might  now  perhaps  have  the  works 
of  the  Teian  unmutilated,  and  be  empowered  to 
say  exultingly  with  Horace, 

Nee  si  quid  olim  lusit  Anacreon 

Delevit  a;tas. 

The  zeal  by  which  these  bishops  professed  t(i 
be  actuated,  gave  birth  more  innocently,  indeed, 
to  an  aosurd  species  of  parody,  as  repugnant  to 
piety  as  it  is  to  taste,  where  the  poet  of  volup- 
tuousness was  made  a  preacher  of  the  gospel, 
and  his  muse,  like  the  Venus  in  armor  at  Lace 
daemon,  was  arrayed  in  all  the  severities  of 
priestly  instruction.  Such  was  the  "  Anacreoii 
Recantatus,"  by  Carolus  de  Aquino,  a  Jesuit, 
published  1701,  which  consisted  of  a  series  of 
palinodes  to  the  several  songs  of  our  poet. 
Such,  too,  wa^  the  Christian  Anacreon  of  Pa- 
trignanus,  another  Jesuit,*  who  preposterously 
transferred  to  a  most  sacred  subject  all  that  the 
Grecian  poet  had  dedicated  to  festivity  and  love. 
His  metre  has  frequently  been  adopted  by 
the  modem  Latin  poets ;  and  Scaliger,  Taub- 
man,  Barthius,*  and  others,  have  shown  that  it 
is  "by  no  means  uncongenial  with  that  language.' 
The  Anacreontics  of  Scaliger,  however,  scarcely 
deserve  the  name ;  as  they  glitter  all  over  witl 


Aye  fioi,  Xij'tia  (papiiiyli, 
Mera  Tiji'av  aotSai/f 
Mtro  \ea6iav  je  jjioXiran 

Margiinius  and  Damascenus  were  likewise  autbors  ot  r*GV 
Anacreontics. 

6  This,  perhaps,  is  the  "Jesuita  quidam  Gnecaius"  il 
luded  to  by  Barnes,  who  has  himself  composed  an  A  laxpcuir 
Xpiariavo;,  as  absurd  f.s  the  rest,  but  somewhat  more  ski! 
fully  executed. 

«  I  have  seen  somewhere  an  account  of  the  M.SS  of  Bar 
thius,  written  just  after  his  death,  which  menlions  nisiij 
more  Anacreontics  of  his  than  1  believe  have  ever  !*«e< 
published. 

1  Thus    30  Albertus,  a  Danish  poet :  — 

Fidii  tui  mmister 
Gaudebo  semper  esse, 
Gaudebo  srmper  illi 
Litare  ttiure  mulso ; 
Qaudebo  semper  illiuv 


1 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


83 


eonceits,  and,  though  often  elegant,  are  always 
labored.  The  beautiful  tictions  of  Angerianus  ' 
preserve  more  happily  than  any  others  the  deli- 
rate  turn  of  those  allegorical  fables,  which, 
passing  so  frequently  through  the  mediums  of 
version  and  imitation,  have  generally  lost  their 
finest  rays  in  the  transmission.  Many  of  the 
[taliar.  poets  have  indulged  their  fancies  upon 
the  subjects,  and  in  the  manner  of  Anacreon, 
Bernardo  Tasso  tirst  introduced  the  metre,  which 
*>  %a  afterwards  polished  and  enriched  by  Cha- 
nriera  and  others.' 

To  judge  by  the  references  of  Degen,  the 
Oonnan  language  abounds  in  Anacreontic  imi- 
tations; and  Ilagedorn'  is  one  among  many 
who  have  assumed  him  as  a  model.  La  Farre, 
Chaulieu,  and  the  other  light  poets  of  France, 
have  also  professed  to  cultivatQ  the  muse  of 
T608  ;  but  they  have  attained  all  her  negligence 
with  little  of  the  simple  grace  that  embellishes 
.t.  In  the  dilicate  bard  of  Schiras *  we  find  the 
kindred  spirit  of  Anacreon  :  some  of  his  gazelles, 
or  songs,  possess  all  the  character  of  our  poet. 

We  come  now  to  a  retrospect  of  the  editions 
of  Anacreon.  To  Henry  Stephen  we  are  in- 
debted for  having  first  recovered  his  remains 
from  the  obscurity  in  which,  so  singularly,  they 
had  for  many  ages  reposed.  lie  found  the 
seventh  ode,  as  we  are  told,  on  the  cover  of  an 
old  book,  and  communicated  it  to  Victorius,  who 
mentions  the  circumstance  in  his  "  Various 
Readings."  Stephen  was  then  very  young ;  and 
this  discovery  was  considered  by  some  critics  of 
that  day  as  a  literary  imposition.*  In  1554,  how- 
ever, he  gave  Anacreon  to  the  world,*  accompa- 
nied with  annotations  and  a  Latin  version  of  the 


Laudare  piimilillii 
Anarreontir.illjg. 
Sec  the  Danish  Potts  collected  by  RoBtgaard. 

TT»e«e  pretty  liulenesses  defy  translation.  A  beaittiriil 
Anacreontic  by  Hugo  Grotiua,  may  be  fuund  Lib.  L  Farra- 
fitiiA. 

I  To  Angerianiiii  Prior  is  indebted  for  some  of  his  happiest 
V/Jioldgioal  siilijecta. 

'  See  rresriiiilK-ni,  llistoria  della  Volg.  Poea. 

*  "  L'niinable  Ilagedom  vaiit  qiieIqiiefoi«  Anacr6on." — 
C^vrot,  Idie  de  la  PoKsie  AUrmande, 

*  See  Todcrtrii  on  the  learning  of  the  Turks,  aK  translated 
Vf  De  Ciiiirnara.  Prince  Canlcmir  has  made  the  Riimians 
uqiiainted  with  Anacreon.  See  liiK  Life,  prefixed  lu  a  trans- 
atlnn  of  his  Satires,  by  the  Abbi  de  Gua-^co. 

»  RubertelliiH,  in  his  work  "  De  Katione  cnrrigendi,"  pro- 
loiincea  tlieso  verses  to  tie  tlie  triflings  of  some  insipid 
lr«H:ist. 

*  Ron^ard  commemorates  this  event :  — 

Je  vay  boire  4  flenrie  Etienne 
Uui  des  enfers  nous  a  rendu, 


greater  part  of  the  odes.  The  learned  still  hesi 
tated  to  receive  them  as  the  relics  of  the  Teiai 
bard,  and  suspected  them  to  bo  the  fabrication 
of  some  monks  of  the  sixteenth  cent  iry.  Thit 
was  an  idea  from  which  the  classic  muse  re- 
coiled ;  and  the  Vatican  manuscript,  consulte' 
by  Scaliger  and  Salmasius,  confirmed  the  er 
tiquity  of  most  of  the  poems.  A  very  inaccu 
rate  copy  of  this  MS.  was  taken  by  Isaac  Vos- 
sius,  and  this  is  the  authority  which  Barneys  hat 
followed  in  his  collation.  Accordingly  he  mis- 
represents almost  as  often  as  he  quotes ;  and 
the  subsequent  editors,  relying  upon  his  author- 
ity, have  spoken  of  the  manuscript  with  not 
less  confidence  than  ignorance.  The  literary 
world,  however,  has  at  length  been  gratified 
with  this  curious  memorial  of  the  poet,  by  the 
industry  of  the  Abb6  Spaletti,  who  published 
at  Rome,  in  1781,  a  fac  simile  of  those  pages  of 
the  Vatican  manuscript  which  contained  th" 
odes  of  Anacreon.^ 

A  catalogue  has  been  given  by  Gail  of  all  thf 
different  editions  and  translations  of  Anacreon 
Finding  their  number  to  be  much  greater  than 
I  could  possibly  have  had  an  opportunity  of 
consulting,  I  shall  here  content  myself  with 
enumerating  only  those  editions  and  version* 
which  it  has  been  in  my  power  to  collect ;  and 
which,  though  very  few,  are,  I  beUeve,  the 
most  important. 

The  edition  by  Henry  Stephen,  1554,  at 
Paris  —  the  Latin  version  is  attributed  by  Col- 
omesius  to  John  Dorat.* 

The  old  French  translations,  by  Ronsard  and 
Bellcau  —  the  former  published  in  1555,  the 
latter  in  1556.     It  appears  from  a  note  of  Mn 


Du  vieil  Anacr<on  perdu, 
La  douce  lyre  Teienne. 


Ode  XV.  bock  J 


I  flll  the  bowl  to  Stephen's  name. 
Who  rescued  from  the  gloom  of  night 

The  Teian  bard  of  festive  fame, 
And  brought  liis  living  lyre  to  lighL 

7  This  manuscript,  whicn  Spaletti  thinks  as  old  as  'J(« 
tenth  century,  was  bniught  from  the  Palatine  into  Uie  V»ti. 
can  library ;  it  is  a  kind  of  anthology  of  Oreek  epigrams, 
and  in  the  67Cth  page  of  it  are  found  the  Il/iiufj^iu  ^vn^o- 
ataxa  of  Anacuon. 

*  "  Lo  ni6me  (M.  Vossnis)  m'a  dit  qu'il  avoit  possidt  ub 
Anacreon,  ou  Scaliger  avoit  marqii6  de  sa  main,  qii'  Henri 
Etienne  n'itoit  pas  I'anteur  de  la  version  Lai.iie  de»  i>de« 
de  ce  poete,  mais  Jean  Dorat,"  —  Paulas  Culumtsini,  P*" 
tiealariUs. 

Colomesius,  however,  seems  to  have  ndied  to^  impliciin 
on  Voesius ,  —  almost  all  these  Particiilaritis  begin  wiu 
«M.y<M8iU8ir  idit" 


retus  upon  one  of  the  sonnets  of  Ronsard,  that 
Henry  Stephen  communicated  to  this  poet  his 
manuscript  of  Anacreon,  before  he  promulgated 
Jt  to  the  world.' 

The  edition  by  Le  Fevre,  1660. 

The  edition  by  Madame  Dacier,  1681,  with  a 
p.r.ise  translation.* 

The  edition  by  Longepierre,  1684,  with  a 
tlinslation  in  verse, 

Tlie  edition  by  Baxter;  London,  1695. 

A  French  translation  by  la  Fosse,  1704. 

"  L'Histoire  des  Odes  d' Anacreon,"  by  Ga- 
f  on  ;  Rotterdam,  1712. 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  several 
hands,  1713,  in  which  the  odes  by  Cowley  are 
Inserted. 

The  edition  by  Barnes  ;  London,  1721. 

The  edition  by  Dr.  Trapp,  1733,  with  a  Latin 
rersion  in  elegiac  metre. 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  John  Addi- 
■on,  1735. 

A  collection  of  Italian  translations  of  Anac- 
reon, published  at  Venice,  1736,  consisting  of 
those  by  Corsini,  Regnier,'  Salvini,  Marchetti, 
and  one  by  several  anonymous  authors.* 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  Fawkes  and 
Doctor  Broome,  1760.* 

Another,  anonymous,  1768. 

The  edition  by  Spaletti,  at  Rome,  1781  ;  with 
the  fac  simile  of  the  Vatican  MS. 

The  edition  by  Degen,  1786,  who  published 

1  "  La  fiction  de  ce  sonnet  comnie  I'auteur  m6me  m'a  (lit, 
•Bt  prise  d'une  ode  d'Anacr6on,  encore  non  imprimfie,  qu'il 
a  depiiis  traduit,  Sd  ixcf  (piXn  xf^^'^"''-" 

*  The  author  of  Nouvelles  de  la  R^pub.  des  Lett  bestows 
ini  this  translation  much  more  praise  than  its  merits  appear 
to  me  to  justify. 

8  The  notes  of  Regnier  are  not  inserted  in  this  edition  ; 
but  they  must  be  interesting,  as  they  were  (or  the  most  part 
ro:nmunicated  by  the  ingenious  Menage,  wlio,  we  may  per- 
ceive, from  a  passage  in  the  Menagiana,  bestowed  some 
researcli  on  tlie  subject.  "  C'est  aussi  lui  (M.  Bigot)  qui 
i'est  d?nn6  la  peine  de  confdrer  des  manuscrits  en  Italie 
dans  le  tem«  q  le  je  travaillois  sur  Anacr6on." — Menaffiana, 
»ecf~nde  partie. 

*  I  find  in  HajTn's  Notizia  de'  Libri  ran,  Venice,  1670,  an 
Um  'an  translation  by  Cappone,  mentioned. 

This  is  the  most  complete  of  the  English  translations. 

*  riiis  ode  is  the  first  of  the  seriesin  the  Vatican  manu- 
Mript,  which  attributes  it  to  no  other  poet  than  Anacreon. 
They  who  assert  that  the  manuscript  imputes  it  to  Basilius, 
have  been  misled  by  the  words  Tow  avrov  PaaiXiKWi  in  the 
margin,  which  are  merely  intended  as  a  title  to  the  follow- 
ing ode.  Whether  it  be  the  production  of  Anacreon  or  not, 
t  has  all  the  features  of  ancient  simplicity,  and  is  a  beauti- 
VI  imitation  of  the  poet's  happiest  manner. 

1  Sparkled  in  his  eyes  of  fire, 

Through  «A«  mist  of  soft  desire.]  "  How  could  he  know 
>>  the  first   x)'t  (saj»  Baxter)  that  the  poet  was  ^lAtuvoj  ?  " 


also   a   German   translation   of  Anacreon,   M 
teemed  the  best 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  Urquhart, 
1787. 

The  edition  by  Gail,  at  Paris,  1799,  witL 
prose  translation. 


ODE  I.« 

I  SAW  the  smiling  bard  of  pleasure, 
The  minstrel  of  the  Teian  measure  ; 
'Twas  in  a  vision  of  the  night. 
He  beam'd  upon  my  wondering  sight. 
I  heard  his  voice,  and  warmly  pressed 
The  dear  enthusiast  to  my  breast. 
His  tresses  wore  a  silvery  dye. 
But  beauty  sparkled  in  his  eye ; 
Sparkled  in  his  eyes  of  fire, 
Through  the  mist  of  soft  desire.^ 
His  lip  exhal'd,  whene'er  he  sigh'd. 
The  fragrance  of  the  racy  tide  ; 
And,  as  with  weak  and  reeling  feet 
He  came  my  cordial  kiss  to  meet. 
An  infant,  of  the  Cyprian  band. 
Guided  him  on  with  tender  hand. 
Quick  from  his  glowing  brows  he  drew 
His  braid,  of  many  a  wanton  hue  ; 
I  took  the  wreath,. whose  inmost  twine 
Breath'd  of  him  and  blush'd  with  wine.' 


There  are  surely  many  telltales  of  this  propeiwity;  and  tht 
following  are  the  indices,  which  the  physiognomist  gives, 
describing  a  disposition  perhaps  not  unlike  that  of  Anacreon  • 
OipOaXiiOi  »cXo!Ju//£i'Oi,  Ki'naivovTes  cv  dvToi;.  «ij  a^poiiaia 
xai  evTraOciav  nrrorivrai.  ovtc  6e  aS(KOt,  ovn  KiiKovpyoi,  ovrt 
ipvacwi  (pavXris,  ovre  a/jLovaot,  —  Jldaniantius  "The  eyeS 
that  are  humid  and  fluctuating  show  a  propensity  to  pleasure 
and  love  ;  they  bespeak  too  a  mind  of  hitegrity  and  beneQ- 
cence,  a  generosity  of  disposition,  and  a  genius  for  poetry." 

Baptista  Porta  tells  us  some  strange  opinions  of  the  anc:«nt 
physiognomists  on  this  subject,  their  rea.sons  for  which  were 
curious,  and  perhaps  not  altogether  fanciful.  Vide  Pliysjog- 
nora.  Johan.  Baptist.  Porta. 

8  /  took  the  wreath,  whose  inmost  twine 

Breathed  of  him,  Sfc]  Philostratus  has  the  same  thougtf 
in  one  of  his  E/jcotkci,  wliere  he  speaks  of  the  garland  wliict 
he  had  sent  to  his  mistress.  Ei  &c  /SooXet  n  i^iAoj  xq/jiJeo' 
Oat,  ra  Xctxpava  avrnrriixpov,  firiKCri  nviovra  ^oiotv  fiovM 
aXXa  KOI  aov.  "  If  thou  art  inclined  to  gratify  thy  lover 
send  him  back  the  remains  of  the  garbnd,  no  longer  breath- 
ing of  roses  only,  but  of  thee  !  "  Which  i)retty  conceit  i« 
borrowed  (as  the  author  of  the  Observer  remarks)  in  a  wel' 
Icnown  little  song  of  Ben  Jonson's  :  — 

'*  But  thou  thereon  didst  only  breathe. 
And  sent  it  back  to  uie  ; 
Since  when  it  looks  and  smells.  I  sweat 
Not  of  itself,  but  theo !  ' 


I  hung  it  o'er  my  thoughtless  brow, 
And  ah  !  I  feel  its  magic  now : ' 
I  feel  that  even  his  garland's  touch 
Can  make  the  bosom  love  too  much. 


ODE  II. 

Onrx  me  the  harp  of  epic  song. 
Which  Homer's  finger  thrill'd  along ; 
But  tear  away  the  sanguine  string, 
For  war  is  not  the  theme  I  sing. 
Proclaim  the  laws  of  festal  rite,' 
I'm  monarch  of  the  board  to-night ; 
And  aU  around  shall  brim  as  high. 
And  quaff  the  tide  as  deep  as  I. 
And  when  the  cluster's  mellowing  dews 
Their  warm  enchanting  balnl  infuse, 
Our  i'eet  shall  catch  th'  elastic  bound, 
And  reel  us  through  the  dance's  round. 
Great  Bacchus  !  we  shall  sing  to  thee. 
In  wild  but  sweet  ebricty ; 
illashing  around  such  sparks  of  thought, 
As  Bacchus  could  alone  have  taught. 

Then,  give  the  harp  of  epic  song, 
^Vhich  Homer's  finger  thi-ill'd  along  ; 
But  tear  away  the  sanguine  string, 
For  war  is  not  the  theme  I  sing. 


kjde  m.» 

Listen  to  the  Muse's  lyre, 
Master  of  the  pencil's  fire  ! 
Sketch'd  in  painting's  bold  display, 
Many  a  city  first  portray  ; 


1  Andak!  I feelits magie no« i]  This  idea, as Longepierre 
•marks,  occurs  in  an  epigram  of  the  iieveiiUi  book  of  the 
4iith6logia. 

EJorf  fiot  TTcFOvri  ovvKTraovira  Xa^ixAu 
Aa0/jr|  rati;  iStovi  aiiipeSaXt  VTt^avovf, 
JIvp  oXiiov  oaTtTCi  in. 

While  I  unconscious  qualTd  my  wine, 

Twas  then  thy  fingers  slyly  stole 
Upon  my  brow  that  wreath  of  thine, 

Which  since  has  madden'd  all  my  soul. 

*  Proclaim  the  Icwa  of  ft-ial  riu.^  The  ancients  prescribed 
certain  laws  of  drinking  at  tlieir  festivals,  for  an  account 
af  which  see  the  commentators.  Anacreon  here  acta  the 
^rmposiarch,  or  master  of  the  festival  I  have  translated 
iccording  to  those  who  consider  KviriAXa  dco'/jciii'  aa  an 
oversion  of  Sciriiovs  xvircAAc^f. 

*  La  Foue  has  thought  pn  per  to  lengthen  this  poem  b]r 


Many  a  city,  revelling  free, 
Full  of  loose  festivitv. 
Picture  then  a  rosy  train, 
Baccliants  straying  o'er  the  plain  j 
Piping,  as  they  roam  along. 
Roundelay  or  shepherd  song. 
Paint  me  next,  if  painting  may 
Such  a  theme  as  this  portray, 
All  the  earthly  heaven  of  love 
These  delighted  mortals  prove 


ODE  IV.* 

Vulcan  !  hear  youi^  glorious  task  ; 
I  do  not  from  your  labors  ask 
In  gorgeous  panoply  to  shine, 
For  war  was  ne'er  a  »i^Tt  of  mine. 
No  —  let  me  have  a  silver  bowl. 
Where  I  may  cradle  all  my  soul ; 
But  mind  that,  o'er  its  simple  fran'**' 
No  mimic  constellations  flame ; 
Nor  grave  upon  the  swelling  side, 
Orion,  scowling  o'er  the  tide. 
I  care  not  for  the  glitt'ring  wain. 
Nor  yet  the  weeping  sister  train. 
But  let  the  vine  luxuriant  roll 
Its  blushing  tendrils  round  the  bowl. 
While  many  a  rose-lipp'd  bacchant  moid 
Is  culling  clusters  in  their  shade.* 
Let  sylvan  gods,  in  antic  shapes, 
Wildly  press  the  gushing  grapes, 
And  flights  of  Loves,  in  wanton  play, 
Wing  through  the  air  their  winding  way  • 
While  Venus,  from  her  arbor  green, 
Looks  laughing  at  the  joyous  scene, 
And  young  Lyaeus  by  her  side 
Sits,  worthy  of  so  bright  a  bride. 

considerable  interpolations  of  his  own,  which  he  thinks  tn 
indispensably  necessary  to  the  completion  of  tlio  description. 

*  This  ode,  Aulus  Gellius  tells  us,  was  performed  at  as 
entertainment  where  he  was  present. 

*  IVhile  many  a  rose-lipp'd  barchant  maid,  ^'c]  I  hav« 
availed  myself  here  of  the  additional  lines  given  in  IIm 
Vatican  manuscript,  which  have  not  been  accurately  i«»i<i»1 
ed  in  any  of  the  ordinary  editions :  — 

Il'iint'ov  a/i-rrcXovi  (tut 
Kai  porpvaf  kqt'  airayy 
Kai  iiaii>a6a(  rpvyoxraf 
IIoici  ii  Xnoov  otvov, 
At}voSaTa(  iraraucrof, 
Tov!  aiiTvimvf  ycXoivraff 
Kai  xpvaevf  rouf  cptoraf 
Ka(  Kudc/}r)i>  ycXioaai/, 
'OflUD  KaXw  Avuibj, 
E^ura  «'  'A^pjSiTin' 


u 


ODES   OF  ANACREON. 


ODE  V.' 

ScMi.PTOh,  wouldst  thou  glad  my  soul, 

(irave  for  me  an  ample  bowl, 

Worthy  to  shine  in  hall  or  bower, 

When  spring  time  brings  the  reveller's  hour 

Grave  it  with  themes  of  chaste  design, 

Fit  for  a  simple  board  like  mine. 

Display  not  there  the  barbarous  rites 

In  which  religious  zeal  delights  ; 

Nor  any  tale  of  tragic  fate 

Which  History  shudders  to  relate. 

No  —  cull  thy  fancies  from  above, 

Themes  of  heav'n  and  themes  of  love. 

Let  Bacchus,  Jove's  ambrosial  boy, 

Distil  the  grape  in  drops  of  joy. 

And  while  he  smiles  at  every  tear, 

Let  warm-ey'd  Venus,  dancing  near, 

With  spirits  of  the  genial  bed. 

The  dewy  herbage  deftly  tread. 

Let  Love  be  there,  without  his  arms,* 

In  timid  nakedness  of  charms  ; 

1  Degen  thinks  that  this  ode  is  a  more  modem  imitation  of 
Jie  preceding.  There  is  a  poem  by  Cieliiis  Calcagiiiniis,  in 
Jie  manner  of  both,  where  he  gives  instructions  about  the 
naking  of  a  ring. 

Tornabis  annulum  mihi 

Et  fabre,  et  apte,  et  commode,  &c.  &c. 

2  Let  Love  be  there,  without  his  arms,  tfc]  Thus  Sannazaro 
!i)  the  eclogue  of  Gallicio  nell'  Arcadia  :  — 

Vegiian  11  vaghi  Amori 
Senza  fiammelle,  6  strali, 
Scherzando  insieme  pargoletti  e  nudi 
Fluttering  on  the  busy  wing, 

A  train  of  naked  Cupids  came, 
Sporting  around  in  harmless  ring, 

Without  a  dart,  without  a  flame 

And  Ihus  in  the  Pervigilium  Veneris  :  — 

Ite  nymphte,  posuit  arma,  feriatus  est  amor. 
Love  is  disarni'd  —  ye  nymphs,  in  safety  stray, 
Your  bosoms  now  may  boast  a  holiday ! 

5  But  ah !  if  there  Jlpollo  toys, 

I  tremble  for  the  rosy  boys.]  An  allusion  to  tlie  fable,  that 
rpnlli)  had  Killed  his  beloved  boy  Hyacinth,  while  playing' 
«-ith  him  at  quoits.  "  This  (says  M.  La  Fosse)  is  assuredly 
le  sense  of  the  text,  and  it  cannot  admit  of  any  other." 

T  he  Italian  translators,  to  save  themselves  the  trouble  of 

I  note,  havp  taken  the  liberty  of  making  Anarreon  himself 

•iplaui  tiu  fable.    Thus  Salvini,  the  most  literal  of  any  of 

(hem  :— 

Ma  con  lor  non  giuochi  Apollo ; 

Che  in  fiero  risco 

Col  duro  disco 

A  Giacinto  fiacc6  il  collo. 

>  This  beautiful  fiction,  which  the  commentators  have  at- 
rihnted  to  Julian,  a  royal  poet,  the  Vatican  MS.  pronounces 
(1  lie  the  genuine  offspring  of  Anacreon.  It  has,  indeed,  all 
'i>  'eaturerf  of  >lic  parent :  — 


And  all  the  Graces,  link'd  with  lifrte. 
Stray,  laughing,  througn  t'ne  shadowy  grOT» 
While  rosy  boys  disporting  rouiid, 
In  circlets  trip  the  velvet  giounJ. 
But  ah  !  if  there  Apollo  toys, 
I  tremble  for  the  .osy  boys.' 


ODE  VI. « 

As  late  I  sought  the  spangled  bowers. 
To  cull  a  wreath  of  matin  flowers, 
Where  many  an  early  rose  was  weep»njt 
I  found  the  urchin  Cupid  sleeping.* 
I  caught  the  boy,  a  goblet's  tide 
Was  richly  mantling  by  my  side, 
I  caught  him  by  his  downy  wing, 
And  whelra'd  him  in  the  racy  spring. 
Then  drank  I  down  the  poison'd  bowl. 
And  Love  now  nestles  in  my  soul. 

0  yes,  my  soul  is  Cupid's  nest, 

1  feel  him  fluttering  in  my  breast. 

et  facile  insciis 
Noscitetur  ab  omnibus 

*   Where  many  an  early  rose  was  weeping, 
I  found  the  urchin  Cupid  sleeping.]    This  idea  is  pretlUf 
imitateCi  in  the  following  epigram  by  Andreas  Naugerius :  •- 

Florentes  diim  forte  vagaiis  mea  Hyella  per  horto«' 

Texit  odoratis  lilia  cana  rosia, 
Ecce  rosas  inter  latitaritem  invenit  Amorem 

Et  simul  annexis  florilnis  itnplicuit. 
Luctatur  primo,  et  contra  nitentibus  alls 

Indomitus  tentat  solvere  vincia  puer: 
Mox  ubi  lacteolas  et  dignas  matre  papillas 

Vidit  et  ora  ipsos  nata  movere  Deos, 
Impositosque  comae  anibrosios  ut  sentit  odot«a 

Ciuosque  legit  diti  messe  beatus  Arabs ; 
"  I  (dixit)  mea,  quaere  novum  tibi,  mater,  Amorem, 

Imperio  sedes  htec  erit  apta  nieo." 

As  fair  Hyella,  through  tb<>  bloomy  grove, 

A  wreath  of  many  minglen  flowrets  wove, 

Within  a  rose  a  sleeping  Love  she  found, 

And  in  the  twisted  wreaths  the  baby  b<  und. 

A  while  he  struggled,  and  impatient  tnea 

To  break  the  rosy  bonds  the  virgin  tied  ; 

But  when  he  saw  her  bosom's  radiant  swell 

Iler  features,  where  the  eye  of  Jove  might  dtv«G; 

And  caught  th'  ambrosial  odors  of  her  hair, 

Rich  as  the  breathings  of  Arabian  air ; 

"  O,  mother  Venus,"  (said  the  raptur'd  child, 

By  charms,  of  more  than  mortal  bloom,  heguii  4^1 

"  Go,  seek  another  boy,  thou'st  lost  thine  own, 

"  Hyella's  arms  shall  now  be  Cupid's  throne  !  " 

This  epigram  of  Naugerius  is  imitated  by  LodovicoDctet 
in  a  poem,  beginning 

Mentre  raccoglie  hor  uno,  hor  altro  flora 
Vicina  a  un  rio  di  chiare  et  lucid'  ondr, 
Lidia,  &c.  &c 


]| 


ODES   OF  AI^AQREON. 


t. 


ODE  VII.» 

Thf  women  tell  me  every  day 
Thai  all  my  bloom  has  pass'J  away. 
"  Behold,"  the  pretty  wantons  cry, 
"  Behold  this  mirror  with  a  sigh ; 
The  locks  upon  thy  brow  are  few, 
And,  like  the  rest,  they're  withering  too  ! ' 
Whether  decline  has  thinn'd  my  hair, 
I'm  sure  I  neither  know  nor  care  ;  ' 
But  this  I  know,  and  this  I  feel. 
As  oitward  to  the  tomb  I  steal, 
lliat  still  as  death  approaches  nearer, 
The  joys  of  life  are  sweeter,  dearer  ;  ' 
And  had  I  but  an  hour  to  live, 
That  little  hour  to  bliss  I'd  give. 


ODE  vni.* 

i  CARE  not  for  the  idle  state 

wf  Persia's  king,*  the  rich,  the  great ! 


I  Albertl  baa  imitated  tbU  ode  in  a  poem,  beginning 
NIsa  mi  dice  e  Clori 
Tirsi,  tu  se'  pur  veglio. 

*  Whether  decline  kas  thinn'd  my  hair, 

I'm  sure  I  neither  knore  nor  care  ;]  Henry  Stephen  very 
iiiHtly  reniarlis  the  elegant  negligence  of  expression  in  tbe 
original  here : 

Eyej  St  roj  KOfias  /itv, 

Eir  etatVf  ctr'  uirfiAflof, 

OvK  otSa. 

And  Longepierre  ha«  adduced  frrnn  Catullus,  what  he  thinki 
a  linular  instance  of  this  simplicity  of  manner :  — 
Ipse  quia  sit,  utrum  sit,  an  non  sit,  id  quoque  nescit 

Longepierre  was  a  good  critic  ;  but  perhaps  the  line  which 
he  has  selected  is  a  sperinien  of  a  carelessness  not  very  com- 
mendable. At  the  same  time  I  a>nfe>i8,  that  none  of  tbe 
Latin  poets  have  ever  appeared  to  me  so  capable  of  imitating 
(be  graces  of  Anacreon  as  Catullus,  if  he  had  not  allowed 
a  ill /graved  imagination  to  hurry  him  so  often  into  mere  vul- 
jar  licei.tiiiusness. 

'  That  still  as  death  approaches  nearer. 

The  joys  of  life  are  sieecter,  dearer;]  Pontanus  has  a 
tery  delicate  thought  upon  tlie  subject  of  old  age : 

Quid  rides,  Matrona  }  aenem  quid  temnt6  amantem  ? 
Quisquis  amat  nulla,  eat  conditione  senez. 

Why  do  you  scorn  my  want  of  youth. 
And  with  a  smile  my  brow  behold.' 

Lady  dear !  believe  this  truth, 
That  he  who  loves  cannot  be  old. 

*  "Tlie  German  poe' Lessing  has  imitated  thiaode.  VoLL 
t.  34."    Degen.    Gail  ae  EMitionibus. 

Baiter  conjectures  that  this  was  written  upon  the  occaoion 
i  our  poet's  returning  the  money  to  Polycrates,  according 
-  the  inecdoie  in  Stobe-  «. 


I  envy  not  the  monarch's  throne. 
Nor  wish  the  treasur'd  gold  ray  own. 
Bu*,0,  be  mine  the  rosy  wreath. 
Its  freshness  o'er  my  brow  to  breathe  j 
Be  mine  the  rich  perfumes  that  flow, 
To  cool  and  scent  my  locks  of  snow.* 
To-day  I'll  haste  to  quaff  my  wine, 
As  if  to-morrow  ne'er  woula  shine ; 
But  if  to-morrow  comes,  why  then  — 
I'll  haste  to  quafl  my  wine  again. 
And  thus  while  all  our  days  are  bright. 
Nor  time  has  dimm'd  their  bloomy  light, 
Let  us  the  festal  hours  beguile 
With  mantling  cup  and  cordial  smile  ; 
And  shed  from  each  new  bowl  of  wine 
The  richest  drop  on  Bacchus'  shrine. 
For  Death  may  come,   with   brow  unpleas- 
ant, 
May  come,  when   least  we  wish  him  pre* 

ent. 
And  beckon  to  the  sable  shore. 
And  grimly  bid  us  —  drink  no  more  I 


*  /  eare  not  for  Ike  uOe  statt 

Of  Persia's  king,  S[c.]  '•  There  is  a  fragment  of  Archllo 
chus  in  Plutarch, '  De  tranjuillitate  animi,'  which  our  po<^ 
has  vety  closely  imitated  here  ;  it  begins, 

Ov  /lOi  ra  Vvytdt  rev  woXvxpvaov  /teXti."    BAi-vsa. 

In  one  of  the  monkish  imitators  of  Anacreon  we  find  tb* 
same  thought :  — 

'tvxvv  citiv  ep(i)r(i>, 

T(  aoi  StAtif  yCvtaOai  f 

QeXeis  Fvyco}  ra  xat  ra  ; 

*  Be  mm«  thf  rich  perfumes  IhatJUne, 

To  cool  and  scent  my  locks  of  snou).]  In  tlie  original,  pvpoiai 
KaraSfjcxcty  vrrni'nf-  On  account  of  this  idea  of  perfumin| 
the  beard,  Cornelius  de  Pauw  pronounces  the  whole  ode  to 
be  the  spurious  production  of  some  lascivious  monk,  who 
was  nursing  his  beard  witii  unguents.  But  he  should  hav« 
known,  that  this  was  an  ancient  eastern  custom,  which,  i 
we  may  believe  Salary,  still  exists  :  "  Vous  voyez,  Monsieul 
(says  this  traveller),  que  I'usage  antique  de  se  parfumer  la 
tete  et  la  barbe,*i.£l£br6  par  le  pniphete  Roi,  subsivteenr-.m 
de  nos  jours."  /.lettre  11!.  Savary  likewise  cites  tliis  vorj 
ode  of  Anacreon.  Angeriaims  has  not  thought  the  idea  in 
consistent,  having  introduced  it  in  the  *ollowing  lines  ; 

Hsc  mihi  cura,  rosis  et  cingere  tempora  rayrto 

Et  curas  multo  delapidare  mera 
Ha;c  mihi  cura,  comas  et  barbam  tmgere  succo 

Assyrio  et  dulces  continuare  Ji<,08. 

This  be  my  care,  to  wreathe  my  brow  with  flowen, 
To  drench  my  sorrows  in  the  ample  bowl , 

To  pour  rich  perfumes  o'er  my  beard  in  showefs. 
And  give  full  loose  to  mirth  and  joy  of  soul  I 


*  **  Sicut  ungucnttim  In  onite  qnod  detcendit  In  bartiain  tarooa 
newimel  A." 


ODE  IX. 

I  PRAY  thee,  by  the  gods  above,*        ** 
(iive  me  the  mighty  bowl  I  love. 
And  let  me  sing,  in  wild  delight, 
"  I  will  —  I  will  be  mad  to-night !  " 
Alcmaeon  once,  as  legends  tell, 
Was  frenzied  by  the  fiends  of  hell ; 
Orestes  too,  with  naked  tread, 
Frantic  pac'd  the  mountain  head  ; 
A.nd  why  ?  a  murder'd  mother's  shade 
Haunted  them  still  where'er  they  stray' d. 
But  ne'er  could  I  a  murderer  be. 
The  grape  alone  shall  bleed  by  me ; 
Yet  can  I  shout,  with  wild  deUght, 
»•  I  wiU  —  I  will  be  mad  to-night." 

Alcides'  self,  in  days  of  yore, 
Imbru'd  his  hands  in  youthful  gore, 
And  brandish'd,  with  a  maniac  joy. 
The  quiver  of  th'  expiring  boy  : 
And  Ajax,  with  tremendous  shield. 
Infuriate  scour'd  the  guiltless  field. 
But  I,  whose  hands  no  weapon  ask, 
No  armor  but  this  joyous  flask ; 
The  trophy  of  whose  frantic  hours 
Is  but  a  scatter'd  wreath  of  flowers  ; 
Ev'n  I  can  sing  with  wild  delight, 
'•  I  will  —  I  will  be  mad  to-night !  " 


ODE  X.» 

How  am  I  to  punish  thee. 

For  the  wrong  thou'st  done  to  me, 


1  I'he  poet  is  here  in  a  frenzy  of  eivjoyment,  and  it  is,  in- 
Med,  '  amabilis  insania ; "  — 

Furor  di  poesia, 
Di  lascivia,  e  dt  vino, 
Triplicate  furore, 
Bacco,  Apollo,  et  Araore. 

Ritratti  del  Cavalier  Marino. 
^  ^  is  truly,  as  Scaliger  expresses  it, 

Insanire  dulce 

Et  sapidum  furere  furorem. 
■  lliis  ude  is  addressed  to  a  swallow.  I  find  from  Degen 
led  from  Gail's  index,  that  the  German  poet  Weisse  has 
Imitated  it,  Scherz.  Lieder.  lib.  ii.  carra.  5 ;  that  Ramler 
ilso  has  imitated  it,  Lyr  Blumenlese,  lib.  jv.  p.  335  ;  and 
•ome  others.    See  Gail  de  Editionibus. 

We  are  here  referred  by  Degen  to  that  dull  bcok,  the  Epis- 
Uest  of  Alciphron.  tenth  epistle,  third  boolc  ;  where  lophon 
tomplaini  to  Erajion  of  being  wakened  by  the  crowing  of 
\  cock  from  his  vision  of  riches. 

'  Silly  swallow,  prating  thing,  l^c]  The  loquacity  of  the 
.^i-iiMow  was  nr  verbialized    thius  Nicostratus :  — 


Silly  swallow,  prating  thing  '  — 
Shall  I  clip  that  wheeling  wing  ? 
Or,  as  Tereus  did  of  old,* 
(So  the  fabled  tale  is  told,) 
Shall  I  tear  that  tongue  away, 
Tongue  that  utter'd  such  a  lay  ? 
Ah,  how  thoughtless  hast  thou  been  i 
Long  before  the  dawn  was  seen, 
When  a  dream  came  o'er  my  mindf 
Picturing  her  I  worship,  kind, 
Just  when  I  was  nearly  blest, 
Loud  thy  matins  broke  my  rest  J 


ODE  XI.» 

"  Tell  me,  gentle  youth,  I  pray  thee. 

What  in  purchase  shall  I  pay  thee 

For  this  little  waxen  toy, 

Image  of  the  Paphian  boy  ? " 

Thus  I  said  the  other  day. 

To  a  youth  who  pass'd  my  way ; 

"  Sir,"  (he  answer'd,  and  the  while 

Answer'd  all  in  Doric  style,) 

"  Take  it,  for  a  trifle  take  it ; 

'Twas  not  I  who  dared  to  make  it ; 

No,  believe  me,  'twas  not  I ; 

O,  it  has  cost  me  many  a  sigh. 

And  I  can  no  longer  keep 

Little  gods,  who  murder  sleep  !  "  • 

"  Here,  then,  here,"  (I  said  with  joyO 

"  Here  is  silver  for  the  boy  : 

He  shall  be  my  bosom  guest. 

Idol  of  my  pious  breast !  ' 


El  TO  avvex<^S  xai  iroAAa  xai  •  tx,i(oi  XaXcM 
Hv  Tov  (ppovetv  Ti apaarjixovf  al  xt^ifSof^f 
EXeyovr'  at>  iiiiwv  oitxPiiovcaTepai  toAu. 

If  in  prating  from  morning  till  ni^ht, 

A  sign  of  our  wisdom  Uiere  be, 
The  swallows  are  wiser  by  right, 

For  they  prattle  much  faster  than  we. 

♦  Or,  as  Tereus  did,  of  old,  fyc.]  Modern  poetry  huMB> 
firmed  the  name  of  Philomel  upon  the  nigtiliiigala;  Ml 
many  respectable  authorities  among  the  ancients  Rt-sigatA 
this  metamorphose  to  Progne,  and  made  Philomel  the  8wa^ 
low,  as  Anacreon  does  here. 

6  It  is  dilHcult  to  preserve  with  any  grace  the  narrativa 
simplicity  of  this  ode,  and  the  humor  of  tiie  turn  with  whicll 
it  concludes.  I  feel,  indeed,  that  the  translation  must  ap- 
pear vapid,  if  not  ludicrous,  to  an  English  reader. 

•  .^nd  /  can  no  longer  keep 

Little  gods, who  murder  sleep!]  I  have  not  literally  ren- 
dered the  epithet  -navTopcKra  ;  if  it  has  any  meining  here,  M 
is  one,  perhaps,  better  omitted 


ODES   OF   ANACREON. 


91 


Kow,  young  Love,  I  have  thee  mine, 
Warm  me  with  that  torch  of  thine  ; 
Make  me  feel  as  I  have  felt. 
Or  thy  waxen  frame  shall  melt : 
I  must  bum  with  warm  desire, 
Or  thou,  my  boy  —  in  yonder  fire.' 


ODE  xn. 

They  tell  how  Atys,  wild  with  love. 
Roams  the  mount  and  haunted  grove  ;  * 
Cybele's  name  he  howls  around,' 
The  gloomy  blast  returns  the  sound ; 
Oft  too,  by  Claros'  hallow'd  spring,* 
The  votaries  of  the  laureU'd  king 
Quaff  the  inspiring,  magic  stream, 
And  rave  in  wild,  prophetic  dream. 
But  frenzied  dreams  are  not  for  me, 
Great  Bacchus  is  my  deity  ! 
Full  of  mirth,  and  full  of  him. 
While  floating  odors  round  me  swim,' 
While  mantling  bowls  are  full  supplied, 
And  you  sit  blushing  by  my  side, 

(  I  nnut  bum  vith  toarm  denre. 

Or  thou,  my  boy  —  in  yonder  fire.]  From  this  Longepierre 
i<>r.jectures,  that,  whatever  Anacreon  might  say,  he  felt  some- 
rimes  the  inronvcnience«  of  old  a^re,  and  here  solicits  from 
:))i>  power  of  Vove  a  warmth  which  he  could  no  longer  ex- 
port from  Nature. 

*  They  tell  kov  Alys,  wild  leith  love, 

Koanu  the  mount  and  haunted  grove ;]  There  are  many 
'o»tradictor>'  xtories  of  tlie  loves  of  Cybele  and  Atys.  It  is 
rertain  that  he  was  mutilated,  but  whether  by  his  own  fury, 
or  Cybele's  Jealousy,  is  a  point  upon  which  authors  are  not 
BgT«ed. 

I  Cubele^s  name  he  koreU  around,  4'e.]    I  have  here  adopted 
the  accentuation  which  Blias  Andreas  gives  to  Cybele  :  — 
In  montibus  Cybilen 
Magno  sonans  boatu. 

*  Oft,  toe,  frjf  Claros^  halloie'd  spring,  ^•cJ]  TTiis  fountain 
•ra*  in  s  grove,  consecrated  to  Apollo,  and  situated  between 
CnI:iphon  and  Lebcdoe,  in  Ionia.  The  god  had  an  oracle 
there.    Scaliger  thus  alludes  to  it  in  his  Anacreontica  : 

Semel  ut  concitus  cestro, 
Veluti  qui  Clarias  aquas 
Ebibere  loquac«s, 
Uuo  plus  canunt,  plura  volant 

*  Ifli/e  fUxsling  odors,  4'e.]  Eipaletti  has  quite  mistaken 
(be  import  of  KontaOiit,  as  applied  to  tlie  poet's  mistress  — 
"  McSL  fatigatus  amicilL ;"  — thus  interpreting  It  in  a  sense 
which  must  want  eitlier  delicacy  or  gallantry  ;  if  not,  per- 
Itaps,  both. 

*  Jlnd  tehal  did  I  unthinking  do  1 

I  took  to  arnu..  undaunted,  too ;]  Longepierre  has  here 
^oted  an  epigram  from  the  Anthologia,  in  which  the  poet 
Msumea  Reason  as  the  armor  against  Love. 

tt7X((7;iai  irpo(  epujTa  iripi  ortpvoioi  Xoyttr/uff 
Ovit  lU  viKTi<ntf  fiovuS  tow  irpn;  tva. 

12 


I  will  be  mad  and  raving  too  — 
Mad,  my  girl,  with  love  for  you ' 


ODE  xm. 

I  wiLt,  I  will,  the  conflict's  past. 
And  I'll  consent  to  love  at  last. 
Cupid  has  long,  with  smiling  art, 
Invited  me  to  yield  my  heart ;  . 

And  I  have  thought  that  peace  of  min . 
Should  not  be  for  a  smile  resign' d  ; 
And  so  repell'd  the  tender  lure. 
And  hop'd  my  heart  would  sleep  secure. 

But,  slighted  in  his  boasted  charms, 
The  angry  infant  flew  to  arms  ; 
He  slung  his  quiver's  golden  frame, 
He  took  his  bow,  his  shafts  of  flame. 
And  proudly  summon'd  me  to  yield. 
Or  meet  him  on  the  martial  field. 
And  what  did  I  unthinking  do  ? 
I  took  to  arms,  undaunted,  too  : ' 

Ovaroi  J*  adavarci  <n)Vt\evaoiiaf  ijv  St  ffoTi9ov 
BuKXov  CXI  J  rt  finvos  ^P"!  Sv'  cy(0  ivvOfiaif 
With  Reason  I  cover  my  breast  as  a  shield. 
And  fearlessly  meet  little  Love  in  the  field  ; 
Thus  fighting  his  godship,  I'll  ne'er  be  dismay'd , 
But  if  Bacchus  should  ever  advance  to  his  aid, 
Alas  !  then,  unable  to  combat  the  two. 
Unfortunate  warrior,  what  should  I  do  ? 
This  idea  of  the  irresistibility  of  Cupid  and  Bacch'ji 
united,  is  delicately  expressed  in  an  Italian  poem,  which  it 
so  truly  Anacreontic,  that  its  introduction  here  may  be  pal 
doned.    It  is  an  imitation,  indeed,  of  our  poet's  sixth  odei> 

Lavossi  Amore  in  quel  vicino  flume 

Ove  giuro  (Pastor)  che  bevend'  io 

Bevei  le  fiamme,  anzi  I'istesso  Dio 

Ch'or  con  I'humidc  piume 

Lascivetto  mi  scherza  al  cor  intomo. 

Ma  che  sarei  s'  io  Io  bevessi  un  giomo^ 

Bacco,  nel  tuo  Hquore .' 

Sarei,  piu  che  non  sono  ebro  d'Amor*. 

The  urchin  of  the  bow  and  quiver 

Was  bathing  in  a  neighboring  river, 

Where,  as  I  drank  on  yestereve, 

(Shepherd  youth,  the  tale  lM>lieve,) 

•Twas  not  a  cooling,  crystal  draught, 

Twas  liquid  flame  I  madly  quafl^d ; 

For  Love  was  in  the  rippling  tide, 

1  felt  him  to  my  bosom  glide ; 

And  now  the  wily,  wanton  minion 

Plays  round  my  heart  with  restless  pini<m. 

A  day  it  was  of  fatal  star. 

But  ah,  'twere  even  more  fatal  far, 

If,  Bacchus,  in  thy  cup  of  Are. 

I  found  this  flutt'ring,  young  desire. 

Then,  then  indeed  my  soul  would  prove, 

E'en  mora  than  ever,  dnmlc  with  lovet 


iO                                                    ODES  OF  ANACREON. 

Assura'd  the  corselet,  shield,  and  spear, 

ODE  XIV.» 

And,  like  Pelides,  smil'd  at  fear. 

Then  (hear  it,  all  ye  powers  above  !) 

Count  me,  on  the  summer  tiees, 

T  fought  -with  Love  !  I  fought  with  Love  ! 

EA'ery  leaf  that  courts  the  b;.'ee»ei 

And  now  his  arrows  all  were  shed, 

Count  me,  on  the  founy  deep, 

And  I  had  just  in  terror  fled  — 

Every  wave  that  sinks  to  sleep  ; 

When,  heaving  an  indignant  sigh, 

Then,  when  you  have  number' i  thr** 

To  see  me  thus  unwounded  fly, 

Billowy  tides  and  leafy  trees. 

And,  having  now  no  other  dart, 

Count  me  all  the  flames  I  prove, 

He  shot  himself  into  my  heart ! ' 

All  the  gentle  nymphs  I  love.     / 

.   My  heart  —  ala:-  the  luckless  day  ! 

First,  of  pure  Athenian  maids 

Receiv'd  the  God,  and  died  away. 

Sporting  in  their    live  shades. 

Farewell,  farewell,  my  faithless  shield  ! 

You  may  reckon  just  a  score, 

Thy  lord  at  length  is  forc'd  to  yield. 

Nay,  I'll  grant  you  fifteen  more. 

Vain,  vain,  is  every  outward  care. 

In  the  fam'd  Corinthian  grove. 

The  foe's  within,  and  triumphs  there. 

Where  such  countless  wantons  rove^* 

1  ^nd,  having  now  no  other  dart. 

Virgin,  widow,  maid,  and  wife— 

He  shot  himself  into  my  heart!]    Dtyden  has  parodied  this 

I've  been  doting  all  my  life. 

ITiought  in  the  following  extravagant  lines:  — 

Naiads,  Nereids,  nymphs  of  fountains. 

I'm  all  o'er  Love  ; 

Goddesses  of  groves  and  mountains. 

Nay,  I  am  Love,  Love  shot,  and  shot  so  fast. 

Fair  and  sable,  great  and  small, 

He  shot  himself  into  my  breast  at  last. 

Yes,  I  swear  I've  lov'd  them  all ! 

>  The  poet,  in  tliis  catalopie  of  his  mistresses,  means 

Soon  was  every  passion  over, 
1  was  but  the  moment's  lover ; 

nothing  more,  than,  by  a  lively  hyperbole,  to  inform  us,  tliat 
Iiis  heart,  unfettered  by  any  one  object,  was  warm  with  de- 

O,  I'm  such  a  roving  elf. 

»otion  towards  the  sex  in  general.     Cowley  is  indebted  to 
'iiis  ode  for  the  hint  of  hia  ballad,  called  "  The  Chronicle ; " 

That  the  Queen  of  Love  herself. 
Though  she  nractis'd  all  her  wiles. 
Rosy  blushes,  wreathed  smiles, 

ind  the  learned  Menage  has  imitated  it  in  a  Greek  Anacre- 

ontic, which  has  so  much  ease  and  spiri',  that  tlie  reader 

All  her  beauty's  proud  endeavor 
Could  not  chain  my  heart  forever. 

way  not  be  displeased  at  seeing  it  here :    - 

8  Count  me,  on  the  summer  trees. 

npos  BiaNA. 

Every  leaf,^c.]    This  figure  is  called,  by  rhetoricians,  thi 

E(  a\aeix)v  ra  (pv\\a. 

Impossible  ^aSviiarov),  and  is  very  frequently  made  use  ol 

Atificjviouj  r£  notai, 

in  poetry.    The  amatory  writers  have  exhausted  a  n  orld  of 

E(  vvKTOS  aarpa  iravra. 

imagery  by  it,  to  express  the  infinite  nimiberof  kisses  whlcb 

JlafiaKTiuvs  TC  xl/ajtiiovti 

they  require  from  the  lips  of  tlieir  mistresses :  in  this  Catul 

'AAof  T£  KVixarioirif 

lus  led  the  way. 

Avi'T),  Jiitofj  afjidntiv. 

—  Quam  sidera  niulta,  cum  tacet  noz. 

Kai  TOv;  tyiovi  cpoiraf 

Furtivos  honiiuuni  vident  ainores  ; 

Avvr],  UioiVjapidfiCtv. 

Tam  te  basia  multa  basiare 

Koprjv,  yvvaiKu,  Xr)pav, 

Vesano  satis,  et  super,  Catullo  est : 

^fiiKprjv,  Mtarjv,  iUyiariit, 

QutE  nee  pernumerare  curiosi 

AevKrii-  Tt  KOt  McXaivav, 

Possint,  nee  mala  fascinare  lingua           CaBB,7 

OpeiaSiii,  Nujraiaj, 

As  many  stellar  eyes  of  light. 

NripnXSas  re  irairaf 

As  through  the  silent  waste  of  night. 

'O  aoj  (piXos  <piXri(T£. 

Gazing  upon  tills  world  of  shade. 

UavTMV  Kopos  pnv  eurff 

Witness  some  secret  youth  and  maid, 

Avrrjv  vtoiv  Epu>rti}v, 

Who  fair  as  thou,  and  fond  as  I, 

Atairatvav  AippoStrriv, 

In  stolen  joys  enamour'd  lie,  — 

Xpvcrjv,  KaXni't  y^VKttav, 

So  many  kisses,  ere  I  slumber, 

Eo37//ta»   nodsivfiv. 

Upon  tliose  dew-tright  lips  I'll  number ' 

Aet  itovny  <pi\iaat 

So  many  kisses  we  shall  count 

Ej'uyt  pt]  Soiaiittji 

Envy  can  never  ttll  th'  amount. 

Tell  the  foliage  of  the  woods. 

No  tongue  shall  blab  the  sum,  but  mue ; 

T;!!  the  billows  of  the  floods. 

No  lips  shall  fascinate,  but  thine  ! 

Number  midnight's  starry  store. 

*  In  the  fam'd  Corinthian  grove, 

And  the  sands  that  crowd  the  shores 

Where  such  countless  wantons  rove,  ^c.]    Corinf  n  was  verj 

Then,  my  Bion,  thou  mayst  count 

famous  for  the  beauty  and  n  umber  of  its  courtezans.    Veiiiu 

Of  my  loves  the  vast  amount 

was  the  deity  principally  worshipped  by  the  people,  and  theu 

t've  been  loving,  all  my  days, 

constant  prayer  was,  that  the  gods  should  increase  the  num 

Many  nymphs,  in  many  w&ya ; 

ber  of  her  worshippers.    W«  may  perceive  "iom  the  anplies 

y^ 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


»i 


Chains  of  beauties  may  be  found, 

Chains,  by  which  my  heart  is  bound ; 

There,  indeed,  arc  nymphs  divine, 

Dangerous  to  a  soul  like  mine.' 

Many  bloom  in  liCsbos'  isle ; 

Many  in  Ionia  smile ; 

Rhodes  a  pretty  swarm  can  boast ; 

Caria  too  contains  a  host. 

Sum  ti am  all  —  of  brown  and  fair 

You  may  count  two  thousand  there. 

What,  you  stare  ?   I  jiray  you,  peace  ! 

Mare  I'll  find  before  I  cease. 

Have  I  told  you  all  my  flames, 

'Mong  the  amorous  Syrian  dames  ? 

Have  I  number'd  every  one, 

(ilowing  under  Egypt's  sun  ? 

(»r  the  nymphs,  who  blushing  sweet 

Deck  the  shrine  of  Love  in  Crete  ; 

Where  the  God,  with  festal  play. 

Holds  eternal  holiday  ? 

Still  in  clusters,  still  remain 

Gades'  warm,  desiring  train  ;  • 

Still  there  lies  a  myriad  more 

On  the  sable  India's  shore  ; 

These,  and  many  far  remov'd. 

All  are  loving  —  all  are  lov'd ! 


aun  if  the  verb  KnptvOia!^tii>,'.n  Ari8t(iphane!<,that  the  lubri- 
city i'{  the  Corinthians  had  become  pruverbial. 

1   TTtere,  inded,  are  nymphs  divine, 

D'ingtroua  to  a  soul  like  mine.]  "With  Justice  has  the 
poet  attributed  lieauty  to  the  women  of  Greece."  —  Dtgrn, 

AI.  lie  Paiiw,  the  author  of  Dissertationitupon  the  Greeks, 
Is  of  a  diflrrent  opinion  ;  he  thinks,  that  by  a  capricious 
partiahty  of  nature,  tlie  other  sex  had  all  the  beauty  ;  and 
by  this  supposition  endeavors  to  account  for  a  very  singular 
Jepravation  of  instinct  among  that  |>eople. 

«  Ga  Its'  warm,  dtitiring  train ;]  The  Gaditanian  girls 
were  like  the  Baladldres  of  India,  whose  dances  are  thus 
described  by  a  French  autlior :  "  Les  danses  sont  presque 
louies  lies  pantomimes  d'amour ;  le  plan,  le  dessein,  les  at- 
til'ides,  les  mesures,  les  sons  et  les  cadences  de  ces  ballets, 
tr  it  rci'pire  cetle  passion  et  en  exprirnc  les  volupt^s  et  les 
V-ffiirs,"  —  Iluloir^  da  Commerce  des  Europ.  dans  Us  deux 
IxJes.  —  Raynal. 

1>.*  music  (if  the  Gaditanian  females  had  nil  the  volup- 
•n.'i  character  of  tlieir  dancing,  as  apiiears  from  Martial :  — 
Cantica  qui  Nili,  qui  Gaditana  siisurraL 

Lib.  iii.  epig.  63. 

laodoTico  Ariosto  had  this  ode  of  our  bard  in  his  mind, 
iiriien  he  wrote  his  poem  "  Ue  divcrsis  amoribua."  See  the 
\nthologia  Italonim. 

*  The  dove  of  Anacrenn,  bearing  a  letter  from  the  poet  to 
lis  mistress,  is  met  by  a  stranger,  with  whom  this  dialogue 
t  imagined. 

The  ancients  made  use  of  letter-carrying  pigeons,  when 
Oiey  went  any  dStanre  from  home,  as  the  mrist  certain  means 
Of  conveying  intelligence  back.  That  tender  domestic  at- 
•ehment,  whi-Ji  attracts  this  delicate  little  bird  throu^ 


ODE   XV. 

Tell  me,  why,  my  sweetest  dove,* 
Thus  your  humid  pinions  move, 
Shedding  through  the  air  in  shower* 
Essence  of  the  balmiest  flowers  ? 
Tell  ine  whither,  whence  you  rove, 
Tell  me  all,  my  sweetest  dove. 

Curious  stranger,  I  belong 
To  the  bard  of  Tcian  song  ; 
With  his  mandate  now  I  fly 
To  the  nymph  of  azure  eye  ;  — 
She,  whose  eye  has  madden'd  many,* 
But  the  poet  more  than  any. 
Venus,  for  a  hymn  of  love. 
Warbled  in  her  votive  grove,* 
('Twas  in  sooth  a  gentle  lay.) 
Gave  me  to  the  bard  away. 
See  me  now  his  faithful  minion,  — 
Thus  with  softly-gliding  piiiion. 
To  his  lovely  girl  I  bear 
Songs  of  passion  through  the  air. 
Oft  he  blandly  whispers  me, 
"  Soon,  my  bird,  I'll  set  you  free  " 
But  in  vain  he'll  bid  me  fly, 
I  shall  serve  him  till  I  die. 


every  danger  and  difficulty,  till  it  settles  in  its  native  i  ast 
affords  to  the  author  of  "  The  Pleasures  of  Memory  "  a  fim 
luid  interesting  exemplification  of  his  subject. 

Led  by  what  chart,  transports  flie  timid  dove 
The  wreaths  of  conquest,  or  the  vows  of  love  ? 

See  the  poem.  Daniel  Heinsius,  in  speaking  of  Dousa,  who 
adopted  this  method  at  the  siege  of  Leyden,  expresses  a  sun 
ilar  sentiment 

Quo  patritE  non  tendit  amor?    Mandata  referre 
Postquam  hoiitinem  nequiii  mittere,  niisit  avem. 

Fuller  tells  us,  that  at  the  siege  of  Jerusalem,  the  Chru 
tians  intercepted  a  letter,  tied  to  the  legs  of  a  dove,  in  which 
the  Persian  Em|ioror  promised  assistance  to  the  besieged.  — 
Holy  War,  cap.  34,  txKik  i. 

*  She,  whose  eye  has  madden'd  many,  ^c]  For  rvpavvoy 
in  the  original,  Zeune  and  Schneider  conjecture  that  wn 
should  read  rvpawov,  in  allusion  to  the  strong  influenca 
which  this  object  of  his  love  held  over  the  mind  of  Polycrs- 
tes.    See  Degen. 

»  Venus,  for  a  hymn  of  love. 

Warbled  in  her  retire  grove,  tfcJ]  "  This  passage  is  nvai 
uabic,  and  I  do  not  think  tliat  any  thing  so  beautiful  or  K 
delicate  has  ever  been  said.  What  an  idea  does  it  gi/e  of 
the  poetry  of  the  man,  from  whom  Venus  herself,  the  mothei 
of  the  Graces  and  the  Pleasures,  purchases  a  little  hymn  with 
one  of  her  favorite  doves !  "  —  Lomrepierre. 

De  Pauw  objects  to  the  authenticity  of  this  ode,  because 
it  makes  Anacreon  his  own  panegyrist ;  but  poets  have  I 
license  for  praising  themselves,  which,  with  some  indeed, 
may  be  considered  as  comprised  under  their  genera)  pnv* 
lege  of  Actioii. 


12 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


Never  could  my  plumes  sustain 
Rufling  winds  and  chilling  rain, 
O'er  the  plains,  or  in  the  deU, 
On  the  mountain's  savage  swell, 
Seeking  in  the  desert  wood 
Gloomy  shelter,  rustic  food. 
Now  I  lead  a  life  of  ease, 
Far  from  rugged  haunts  like  these. 
From  Anacreon's  hand  I  eat 
Food  delicious,  viands  sweet ; 
Flutter  o'er  his  goblet's  brim, 
Sip  the  foamy  wine  with  him. 
Then,  when  I  have  wanton' d  round 
To  his  lyre's  beguiling  sound  ; 
Or  with  gently-moving  wings 
Fann'd  the  minstrel  while  he  sings  ; 
On  his  harp  I  sink  in  slumbers. 
Dreaming  still  of  dulcet  numbers  ! 

This  is  all  —  away  —  away — 
You  have  made  me  waste  the  day, 
How  I've  chatter'd  !  prating  crow 
Never  yet  did  chatter  bo. 


ODE  XVI.' 
Thou,  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues 
Mimic  form  and  soul  infuse,* 

t  This  ode  and  tho  next  may  be  called  companion  pictures ; 
hey  are  highly  finished,  and  give  us  an  excellent  idea  of  the 
taste  of  the  ancients  in  beauty.  Franciscus  Junius  quotes 
Uiem  in  his  third  book  "  Do  Pictura  Veterum." 

Tliis  ode  has  been  imitated  by  Ronsard,  Giuliano  Goselini, 
fcc  &.C    Scaliger  alludes  to  it  thus  in  his  Anacreontica : 
Olim  lepore  blando, 
Litis  versibus 
Candidus  Anacreon 
Quam  pingeret  amicus 
Descripsit  Venerem  suam. 
The  Teian  bard,  of  former  days, 
Atiun'd  his  sweet  descriptive  lays, 
And  taught  the  painter's  hand  to  trace 
His  fair  beloved's  every  grace. 
La  the  dialogue  of  Caspar  Barlieus,  entitled  "  An  formosa 
lit  diicenda,"  the  reader  will  find  many  curious  ideas  and 
descriptions  of  womanly  beauty. 

*  Thou  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues 

Mimicform  and  soul  infuse,]  I  have  followed  here  the 
reading  of  the  Vatican  MS.  puSeris.  Painting  is  called  "  the 
rosy  art,"  either  in  reference  to  coloring,  or  as  an  indefinite 
•pithet  of  excellence,  from  the  association  of  beauty  with 
that  flower.  Salvini  has  adopted  this  reading  in  bis  literal 
tmislation :  — 

Delia  rosea  arte  signore. 

•  TTii  lovely  maid  thaOsfar  away.]  If  this  portrait  of  the 
poet's  mi«trjss  be  not  merely  ideal,  the  omission  of  her  name 
Is  much  to  be  regretted.  Meleager,  in  an  epigram  on  Anac- 
IBOU,  mentions  "  the  golden  Eurypyle  "  as  his  mistress. 


Best  of  painters,  come  portray 
The  lovely  maid  that's  far  away.* 
Far  away,  my  soul !  thou  art. 
But  I've  thy  beauties  all  by  heart. 
Paint  her  jetty  ringlets  playing. 
Silky  locks,  like  tendrils  straying  ;  * 
And  if  painting  hath  the  skill 
To  make  the  spicy  balm  distil,* 
Let  every  little  lock  exhale 
A  sigh  of  perfume  on  the  gale. 
Where  her  tresses'  curly  flow 
Darkles  o'er  the  brow  of  snow. 
Let  her  forehead  beam  to  light, 
Burnish'd  as  the  ivory  bright. 
Let  her  eyebrows  smoothly  rise 
In  jetty  arches  o'er  her  eyes, 
Each,  a  crescent  gently  gliding, 
Just  commingling,  just  dividing. 

But,  hast  thou  any  sparkles  warm. 
The  lightning  of  her  eyes  to  form  ? 
Let  them  effuse  the  azure  rays 
That  in  Minerva's  glances  blaze, 
Mix'd  with  the  liquid  light  that  lien 
In  Cytherea's  languid  eyes.* 
O'er  her  nose  and  cheek  be  shed 
Flushing  white  and  soften' d  red ; 


*  Painther  jetty  ringlets  playing, 

Silky  locks,  like  tendrls  straying;]  The  ancients  havi 
been  very  enthusiastic  in  their  praises  of  the  beauty  of  hair. 
Apuleius,  in  the  second  book  of  his  Milesiacs,  says,  that 
Venus  herself,  if  she  were  bald,  though  surrounded  by  the 
Graces  and  tlie  Loves,  could  not  be  pleasing  even  to  hei 
husband  Vulcan. 

Stesichorus  gave  the  epithet  (caXXtirXo<ca//oj  to  the  Graces, 
and  Simonides  bestowed  the  same  upon  the  Muses.  See 
Hadrian  Junius's  Dissertation  upon  Hair. 

To  this  passage  of  o'lr  poet,  Selden  alluded  in  a  note  on 
the  Polyolbion  of  Drayton,  Song  the  Second,  where  observ- 
ing, that  the  epithet  "  black-haired  "  was  given  by  some  of 
the  ancients  to  the  goddess  Isis,  he  says,  "  Nor  will  I  swear, 
but  that  Anacreon  (a  man  very  judicious  in  the  provoking 
motives  of  wanton  love),  intending  to  bestow  on  his  sweet 
mistress  that  one  of  the  titles  of  woman's  special  ornament, 
well-haired  ()caAAijrXo<ra/i  <{),  thought  of  this  when  he  gavt 
his  paintdr  direction  to  make  her  black-haired." 

6  .4nd  if  painting  hath  the  skill 

To  make  the  spicy  balm  distil,  4'e-J  Thus  Philostratua, 
speaking  of  a  picture  :  ciraivu)  kui  tuv  tvipoaoti  rwi  aoiwv, 
Kai  (pnii'  y£-ypu<ptiat  aura  ficra  rris  uapiris.  "  I  admire  th« 
dewiness  of  these  roses,  and  could  say  Uiat  their  very  smel 
was  painted." 

«  Mix'd  with  the  liquid  liffki  (Aot  lies 

In  Cytherea's  languid  eyes.]  MarchetU  explains  tt'M  tM 
vypov  of  the  original :  — 

Dipingili  dmidetti 
Tremuli  e  lascivetti, 
Qua!  gli  ha  Ciprigna  "alma  Dea  il  Aawn 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


»« 


li: 


Mingling  tints,  as  when  there  giaws 
In  snowy  milk  the  bashful  rose 
Then  her  lip,  so  rich  in  blisses, 
Sweet  petitioner  for  kisses,* 
Rosy  nest,  where  lurks  Persuasion, 
Mutely  courting  Jjove's  invasion. 
Next,  beneath  the  velvet  chin, 
\Mio«e  dimple  hides  a  Love  i^nthin,' 
Mould  her  neck  with  grace  descending, 
In  a  heaven  of  beauty  ending  ; 
While  countless  charms,  above,  below, 
Sport  and  flutter  round  its  sn'-.w. 
Now  let  a  floating,  lucid  veil, 
Shadow  her  form,  but  not  conceal ;  * 
A  charm  m».y  peep,  a  hue  may  beam. 
And  leave  the  rest  to  Fancy's  dream. 
Enough  —  'tis  she  !  'tis  all  I  seek  ; 
It  glows,  it  lives,  it  soon  will  speak  ! 


>Mao  has  p'irted  in  the  same  manner  the  ejres  of  Armi- 

Tial  ragsio  in  onda  le  scintilla  un  riso 
Negli  tiiiitdi  <>cchi  tremulo  e  lascivo. 

vVithin  her  humid,  melting  eyes 
A  brilliant  r<>y  of  laughter  lies, 
Soft  as  the  broken  solar  beam. 
That  trembles  in  the  azure  stream. 


The  ir-neled  expression  of  dignity  and  tenderness,  which 
Anacr'.in  requires  the  painter  to  infuse  into  the  eyes  of  his 
nifctre^s,  is  more  amply  described  in  the  subsequent  ode. 
Both  descriptions  are  so  exquisitely  touched,  that  the  artist 
must  have  been  great  indeed,  if  he  did  not  yield  in  painting 
to  the  |)oet. 

1  Minglinrr  tint.9,  as  when  there  frlmes 

In  siunty  milk  the  bashful  rose.']  Thus  Propertius,  eleg.  3, 
hb.  ii. 

Utque  roste  puro  lacte  natant  folia. 

And  Davenant,  in  a  little  poem  called  "  The  Mistress," 

Catch  as  it  falls  the  Scythian  snow, 
Bring  blushing  roses  steep'd  in  milk 

Thus  too  TaygetuR :  — 

Que  lac  atque  rosas  vincis  candore  rubenti. 

These  last  words  may  perhaps  defend  the  "  flushing  white  " 
of  the  translation. 

•  Thtf  ker  lip,  so  rich  in  blisses, 

Stneft  fftitioner  for  kisses,]  The  "  lip,  provoking  kisses," 
in  the  o'-ginal,  is  a  strong  and  heautifUl  expression.  Achil- 
les Tati^B  speaks  of  xaXn  iiiiXHitKa  irooj  ra  fpiXrifiara, 
"  Lips  8  ft  and  delicate  for  kissing."  A  grave  old  commen- 
tator, D-inysiits  Lambinus,  in  his  notes  upon  Lucretius, 
tells  ui  with  the  apparent  authority  of  experience,  that 
**  8iiavi-rs  viroH  osrulantur  pyellip  labiosip,  quam  qua  sunt 
krevibur  labris."  And  Mntns  Sylvius,  in  his  tedious  unin- 
teresting 8tnr>'  of  the  loves  of  Euryalus  and  Lucretie,  where 
be  pat;tiilar>.es  the  beauties  of  the  heroine  (in  a  very  false 
tnd  lav>red  stjle  of  latiniiy),  describes  her  lips  thus:  — 
"  Of  porviim  decensqiie,  labia  coralini  coloris  ad  munum 
•ptiwBina."-    ^pist.  114,  lib.  t 


ODE  xvn.» 

And  now  with  all  thy  pencil's  trath. 

Portray  Bathyllus,  lovely  youth  ! 

Let  his  hair,  in  masses  bright. 

Fall  like  floating  rays  of  light ;  • 

And  there  the  raven's  dye  confuse 

With  the  golden  sunbeam's  hues. 

Let  no  Mrreath,  with  artful  twine,' 

The  flowing  of  his  locks  confine ; 

But  leave  them  loose  to  every  breeze, 

To  take  what  shape  and  course  they  please 

Beneath  the  forehead,  fair  as  snow. 

But  flush'd  with  manhood's  early  glow. 

And  guileless  as  the  dews  of  dawn,' 

Let  the  majestic  brows  be  drawn. 


8  ^ext,  beneath  the  velvet  chin, 

Whose  dimple  hides  a  Love  vnOun,  4'e.]  Madame  Daeid 
has  quoted  here  two  pretty  lines  of  Varro  :  — 

Sigilla  in  mento  impressa  Amoris  digitulo 
Vestigio  demonstrant  moUltudinem 
In  her  chin  is  a  delicate  dimple, 

By  (?upid's  own  finger  impresa'd  ; 
There  Beauty,  bewitchingly  simple. 
Has  chosen  her  innocent  nest 

4  JVoto  let  a  flouting,  lucid  veil. 

Shadow  her  form,  but  not  conceal,  i'c.]  This  delicate  an 
of  description,  which  leaves  imagination  to  complete  the 
picture,  has  been  seldom  adopted  in  the  imitations  of  thi» 
beautiful  poem.  Ronsard  is  exceptionably  minute  ;  and  Po 
litianus,  in  his  charming  portrait  of  a  girl,  full  of  rich  am 
exquisite  diction,  has  lifted  the  veil  rather  too  much.  The 
"  qiiesto  che  Ui  m'  intend!  "  should  be  always  left  to  fancy 

*  The  reader,  who  wishes  to  acquire  an  accurate  idea  of 
the  judgment  of  the  ancients  in  beauty,  will  be  indulged  by 
consulting  Junius  de  Pictura  Vetcriim,  lib.  3,  c.  9,  where 
he  will  find  a  very  curious  selectiim  of  descriptions  and 
epithets  of  personal  perfections.  Junius  compares  this  ode 
with  a  description  of  Theodoric,  king  of  the  Goths,  in  the 
second  episile,  first  book,  of  Sidimms  Apollinaris. 

«  Art  his  hair,  in  masses  bright, 

Fall  like  ^tilting  rays  of  light ;  4'c.]  He  here  describes  thr 
sunny  h*jr,  tf*  "  flava  coma,"  which  the  ancients  so  rarth 
admired.  7'l:e  Romans  gave  this  color  artificially  U)  the'' 
hair.    See  Stanisl.  Kobienxyk.  do  Lu.ru  Rornanonim. 

'  Let  no  wreath,  with  artful  tisine,  ^c]  If  tiie  cr.i'^t 
here,  which  Ls  particularly  beautiful,  can  admit  of  any  aA 
ditional  \-alite,  that  value  is  conferred  by  Gray's  rdnuratici 
of  it    See  his  letters  to  '.Vest 

Some  ann'itators  have  quoted  on  this  passage  tie  descrt|»- 
tion  of  Plioiid's  hair  in  Apiileius  ;  hut  nothing  can  be  more 
distant  from  the  simplicity  of  our  poet's  manner,  than  that 
affectatlor.  if  richness  which  distinguishes  the  styli-  • 
Apuleius. 

8  BM  flush'd  with  manhood''s  early  glow, 

^nd  guileless  as  the  dews  of  dawn,  4'c.]  Torrentius,  upc>» 
the  words  "  insignem  tenui  fronte,"  in  Horace,  Od.  33L 
lib.  1,  is  of  opinion,  incorrectly,  I  think,  lliat  •'  leuui '  \w 
beats  the  same  meaninc  as  the  word  .DraX.iv 


H 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


Of  ebon  hue,  enrich'd  by  gold, 
Such  as  dark,  shining  snakes  unfold. 
Mix  in  hia  ej^es  the  power  alike. 
With  love  to  win,  with  awe  to  strike ; ' 
Borrow  from  Mars  his  look  of  ire, 
From  Venus  her  soft  glance  of  fire  ; 
Blend  them  in  such  expression  here, 
That  we  by  turns  may  hope  and  fear  ! 

Now  from  the  sunny  apple  seek 
The  velvet  down  that  spreads  his  cheek ; 
And  there,  if  art  so  far  can  go, 
Th'  ingenuous  blush  of  boyhood  show. 
While,  for  his  mouth  —  but  no,  —  in  vain 
Would  words  its  witching  charm  explain. 
Make  it  the  very  seat,  the  throne, 
T|at  Eloquence  would  claim  her  own  ;  ' 
And  let  the  lips,  though  silent,  wear 
A.  life  look,  as  if  words  were  there.* 

Next  thou  his  ivory  neck  must  trace, 
Moulded  with  soft  but  manly  grace ; 
Fair  as  the  neck  of  Paphia's  boy. 
Where  Paphia's  arms  have  hung  in  joy. 


'  Mix  In  his  eyes  the  power  alike, 

fVilh  love  to  win,  with  awe  to  strike ;  JJ"'.]  Tasso  gives  a 
rjnilar  chiiracter  to  the  eyes  of  Cluriiida :  — 

Lnm|>eg<:inr  gli  ocelli,  e  folgorar  gli  eguardi 
Dolci  no  I'ira. 

Her  eyes  were  flashing  with  a  heavenly  heat, 
A  fire  tliat,  even  in  anger,  still  was  sweet. 
T)ie  poetess  Veronica  Cambra  is  more  diffuse  upon  this 
rarirly  of  expression  :  — 

Occhi  lucenti  e  belli, 

Come  esr^er  puo  ch'  in  un  medesnio  istante 
Nascan  de  voi  si  nuove  forme  et  tante.' 
LiQti,  niesti,  superbi,  huniiP,  altieri, 
Vi  niostrate  in  un  piinto,  onde  di  speme, 
Et  di  ttinor,  de  einpiete,  &c.  &c. 
O,  tell  ine,  brightly-beaming  eye, 
Whei.re  in  your  little  orbit  lie 
So  many  different  traits  of  fire, 
*        Expressing  each  a  now  desire. 

Now  with  pride  or  scorn  you  darkle, 
Kow  w  ith  love,  vvitli  gladness,  sparkle, 
While  we  who  view  the  varying  mirror, 
Fsel  by  turns  both  hope  and  terror. 

'hevreau,  citing  the  lines  of  our  poet,  in  his  critique  on 
tiie  |>oems  of  Mallierhe  pnMliices  a  Latin  version  of  them 
froiu  a  nianuscr'pt  whch  he  had  seen,  entitled  "Joan. 
Vilcflnis  Anacreontic!  TjUsus." 

4  That  F.to  {Hence  would  claim  her  own  ;]  In  the  original, 
as  in  the  preceding  ode,  Pitho,  the  goddess  of  persuasion,  or 
eloquence.  It  was  worthy  of  the  delicate  imagination  of 
tlie  Greeks  to  deify  Persuasion,  and  give  her  the  lips  for  her 
tbrone.  We  are  hero  reminded  of  a  very  interesting  frag- 
ment of  Anacreon,  preserved  by  the  scholiast  upon  Pindar, 
lod   supposed  to  belon     to  a  poem  reflecting  with  some 


Give  him  the  winged  Hermes'  hand,* 
With  which  he  waves  his  snaky  wand  ; 
Let  Bacchus  the  broad  chest  supply, 
And  Lcda's  son  the  sinewy  tliigh ; 
While,  through  his  whole  transparent  frame, 
Thou  show'st  the  stirrings  of  that  flame, 
Which  kindles,  when  the  first  love  sigh 
Steals  from  the  heart,  unconscious  why 

But  sure  thy  pencil,  though  so  bright, 
Is  envious  of  the  eye's  delight. 
Or  its  enamour'd  touch  would  show 
The  shoulder,  fair  as  sunless  snow. 
Which  now  in  veiling  shadow  lies, 
Remov'd  from  all  but  Fancy's  eyes. 
Now,  for  his  fe°t  —  but  hold  —  forbear  — 
1  see  the  sun-god's  portrait  there  ;  * 
Why  paint  Bathyllus  ?  when,  in  truth, 
There,    in   that    god,    thou'st    sketch'd    tht 

youth. 
Enough  —  let  this  bright  form  be  mine, 
And  send  tke  boy  to  Samos'  shrine  ; 
Phoebus  shall  then  Bathyllus  be, 
Bathyllus  then,  the  deity  ! 


severity  on  Simonides,  who  was  the  first,  we  are  told,  *Jm( 
ever  made  a  hireling  of  his  muse :  — 

Ot)5'  apyvper]  nor'  tXaiiXpt  TletBoi, 
Nor  yet  had  fair  Persuasion  shone 
In  silver  splendors,  not  her  own. 
«  ^nd  lit  the  lips,  though  silent   wear 

A  life  look,  as  if  words  were  there.]  In  the  original  \a\<)y 
otnirr].  The  mistress  of  Petrarch  "  paria  con  silenzio," 
which  is  perhaps  the  best  method  of  female  eloquence. 

♦  Oive  him  the  win<rcd Hermes' luind,^c.]  In  Shakspeare'l 
Cymbeline  there  is  a  similar  method  of  description  :  — 

this  is  his  hand. 

His  foot  mercurial,  his  martial  thigh. 
The  brawns  of  Hercules. 

We  find  it  likewise  in  Hamlet.  Longepierre  thinks  that  the 
bands  of  Mercury  are  selected  by  Anacreon  on  account  of 
the  graceful  gestures  which  were  supposed  to  characterize 
the  god  of  eloquence  ;  but  Mercury  was  also  the  patron  of 
thieves,  and  may  perhaps  be  praised  as  i  ligb»  fingere.' 
deity. 

6        But  hold  —fo^h'  ar  — 

I  see  the  sun-god's  portrait  tJtere  :]  The  abrupt  .urn  hei* 
is  spirited,  but  requires  some  explanation.  While  '.he  artisi 
is  pursuing  the  portrait  of  Bathyllus,  Anacreon,  we  must 
suppose,  turns  round  and  sees  a  picture  of  Apollo,  which 
was  intended  for  an  altar  at  Samos.  He  then  instantly  tellsj 
the  painter  to  cease  his  work  ;  that  this  picture  will  serve 
for  Bathyllus  ;  and  that,  wben  he  goes  to  Samos,  he  may 
make  an  Apollo  of  the  portrait  ol  the  l)oy  which  he  ha^ 
begun. 

"  Bathyllus  (say  M?,dame  Dacier)  coiihl  not  be  mo.*  ele- 
gantly pnised,  and  this  one  passage  does  hiir  more  Ikmioi 
than  the  statue,  however  beautiful  it  might  be  n  h>  "i  col>f 
rates  raised  to  him." 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


Bl 


ODE  xvni.' 

Now  the  star  of  day  is  high, 

Fly,  my  girls,  in  pity  fly, 

Bring  me  wine  in  brimming  urns,' 

Cool  my  lip,  it  bums,  it  bums  ! 

Sunn'd  by  the  meridian  fire, 

PantLig,  languid  I  expire. 

(Hve  me  all  those  humid  flowers,' 

Drop  them  o'er  my  brow  in  showers. 

Scarce  a  breathing  chaplet  now 

Lives  upon  my  feverish  brow  ; 


•  All  elepant  tranRlatfoii  of  'his  ode,  says  Degen,  may  be 
»;iri(I  in  R.iiiilerV  Lyr.  Bliimeiilese,  lib.  v.  p.  403. 

i  Pring  me  vine  in  brimmi  g  urns,  S;c.}  Orip.  vutv  aitvari. 
The  ainysti'i  was  a  tnetlnxl  of  ilriiikiii<  used  aiming  the 
rhmciaiis.  Thus  Horace,  '•  Threicii  viucat  aiiiystide." 
Mad.  Durier,  Ltmpepierre,  &c.  &c. 

Parrhasin«,  in  his  twoiity-eixth  epixtle  (Thesaur.  Cniic 
»ol.  i  ),  explains  the  amystis  as  a  draught  to  be  exhausted 
wiihont  Hiawing  breath,  "  uno  haustu."  A  note  in  tlie 
uj.irgin  of  (his  epistlo  of  Parrhasius  says,  "  Politiaiius  ves- 
le:ii  c.-.>e  ptit.ibnt,"  but  add.t  nii  reference. 

'  Otit  nil-  all  thoxe  humitl flowers,  ifc]  According  to  the 
oriinnni  reading  of  this  line,  the  [loct  says,  "  Give  me  the 
Sower  cf  wine  "—  Date  flusciilos  I.ysi,  as  it  is  in  the  ver- 
«)on  uf  Eiias  Andreas  ;  and 

I)eh  porgptiini  del  fiore 
Di  quel  alino  o  biian  liquore, 
I?  Begnier  has  it,  who  supports  the  reading.    The  word 
\iO,i  would  undoubtedly  bear  this  application,  which  is 
M'inevvhat  similar  to  its  import  in  tho^epigram  of  Simonides 
iiIMiM  Sophocles:  — 

EjS  <;''>;$  yepats  To(p  ic\rc{,  avOof  aotStdV. 
and'Hos  in  the  I^itin  is  frequently  applied  in  the  same  man- 
nnr— thus  Othogiis  is  called  by  Ennius,  Flos  inlibalus 
popiili,  siiadcque  medulla,  "  The  immaculate  dower  of  the 
priijile,  and  tlie  very  uiarrow  of  (wrsuasion."  See  these 
verses  cited  by  Aulus  Oellius,  lib.xii.,  which  Cicero  praised, 
aiid  Seneca  thought  ndiruloiis. 

But  in  the  (mssagf.  before  us,  if  we  admit  crcifiuf,  accord- 
ing to  Faber's  coiijeriiire,  the  sense  is  sufTicientlv  clear, 
M'itiKMil  having  rtcour^  to  such  refinements. 

<  Every  demy  rose  I  wear 

Sheds  its  tari,  and  iiUkers  th  re.]  There  are  some  beau- 
'ifut  l:n  ',  by  AiigoSr..: '3,  upon  a  garland,  which  I  caimot 
»»»•  juotiiig  here   — 

Ante  fores  madidc  sic  sic  pendete  condhe. 

Mane  orto  imponet  Ca;lia  vos  capiti ; 
\tquum  |ier  niveam  rervicein  influzerit  humor, 

Dicite,  non  mris  sed  pluvia  hec  lacrinc 

By  Celia's  artvir  all  the  night 

Mane,  humid  wreath,  the  lover's  vow  ; 
And  haply,  at  the  morning  light, 

My  love  shall  twiite  thee  round  her  brow 
Then,  if  upon  her  bo'om  brght 

Some  ilro|)s  of  dew  shall  fall  from  tb«0, 
''ell  her,  lliey  are  not  drops  of  night. 

Hut  leniv  of  aorroii  f  bed  bv  m« ' 


Every  dewy  rose  I  wear 

Sheds  its  tears,  and  withers  there.* 

But  to  you,  my  burning  heart,* 

WTiat  can  now  relief  impart  ? 

Can  brimming  bowl,  or  flowret's  dev 

Cool  the  flame  that  scorches  you  ' 


ODE  XIX.« 

Here  recline  you,  gentle  maid. 
Sweet  is  this  embowering  shade ; 
Sweet  the  young,  the  modest  trees, 
RuiHed  by  the  kissing  breeze  ; 


In  the  poem  of  Mr.  Sheridan's,  "  Uncouth  is  this  moM 
covered  grotto  of  stone,"  there  is  an  idea  very  singularlj 
coincident  with  this  of  Angerianus :  — 
.And  thou,  stony  gn)t,  in  thy  arch  mayst  preserve 
Some  lingering  drops  of  tlie  nignt-falleii  dew  ; 
Let  them  ftill  on  her  Ijosom  of  snow,  and  tliey'll  serve 
As  tears  of  my  sorrow  intnistcd  to  you. 

*  But  to  you,  mij  burning  heart,  ^c]  The  transition  hett 
is  (Kculiarly  delicate  and  im|)assl(>ned  ;  but  the  commenia 
tors  have  peri)lexed  tJie  sentiment  by  a  variety  of  reading 
and  conjectures. 

*  The  description  of  this  bower  is  so  natural  and  animated, 
that  we  almost  feel  a  degree  of  coolness  and  freshness  whil< 
we  penise  it  L<mgepierre  has  quoted  from  the  ftrst  biKjk  o( 
the  Anthologia,  the  following  epigram,  as  somewhat  resenv 
hiing  this  ode  :  — 

Epxco  KOI  «rar'  ciiav  l^ev  irtrvv,  i  to  luXixpov 
Tlpoi  /laXdirouf  rt\ei  KiitXiiicva  ^Ci^vpovs. 

Hi'irJt  KOt  KfluVfta/ia  luXiOTayti,  tvQa  fit\iaS(S> 
'ttivv  cpriitatuti  VTyui>  aj  u  «aXa/iOi( 

Come,  sit  by  the  shadowy  pine 

That  covers  my  sylvan  reUeat ; 
And  see  how  the  branches  incline 

The  breatliing  of  zephyr  to  meet- 
See  (he  fountain,  that,  flowing,  difTiisea 

Around  me  a  glittering  ipray  ; 
Ry  its  brink,  as  the  traveller  muses, 

I  soothe  him  to  sleep  with  my  lay. 

f  Here  rMtttM  you,  pentle  maid,  ^e.]  The  Vatican  Mb 
reads  0a9i  XXov,  which  renders  the  whole  (Miem  mataphnri 
cal.  Some  conimentator  suggests  the  rcadiiu:  <d  0  lOvWur, 
which  makes  a  pun  U|kiii  the  name  ;  a  grace  that  Piv* 
himsell  has  condescended  to  in  writing  of  his  boy  Aor- 
See  ilie  epigram  of  this  philc>8opher,  which  I  •a'^o".  a( 
twenty-second  (xle. 

There  <*  another  epigram  by  Ibis  |>hiIoM>(4»  picM:  ved  il 
Laertius,  which  turns  upon  the  same  word. 

Aanip  irpiv  fjcv  tXaitirCf  tyi  ((Joktii'  luii, 

tio¥  6c  ^av  ■'V  Ad/iirtif  iairepnf  tv  ^Qiittton 
In  life  thou  wert  my  morning  star. 

But  now  that  death  has  stol'n  thy  liyht, 

Alas  !  thou  shinest  dim  and  far. 

Like  tlie  pale  beam  that  weejw  at  nigbL 

In  the  Veneres  Blyenhurgicte,  -indcr  the  head  of  "  Allu 

•iones,"  we  find  a  number  of  such  frigid  conceil*  upof 

I,  Miected  fium  the  poets  nf  the  midile  age*. 


16 


ODES   OF  ANACREOTvr 


Swept  the  little  founts  that  weep, 
LixUing  soft  the  mind  to  sleep  ; 
Hark  !  they  whisper  as  they  roll, 
Calm  persuasion  to  the  soul ; 
Tell  me,  tell  me,  is  not  this 
AJl  a  stillj'  scene  of  bliss  ? 
Who,  my  girl,  would  pass  it  by  ? 
Surely  neither  you  nor  I.' 


ODE  XX.» 

One  day  the  Muses  t^^^n^l  the  hands 
Of  infant  Love  with  flow'ry  bands  ; 
And  to  celestial  Beauty  gave 
The  captive  infant  for  her  slave. 

»   •F*.%  wty  gid,  would  pass  it  by  ? 

S,er»Jy  *either  you  nor  I.]  Tile  finish  given  to  the  picture 
Dy  thii  simplo  exclamation  rt;  av  ovv  hpwv  itapcMoi,  is  in- 
imitable. Yet  J\  French  translator  says  on  the  passage,  "  This 
Conclusion  appeared  to  me  too  trifling  after  such  a  descrip- 
tion, and  I  thought  proper  to  add  somewhat  to  the  strength 
cf  the  original.'" 

s  The  poet  appears,  in  this  graceful  allegory,  to  describe 
the  softening  influence  which  poetry  holds  over  the  mind,  in 
making  it  peculiarly  susceptible  to  the  impressions  of  beauty. 
In  the  following  epigram,  however,  by  the  philosopher  Plato, 
yDiog.  Laert.  lib.  3,)  the  Muses  are  represented  as  disavow- 
ng  the  influence  of  Love. 
'A  Kmpis  Mou(7a((Ti,  K'lpaaia,  rnv  A(ppoStrav 

Tipar',  ri  rov  E/)(u7-a  viifi'v  c<j>onXKronat. 
a!  yiiivTixt  iron  KvTrptv,  \pci  ra  CTOipvXa  ravra'       * 

'lllitv  ovireTarai  tovto  to  iratiaptov. 
•'  Vield  to  my  gentle  power,  Parnassian  maids  ; " 

Thus  to  the  Muses  spoke  the  Queen  of  Channs  — 
«  Or  Love  shall  flutter  tliroiigh  your  classic  shades, 

And  make  your  grove  the  camp  of  Paphian  arms  !  " 
"No,"  said  the  virgins  of  the  tuneful  bower, 

"  We  scorn  thine  own  and  all  thy  urchin's  art ; 
Though  Mars  has  trembled  at  the  mfant's  power. 

His  shaft  is  pointless  o'er  a  Muse's  heart !  " 
There  is  a  sonnet  by  Benedetto  Guidi,  the  tliought  of 
Vfairh  was  suggested  by  this  ode. 

Scherzava  dentro  all'  auree  chiome  Amore 

Dell'  alma  donna  della  vita  mia  : 
E  tanta  era  il  piacer  ch'  ei  ne  sentia, 

Che  non  sapea,  n6  volea  uscirne  fore. 
Auando  ecco  ivi  annodar  si  sente  il  core. 

Si,  che  per  forza  ancor  convien  che  stia  : 
Tai  lacci  alta  beltate  orditi  avia 

Del  crespo  crin,  per  farsi  etemo  onore. 
Onde  ofTre  infin  dal  ciel  degiia  mercede, 
A  chi  scioglie  il  ligliuol  la  bella  dea 
Da  tanti  nodi,  in  ch'  ella  stretto  il  vede. 
Ma  ni  vinto  a  due  occhi  I'  arme  cede : 
Et  t'  aflatichi  indanio,  Citerea ; 
Cbe  s'  altri  '1  scioglie,  egli  a  legar  si  riede 
Love,  wandering  through  the  golden  maze 

Of  my  beloved's  hair. 
Found,  at  each  step,  such  sweet  delays, 
That  rapt  he  linger'd  there. 


His  mother  comes,  with  many  a  toy. 
To  ransom  her  beloved  boy :  * 
His  mother  sues,  but  all  in  vain,  — 
He  ne'er  will  leave  his  chains  again. 
Even  should  they  take  his  chains  away, 
The  little  captive  still  would  stay. 
"  If  this,"  he  cries,  "  a  bondage  be, 
O,  who  could  wish  for  liberty  ? " 


ODE  XXI.* 

Observe  when  mother  earth  is  dry, 
She  drinks  the  droppings  of  the  sky ; 
And  then  the  dewy  cordial  gives 
To  ev'ry  thirsty  plant  that  lives. 

And  how,  indeed,  was  Love  to  fly. 

Or  how  his  freedom  find. 
When  every  ringlet  was  a  tie, 

A  chain,  by  Beauty  twin'd. 
In  vain  to  seek  her  boy's  release 

Comes  Venus  from  above : 
Fond  mother,  let  thy  efforts  cease 

Love's  now  the  slave  of  Love. 
And,  should  we  loose  his  golden  chain, 
The  prisoner  would  return  again  ! 

8  His  mother  comes,  rmth  many  a  toy, 

To  ransom  her  beloved  boy ;  ^-c]  In  the  first  idyl  of  ]VIm 
chus,  Venus  thus  proclaims  the  reward  for  her  fugitin 
chUd :  — 

'O  liavvTOS  yepai  i^ct, 
Miadof  Toi,  TO  il>i\apa  to  KvirpiSo^-  riv  S',  ayayrti  "iv 
Ov  yvpvov  TO  <pty.apa,  tv  6',  o)  (£»>£,  «"i  TrXtoi/  tftij. 

On  him,  who  the  haunts  of  my  Cupid  can  show, 
A  kiss  of  the  tenderest  stamp  I'll  bestow  ; 
But  he,  who  can  bring  back  the  urchin  in  chains. 
Shall  receive  even  something  more  sweet  for  his  pains. 

Subjoined  to  this  «'de,  we  find  in  tlie  Vatican  MS.  the  fol 
lowing  lines,  which  fppearto  me  to  ooast  as  little  sense  ai 
metre,  and  which  are  Tiost  probably  the  interpolation  of  th« 
transcriber :  — 

HSvptX"i  Avaxpeuv 
H5ii/j£\rj  Se  Jlairipb} 
Xlii'SapiKov  TO  Sc  iiot  ftcXos 
TvyKCpacai  rif  cyx^"' 
Ta  rpia  ravra  pot  Sokci 
Kai  ^iovv(rns  eiaeMojv 
Kai  na0iT  irapaxp^oi 
Koi  aVTOi  Eptos  Kuv  CTTteii'. 

*  Those  critics  who  have  endeavored  to  throw  the  ctiint 
of  precision  over  the  spint  of  this  beautiful  trifle,  require  tof 
much  from  Anacreontic  philosophy.  Among  others,  Gail 
very  sapiently  thinks  that  the  poet  uses  the  epithet  /jcAait-i), 
because  black  earth  absorbs  moisture  more  quickly  than  any 
other ;  and  accordingly  he  indulges  us  with  an  experimental 
disquisition  on  the  subject.  —  See  Gail's  notes. 

One  of  the  Capilupi  has  imitated  this  ode,  in  an  epitaph  of 
a  drunkard :  — 

Dum  vixi  sine  fine  bibi,  fIc  imbrifer  arcus 
Sic  tellus  pluvias  sole  nerusta  bibit. 


ODES  OF  AN\CREi.N. 


The  vapors,  which  at  evening  weep, 
Are  beverage  to  the  swelling  deep ; 
And  when  the  rosy  sun  appears. 
He  drinks  the  ocean's  misty  tears. 
The  moon  too  quaffs  her  paly  stream 
Of  lustre,  from  the  solar  beam. 
Then,  hence  with  all  your  sober  thinking  ! 
Since  Nature's  holy  law  is  drinking  ; 
I'll  make  the  laws  of  nature  mine. 
And  pledge  the  universe  in  wine. 


ODE  XXIL 

The  Phrygian  rock,  that  braves  the  storm, 
Was  once  a  weeping  matron's  form  ; ' 


Sic  bibit  assidtift  fontes  et  fliiminii  Pontus, 
Sic  semper  ditiens  Sol  mariR  iiaurit  aquas. 

Ne  te  igitiir  Jartea  plus  me,  Silene,  bihisw ; 
Et  milii  da  victns  tu  quoqiie,  Racche,  manuR. 

HiriHiLrTUt  Cafilupu*. 

\MiiIe  life  waa  mine,  the  little  hour 

Tn  drinking  Rtill  unvaried  flew  ; 
I  drank  a.s  earth  imbibes  the  shower, 
Or  85  the  rainbow  drinks  the  dew  ; 
As  ocean  quails  the  rivers  up. 

Or  flushing  sun  inhales  the  sea : 
Silenus  trembled  at  tny  cup, 
And  Bacchus  waa  outdone  by  me  ! 
I  cannot  nmit  citinj;  those  remarkable  lines  of  Shakspeare, 
where  the  thnughts  of  the  ode  before  us  are  preserved  with 
neh  striking  similitude : 

I'll  example  yon  with  thievery. 
The  sun's  a  thief,  and  with  his  great  attraction 
Robs  the  va^t  sea.    The  moon's  an  arrant  thieli 
And  her  pale  fire  she  snatches  from  the  sun. 
The  sea's  a  thief,  whose  liquid  surge  resolves 
The  mounds  into  salt  tears.    The  earth's  a  thief. 
That  feeds,  and  breeds  by  a  composture  stol'n 
Prom  general  excrements. 

TVnum  of  Athens,  act  iv.  sc  3. 

1   a  veepmg  vtatron't  form  ;]     Niobe.  —  Ogilvie,  m 

bis  Essay  on  the  Lyric  Poetry  of  the  Ancients,  in  remarkmg 
n[)on  «he  Odes  of  Anacreon,  says,  "  In  some  of  his  pieces 
there  is  exuborance  and  even  wildness  of  imagination  ;  in 
that  p.irticularly,  which  is  addressed  to  a  young  girl,  where 
he  wishes  alternately  to  be  transformed  to  a  mirror,  a  coat, 
a  stream,  a  bracelet,  and  a  pair  of  shoes,  for  the  different 
purposes  which  he  recites  ;  this  is  mere  sport  and  wanton- 
nens" 

It  Is  the  wantonneas,  however,  of  a  very  graeeftil  Muse ; 
*•  hidit  amabiliter."  The  compliment  of  this  ode  is  exqui- 
sitely delicate,  and  so  singular  for  the  period  in  which  Anac- 
reon lived,  when  the  scale  of  love  had  not  yet  been  gradu- 
at4>d  into  all  its  little  progressive  refinements,  that  if  we  were 
mi'lined  to  question  the  authenticity  of  the  poem,  we  should 
find  a  much  more  plausible  argument  in  tlie  features  of  mod- 
em gallantry  which  it  bears,  than  in  any  of  those  fastidious 
•onjectures  upon  which  some  commentators  have  presumed 
•o  far.  Deccn  thinks  it  spurious,  and  De  Pauw  pronounces 
't  to  be  ir.iseralle  Longepierre  and  Barnes  refer  us  to 
13 


And  Progne,  hapless,  frantic  maid, 
Is  now  a  swallow  in  the  shade. 
O,  that  a  mirror's  form  were  mine. 
That  I  might  catch  that  smile  divine ; 
And  like  my  own  fond  fancy  be, 
Reflecting  thee,  and  only  thee ; 
Or  coTild  I  be  the  robe  which  holds 
That  graceful  form  within  its  folds  ; 
Or,  tum'd  into  a  fountain,  lave 
Thy  beauties  in  my  circling  wave. 
Would  I  were  perfume  for  thy  hair. 
To  breathe  my  soul  in  fragrance  there ; 
Or,  better  still,  the  zone,  that  lies 
Close  to  thy  breast,  and  feels  its  sighs* 
Or  ev'n  those  envious  pearls  that  shotv 
So  faintly  round  that  neck  of  snow  — 

several  imitations  of  this  ode,  (Vom  which  I  ahall  only  wlM 
tlie  following  epigram  of  Dionysius  :  — 

E(9'  avtfios  ytvoitrfv,  ov  it  ye  (rrttxovoa  nap'  avya^ 

Trridea  yvuvoioais,  Ktit  us  itvtovra  Aa$o<(. 
Eidc  fioiov  ytvoiiTiv  ivoirop<^vpoii,  oippa  jit  xtpatv 

Apaficvri,  KOpiaats  artOtai  xmvcoif, 
Etdc  Kpivov  ycvopnv  XevKoxpoov,  oippa  /te  xteatw 
Apapcvr],  naWov  oris  xpo^'is  Kopcarji' 
I  wish  I  could  like  zephyr  steal 

To  wanton  o'er  thy  mazy  vest ; 
And  thou  wouldst  ope  thy  bosom  veil. 
And  take  me  panting  to  thy  breast ! 
I  wish  I  might  a  rosebud  grow, 

And  thou  wouldst  cull  me  from  the  bowor 
To  place  me  on  that  breast  of  snow. 

Where  I  should  bloom,  a  wintry  flower 
I  wish  I  were  the  lily's  leaf. 

To  fade  upon  that  bosom  warm, 
Content  to  wither,  pale  and  brief, 
The  trophy  of  thy  fairer  form  ! 

I  may  add,  that  Plato  has  expressed  as  fancifiil  a  wWi  li 
a  distich  preserved  by  Laertms : 

A.arepa{  ciaaBpets,  Atrrrip  cpOi'  cidi  yevmuiv 
Ovpavoi,  oij  vnWon  opftaaiv  tif  »t  /?>li"j 

TO    ITEttA 

Why  dost  thou  gaze  upon  the  sky 

O,  tliat  I  were  that  spangled  sphei  , 
And  every  star  should  be  an  eye. 
To  wonder  on  thy  beauties  here ! 
Apuleius  quotes  this  epigra.Ti  of  the  divine  phllosnphfT,  k 
Justify  nimself  for  his  verses  on  Criteas  and  Chariniis     Sw 
his  Apology,  where  he  also  adduces  the  example  of  i*.  nac- 
reon  ;  "  Fecere  tamen  et  ahi  talia,  et  si  vos  igr.oratLT  ajxi* 
Gnecos  Teiiis  quidam,  Ice  &c." 
»  Or,  beOtr  ttill,  th'  tone,  that  lies 

Close  to  thy  breast,  dndfuJs  Us  ciffh*  '  This  Taimri  was  a 
ribbon,  or  band,  called  by  the  Romans  fascia  and  stmphium, 
which  the  women  wore  for  the  purpose  of  restraining  the 
exuberance  of  the  bosom.  Vide  Polluc.  Onomast.  Thiw 
Martial :  — 

Fascia  creycentes  dominn  compesce  papillas. 
The  women  of  Greece  not  only  wore  this  zone,  but  con- 
demned themselves  to  fostinc,  and  made  use  of  certain  drum 


#8 


ODES  OF  ANACREON 


Yes,  I  would  be  a  happy  gem, 
Like  them  to  hang,  to  fade  like  them. 
What  more  would  thy  Anacreon  be  ? 
O,  any  thing  that  touches  thee  ; 
Nay,  sandals  for  those  airy  feet  — 
Fv'n  to  be  trod  by  them  were  sweet '. ' 


ODE  xxrn.« 

I  OFiiiN  wish  this  languid  lyre, 
Ihis  warbler  of  my  soul's  desire, 
Could  raise  the  breath  of  song  sublime, 
To  men  of  fame,  in  former  time. 
But  when  the  soaring  theme  I  try, 
Along  the  chords  my  numbers  die. 
And  whisper,  with  dissolving  tone, 
*'  Our  sighs  are  given  to  love  alone  !  " 
Indignant  at  t'\e  feeble  lay, 
I  tore  the  panting  chords  away, 
Attun'd  them  to  a  nobler  swell. 
And  struck  again  the  breathing  shell ; 
In  all  the  glow  of  epic  fire. 
To  Hercules  I  wake  the  lyre.' 

»nd  powders  for  the  same  purpose.  To  these  expedients 
Jiey  were  compelled,  in  consequence  of  their  inelegant 
;  fashion  of  compretising  the  waist  into  a  very  narrow  com- 
pass, which  necessarily  caused  an  excessive  tumidity  in  the 
bosom.     See  Uioscorides,  lib.  v. 

1  JVay,  sandals  fur  those  airy  feel  — 

£ti'n  to  be  trod  by  them  were  sweet !]  TTie  sophist  Philos- 
iratiis,  in  one  of  his  love  letters,  has  borrowed  tliis  tliought ; 
u>  aScTot  TToJtj,  0)  KaWoi  cXevdcpof,  to  rpiatviatfiuyv  tyui 
K'ti  juuKopios  cav  rarriaiTi  fic.  — "  O,  lovely  feet !  O,  excel- 
lent beauty  !  O,  thrice  happy  and  blessed  should  I  be,  if  you 
Would  but  tread  on  me!"    In  Shakspeare,  Romeo  desires 

be  a  glove  :  — 

O,  that  I  were  a  glove  upon  that  hand, 
That  I  mi<!ht  kiss  that  cheek  ' 

And,  in  his  Passionate  Pilgrim,  we  meet  with  an  idea  some- 
what like  that  of  the  thirteenth  line  :  — 

He,  spying  her,  Imunc'd  in,  where  as  he  stood, 
"  O  Jove  !  "  quoth  she,  "  wliy  was  not  I  a  flood  ?  " 
Ii.  Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  that  whimsical  far- 
rago of  •'  all  such  reading  as  was  never  read,"  we  lind  a 
iT.inslation  of  this  ode  made  before  1C32.  —  "  Englished  by 
Wi   B.  Holiday,  in  his  Technog.  act  i.  scene  7." 

«  A.ccordii,j;  to  the  order  in  which  the  odes  are  usually 
ptered,  fhi?(e;A&j  Xiytiv  ArpctSuc)  forms  the  first  of  the 
wries  ;  and  is  thought  to  be  peculiarly  designed  as  an  intro- 
iuctioT).  to  tile  rest.  It  however  characterizes  the  genius  of 
the  Teran  but  very  inadequately,  as  wine,  llie  burden  of  his 
tajri,!  mot  even  mentioned  in  it: 

cum  multo  Venercm  confundere  mero 

Precepit  Lyrici  Tela  Musa  senis.  Otid. 

The  twenty-sixth  Ode,  Xv  /tev  Xeycts  ra  OriSni,  might, 

^itti  just  ar  much  propriety,  b«  placed  at  the  head  of  his  songs. 

We  And  the  sentimen's  of  the  ode  before  ns  expressed  by 

S  >n  with    uiich  simplio  y  in  bis  fourth  idyl.    The  above 


But  still  in  fainting  sighs  repeat, 
"The  tale  of  love  alone  is  sweet !  "* 
Then  fare  thee  well,  seductive  dream, 
That  mad'st  me  follow  Glory's  theme 
For  thou  my  lyre,  and  thou  my  heart* 
Shall  never  more  in  spirit  part ; 
And  aU  that  one  has  felt  so  well 
The  other  shall  as  sweetly  tell ! 


ODE  XXIV.» 

To  all  that  breathe  the  air  of  heaven, 
Some  bone  of  strength  has  Nature  given. 
In  forming  the  majestic  bull. 
She  fenced  with  wreathed  horns  his  skull ; 
A  hoof  of  strength  she  lent  the  steed. 
And  wing'd  the  timorous  hare  with  speed 
She  gave  the  lion  fangs  of  terror. 
And  o'er  the  ocean's  crystal  mirror, 
Taught  the  unnumber'd  scaly  throng 
To  trace  their  liquid  path  along  ; 

translation  is,  perhaps,  too  paraphrastical ;  but  the  ode  ha* 
been  so  frequently  translated,  that  1  could  not  otherwia* 
avoid  triteness  and  repetition. 

8  In  all  the  glow  of  epic  fire. 

To  Hercules  I  wake  the  lyre.]  Madame  Dacier  generally 
translates  Awpij  into  a  lute,  which  I  believe  is  inaccurate. 
"  D'expliquer  la  lyre  des  anciens  (says  Al.  Sorel)  par  ua 
luth,  c'est  ignorer  la  diflerence  qu'il  y  a  entre  ces  deux  in- 
strumens  de  musique."  —  Bibliotheque  Franjoise. 

*  But  still  its  fainting  sighs  repeat, 

"  The  tale  <f  love  alone  is  sweet ! "]  The  word  ai'Tt^ovtt 
in  the  original,  may  imply  that  kind  of  musical  dialog^:,* 
practised  by  the  aiicients,  in  which  the  lyre  was  made  to 
respond  to  the  questions  proposed  by  the  singer.  This  wa« 
a  method  which  Sappho  used,  as  we  are  told  by  Ilenuo- 
genes  ;  "  6raj»  rriv  Xvpav  epura  Xair^o),  xai  bray  avTif 
anoKpivriTat."  —  Ilcpi  lieaiv,  ro/i.  Jt»r. 

6  Henry  Stephen  has  imitated  the  idea  o  this  ode  in  th» 
following  lines  of  one  of  his  poems  :  - 

Provida  dat  cunctis  Natura  animantibus  arma, 
Et  sua  foemineum  possidet  arma  genus, 

UngulSLque  at  defendit  equum,  atque  ut  comua  tauium, 
Armata  est  formSi  fcDmina  pulchra  sul. 

And  the  same  thought  occurs  in  those  .ines,  spoken  *•> 
Corisca  in  Pastor  Fido : 

Cosi  noi  la  bellezza 

Ch'  h  vertu  nostra  cifli  |,<t)pria,  come 

La  forza  del  leone, 

E  I'ingegno  de  1'  huomo. 

The  lion  boasts  his  savage  powers, 

And  lordly  man  his  strength  of  mind  , 
But  beauty's  charm  is  solely  ours, 
Peculiar  boon,  by  Heav'n  assign'd. 
I      "  An  elegant  explication  of  the  beauties  of  tins  ode  (sayi 
Degen)  may  be  found  in  Grimm  an  aen  Anmerk  iiber  eims* 
I  Oden  dee  Anaki." 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


While  for  the  umbrage  of  the  grove, 
6he  plum'd  the  warbling  world  of  love. 

I'o  man  she  gave,  in  that  proud  hour, 
Fhe  boon  of  intellectual  power.* 
Then,  what,  O  woman,  what,  for  thee, 
Was  left  in  Nature's  treasury  ? 
8h*;  gave  thee  beauty  —  mightier  far 
Ffian  all  the  pomp  and  power  of  war.* 
Nor  steel  nor  fire  itself  hath  power 
like  woman,  in  her  conquering  hour. 
Be  thou  but  fair,  mankind  adore  thee. 
Smile,  and  a  world  is  weak  before  thee  !  * 


ODE  XXV.« 

OircB  in  each  revolving  year. 
Gentle  bird  !  we  find  thee  here. 
When  Nature  wears  her  summer  vest, 
Thou  com'st  to  weave  thy  simple  nest ; 
But  when  the  chilling  winter  lowers, 
Again  thou  seek'st  the  genial  bowers 
Of  Memphis,  or  the  shores  of  Nile, 
Where  sunny  hours  forever  smile. 
And  thus  thy  pinion  rests  and  roves, 
Alas  !  unlike  the  swarm  of  Loves, 


1  Tb  mm  $he  gave,  in  that  proud  hour, 

T%e  icon  ()/  intellectual  powtr.]  In  my  firrt  attempt  to 
translate  Ihia  ode,  1  bad  interpreted  ipoovrnta,  with  Baxter 
ind  Barnes,  as  implying  courage  and  military  virtue  ;  but  I 
io  not  tbink  tliat  the  gallantry  of  tlie  idea  Kuffers  by  the  im- 
port which  I  have  now  given  to  it.  For,  why  need  we  con- 
lider  this  possession  of  wisdom  as  exclusive .'  and  in  tnith, 
t-s  the  desipTi  of  Aiiacreon  is  to  estimate  the  treasure  of 
oeaiity,  above  all  the  rest  wbich  Nature  baa  distributed,  it  is 
perhaps  even  refining  upon  the  delicacy  of  the  compliment, 
.o  prefer  tlie  radiance  of  female  charms  to  the  cold  illumina- 
tiiin  of  wisdom  and  prudence  ;  and  to  think  that  wonwni* 
(yes  are 


'  the  books,  the  academies. 


Prom  whence  doth  spring  the  true  Promethean  Hn. 

*  She  gave  thee  beauty  —  mightier  far 

Than  all  the  pomp  and  power  n/tgar.]  Tht)s  Achilles  T^ati- 
as:  — »aAX«t  u^vrepof  rirpojOKti  l3cXov(,  koi  Sta  roiv  o<p 
Sa\;i(,<ii  tis  rriv  vtnxn.'  Karap^ct.  O^OuXuoj  yap  Mij 
tptiTiK':*  Ti"i>'paTi.  "  Beauty  wounds  more  swiftly  than  the 
«rrow,  and  pawes  tlirDUf;li  the  eye  to  the  verj-  soul  ;  for  the 
tye  is  the  inlet  to  the  wounds  of  love." 

'  Be  thou  but  fair,  nuinkind  adure  thee. 

Smile,  and  a  world  is  v>eak  before  thet!']  Longepierre's 
remark  here  is  ingenious :  — "  The  Romans,"  says  he, 
•*  were  so  convinced  of  the  power  of  beauty,  that  they  used 
I  word  implying  strength  in  the  place  of  the  epithet  beauti- 
kil     Thui  Plantus,  act  3,  scenes.    Bacchid. 

Sed  Racchis  etiam  fortis  tibi  visa. 
'  fvKJs,  id  e«t  furiDosa,'  say  Servius  and  Nonius." 


That  brood  within  this  hapless  breast. 
And  never,  never  change  their  nest  I ' 
Still  every  year,  and  all  the  year, 
They  fix  their  fated  dwelling  here ; 
And  some  their  infant  plumage  try, 
And  on  a  tender  winglet  fly  ; 
While  in  the  shell,  impregn'd  with  firoo, 
Still  lurk  a  thousand  more  desires ; 
Some  from  their  tiny  prisons  peeping, 
And  some  in  formless  embryo  sleeping. 
Thus  peopled,  like  the  vernal  groves. 
My  brea.nt  resounds  with  warbling  Lovei , 
One  urchin  imps  the  other's  feather. 
Then  twin  desires  they  vang  together, 
And  fast  as  they  thus  take  their  flight, 
Still  other  urchins  spring  to  light. 
But  is  there  then  no  kindly  art. 
To  chase  these  Cupids  from  my  heart ; 
Ah,  no  !  I  fear,  in  sadness  fear, 
They  will  forever  nestle  here  ! 


ODE  XXVI.« 

Thy  harp  may  sing  of  Troy's  alarms. 
Or  tell  the  tale  of  Theban  arms  ; 


*  We  have  here  another  ode  addressed  to  the  twiDofi 
Albert!  ha^  imitated  b<ith  in  one  poem,  beginning 

Perch'  io  pianga  al  tuo  canto, 
Rondinella  importuna,  &c. 
t  Jllaa  !  unlike  the  sviam  of  Lomet^ 
That  brood  within  this  hapless  breast^ 
And  never,  never  change  their  nest .']    Thus  Love  Is  repl» 
sented  as  a  bird,  in  an  epigram  cited  by  Longepierre  ttom 
the  Anthologia :  — 

Aiti  pot  ivvei  pcv  ev  ovatriv  rixo{  eptoroff 

Oppa  6t  otya  woOoti  ro  y^VKv  6aKpv  <pepet. 
OvS'  h  vuf,  ov  <ptyyni  CKOtpiacv,  aXX'  UTO  ^lAr^cJT 

Hit  ir'>v  Kpaiit\  ytxaaroi  cvcari  rvirti, 
U  irravot,  ui  xai  nor'  Kpiirrairdai  ptv  tpatrtf 
OtSar',  ayrovrrit-ai  6'  ovd'  baov  lo-vft. 
'TIS  Love  that  murmurs  in  my  breast. 
And  makes  me  shed  the  secret  tear  ; 
Nor  day  nor  niylit  my  soul  hath  rest. 
For  night  and  day  his  voice  I  hear. 
A  wound  within  my  heart  I  find. 

And  O,  'tis  plain  where  Love  has  been ; 
For  still  he  leaves  a  wound  behind, 
Such  as  within  my  heart  is  seen. 
O,  bird  of  Love  !  with  song  so  drear. 
Make  not  my  soul  the  nest  of  pain  ; 
But,  let  tlie  wing  which  brought  thee  here, 
In  pity  waft  thee  hence  again  ! 

•  "  The  German  poet  Uz  has  imitated  this  ode.  Crmpan 
also  W'isse  Scherz.  Lieder,  lib.  iiL,  der  Soldat  "  OaU, 
Degen. 


M  ^/.  /r)a^^A^Jy 


100 


ODES   OF  ANACREON. 


With  other  wars  my  song  shall  bum, 
For  other  wounds  my  harp  shall  mourn. 
Twas  not  the  crested  warrior's  dart, 
That  drank  the  current  of  my  heart ; 
Nor  naval  erms,  nor  mailed  steed. 
Have  made  tiiis  vanquish' d  bosom  bleed  ; 
No  —  'twas  from  eyes  of  liquid  blue 
A  ht>8t  of  quiver'd  Cupids  flew ; ' 
A  nd  now  my  heart  all  bleeding  lies 
Beneath  that  army  of  the  eyes  ! 


ODE  xxvn.* 

We  read  the  flying  courser's  name 

Upon  his  side,  in  marks  of  flame  ; 

And,  by  their  turban' d  brows  alone, 

The  warriors  of  the  East  are  known. 

But  in  the  lover's  glowing  eyes, 

ITie  inlet  to  his  bosom  lies ;  ' 

Through  them  we  see  the  small  faint  mark, 

Where  Love  has  dropp'd  his  burning  spark  ! 


'  J^'o  —  'fiBOJ  }rom  eyet  of  Uquia  blue 

j9  host  of  yutcer'd  Cupidi  few  ,]  Ijongepierre  has  quoted 
part  of  an  epigram  from  the  seventh  book  of  the  Anthologia, 
wh'ch  has  a  fancy  something  like  this 

On  /»£  AcXiiOaf 
•'ojora,  Ziji/o^iXof  amiain  KpvnTOfir.vOi. 

Archer  Love !  though  slyly  creeping, 
Well  I  know  where  thou  dost  lie ; 

I  saw  thee  through  the  curtain  peeping, 
T/rJt  fringes  Zenophelia's  eye. 

The  poets  abound  with  conceits  on  the  archery  of  the  eyes, 
but  few  have  turned  the  thought  so  naturally  as  Anacreon. 
Ronsard  gives  to  Uie  eyes  of  liis  mistress  "  un  petit  camp 
i'amours." 

s  This  ode  forms  a  part  of  the  preceding  in  the  Vatican 
MS.,  but  I  have  conformed  to  the  editions  in  translating 
Iheir.  separately. 

"  (Jompare  with  this  (says  Degen)  the  poem  of  Ramler 
Wahrzeichen  der  Liebe,  in  Lyr.  Blumenlese,  lib.  iv.  p.  313." 

•  But  in  the  lover's  glowing  eyes, 

7  he  inlet  to  his  bosom  lies ;]  "  We  cannot  see  into  the 
ptes.!"  "  says  Madame  Dacier.    But  the  lover  answers  — 

n  cor  ne  gli  occhi  et  ne  la  fronte  ho  scritto. 

M  La  Fosse  has  given  the  following  lines,  as  enlarging 
VI  the  thought  of  Anacreon :  — 

Lorsque  je  vois  un  araant. 
n  cache  en  vain  son  tourment, 
A  le  traiiir  tout  conspire, 
Sa  langueur,  son  embarras. 
Tout  ce  qu'il  peut  faire  ou  dire 
MSroe  ce  qu'il  ne  dit  pns 

In  vain  the  lover  tries  to  veil 
The  flame  that  in  his  bosom  lies ; 


ODE  xxvm.« 

As,  by  his  Lemni^n  forge's  flame, 

The  husband  of  the  Paphian  dame 

Moulded  the  glowing  steel,  to  form 

Arrows  for  Cupid,  thrilling  warm ; 

And  Venus,  as  he  plied  his  art, 

Shed  honey  round  each  new-made  dart. 

While  Love,  at  hand,  to  finish  all, 

Tipp'd  every  arrow's  point  with  gall ;  * 

It  chanc'd  the  Lord  of  Battles  came 

To  visit  that  deep  cave  of  flame. 

'Twas  from  the  ranks  of  -n'ar  he  rush'd 

His  spear  with  many  a  lifedrop  blush'd; 

He  saw  the  fiery  darts,  and  smil'd 

Contemptuous  at  the  archer  child. 

"  What !  "  said  the  urchin,  "  dost  thou  smilo 

Here,  hold  this  little  dart  a  while. 

And  thou  wilt  find,  though  swifl  of  flight, 

My  bolts  are  not  so  feathery  light." 

Mars  took  the  shaft  —  and,  O,  thy  look, 
Sweet  Venus,  when  the  shaft  he  took  !  — 


His  cheeks'  confusion  tells  the  tale, 

We  read  it  in  his  languid  eyes : 
And  while  his  words  the  heart  betray. 
His  silence  speaks  ev'n  more  than  tliey. 

*  This  ode  is  referred  to  by  I^a  Motlie  le  Vayer,  who,  ! 
believe,  was  the  author  of  that  curious  little  work,  called 
"  Hexameron  Rustique."  He  makes  use  of  this,  as  well  ai 
the  thirty-fiflh,  in  his  ingenious  but  indelicate  explanation 
of  Homer's  Cave  of  the  Nymphs.  —  Journee  Quatri&me. 

6  While  Love,  at  hand,  Ui  finish  all, 

Tipp'd  every  arrow's  point  with  gall ;]    Thus  C!audian :  — 

Labuntur  gemini  fontes,  hie  dulcis,  amanis 
Alter,  et  infusis  corrumpit  mella  venenis, 
Unde  Cupidineas  amiavit  faina  sagittas. 

In  Cyprus'  isle  two  rippling  fountains  fall. 
And  one  with  honey  flows,  and  one  with  gall ; 
In  these,  if  we  may  take  the  tale  from  fame. 
The  son  of  Venus  dips  his  darts  of  flame. 

See  Alciatus,  emblem  91,  on  the  close  conneition  whi-.h 
subsists  between  sweets  and  bitters.  "Apes  ideo  pungun 
(says  Petronius),  quia  ubi  dulce,  ibi  et  acidum  invenies." 

The  allegorical  description  of  Cupid's  enrpldyment,  in 
Horace,  may  vie  with  this  before  us  in  fancy,  though  no*  ii 
delicacy : — 

ferus  et  Cupido 

Semper  ardentes  acuens  sagittas 
Cote  cnientl. 

And  Cupid,  sharpening  all  his  fiery  darts. 
Upon  a  whet.^tone  stain'd  with  blood  of  hearts. 

Secundus  has  borrowed  this,  but  has  somewhat  scftened 
the  image  by  the  omission  of  the  epithet  "cruentl." 
Fallor  an  ardentes  acuebat  cote  sagittas  '    Elee-  1- 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


'    n' 


Sighing,  he  felt  the  urchin's  art, 
And  cried,  in  agony  of  heart, 
••  It  is  not  light  —  I  sink  with  pain  I 
Take  —  take  thy  arrow  back  again." 
"  No,"  said  the  child,  "  it  must  not  be ; 
That  little  dart  was  made  for  thee  1 " 


ODE  XXIX. 

Yes  —  loving  is  a  painful  thrill, 
And  not  to  love  more  painful  still ; ' 
But  O,  it  LB  the  worst  of  pain, 
To  love  and  not  be  lov'd  again  ! 
Aifcction  now  has  fled  from  earth, 
Nor  fire  of  genius,  noble  birth, 
Noj  heavenly  virtue,  can  beguile 
From  beauty's  cheek  one  favoring  smile. 
Gold  is  the  woman's  only  theme, 
Gold  is  the  woman's  only  dream. 
O,  never  be  that  wretch  forgiven  — 
forgive  him  not,  indignant  heaven  ! 
Whose  grovelling  eyes  could  first  adore. 
Whose  heart  could  pant  for  sordid  ore. 


let  —  loving  is  a  painful  thrill, 
9id  not  to  love  more  painful  still  i  ^c]    The  following 
liiacreontic,  addressed    by  Menage  to  Uaniel    Hue,  en- 
t-ircei,  witb  much  grace,  tlie  "  necessity  of  loving : " — 

Tlepi  Tov  itiv  (piXijaat. 
Uptif  Tlcrpof  AaviqAa  "tcrrov 

Mcya  5avpa  raic  aoiduv, 

yiapiTbiv  5aXo{,  "tcTTe, 

tiXtcopev,  (o  tratpc. 
^  ^iXtnaay  o!  ooifnarai. 

tiXttiot  acpvoi  avrip. 

To  rwvoi'  rov  X<i}<ppo¥iOK»v 

io<pirii  Tcarrip  avaarn. 

Ti  6'  airsv  ysyoir'  EpuiT-oj 

Ajtoyij  ftiK  tan  ll/vxvt-* 

JJrcpvyeactv  ei{  OXv/ivov 

KaraKtipcvovi  avatptu 

BpuJ(u(  TiTitypivuiai 

BfXctct  i^ayctpti. 

Tlvpt  Xapva6oi  ipaciKO  . 

tvniipurtpovi  xadatpiu 

ttXiupcv  ovv,  "tCTTt, 

^lAcoificv  b)  tratpc. 

AJu(i>(  6t  Xoiiopovvrt 

Aj'iuv;  tptorai  fipuv 

KoKov  iv^opat  T»  fiavyoy, 

'Ira  pn  Svyair'  CKCtfOi 

't'lXcciv  Tt  «ui  i^iXticrOai. 
Tbou  !  of  tuneful  bards  the  flnt. 
Thou  '.  by  all  the  Graces  nun'd  j 


*  Thii  line  li  borrowed  from  ui  epignun  by  Alpheiu  of  Mltylena 
tuich  Meoige,  I  thiak,  uyi  lomewhere  he  waj  hinuelfthe  flnt  to 
•todoc*  to  the  world :  — 

^vXlf  (arty  E/  u(  axonii. 


Since  that  devited  thirst  began, 
Man  has  forgot  to  feel  for  man ; 
The  pulse  of  social  life  is  dead. 
And  all  its  fonder  feelings  fled ! 
War  too  has  sullied  Nature's  cbamu. 
For  gold  provokes  the  world  to  aim» ; 
And  O,  the  worst  of  all  its  arts, 
It  rends  asunder  loving  heart*. 


ODE  XXX.* 

'TwA8  in  a  mocking  dream  of  night  — 

I  fancied  I  had  wings  as  light 

As  a  young  bird's,  and  flew  as  fleet ; 

While  Love,  around  whose  beauteous  fieetk 

I  knew  not  why,  hung  chains  of  lead. 

Pursued  me,  as  I  trembling  fled  ; 

And,  strange  to  say,  as  swift  as  thought, 

Spite  (Jf  my  pinions,  I  was  caught ! 

What  does  the  wanton  Fancy  mean 

By  such  a  strange,  illusive  scene  ? 

I  fear  she  whispers  to  my  breast, 

That  you,  sweet  maid,  have  stol'n  its  rest  { 


Friend  !  each  other  friend  above. 
Come  with  uie,  and  learn  to  love 
Loving  is  a  simple  lure, 
Graver  men  have  leam'd  bofor«  , 
Nay,  the  boast  of  former  ages. 
Wisest  of  tlie  wisest  sages, 
Sophroniscus'  prudent  son, 
Was  by  love's  illusion  won. 
O,  how  heavy  life  would  move, 
If  we  knew  not  how  to  love ! 
Love's  a  whetstone  to  the  mind  ; 
Thus  'tis  pointed,  tlms  refined. 
When  the  suul  dejected  lies, 
Love  can  waft  it  to  tiie  skies ; 
When  in  languor  sleeps  the  heart, 
Love  can  wake  it  with  his  dart ; 
When  the  mind  is  dull  and  dark. 
Love  can  light  it  with  his  spark  ! 
Come,  O,  come  then,  let  us  haste 
All  the  bliss  of  love  to  taste  ; 
Let  us  love  botli  night  and  day. 
Let  us  love  our  lives  away  ! 
And  when  hearts,  from  loving  frM, 
(If  indeed  such  hearts  there  be,) 
Frown  upon  our  gentle  Hame, 
And  tlie  sweet  delusion  blame ; 
This  shall  be  my  only  curse, 
(Could  1,  could  I  wish  tliem  worse  '*} 
May  they  ne'er  the  rapture  prove. 
Of  the  smile  from  lips  we  love ! 

*  Barnes  imagines  from  this  alltgury,  tliat  our  poet  m  v 
ried  very  late  in  life,  liut  I  Hee  notiiing  in  the  ode  wbicll 
alludes  to  matrimony,  except  it  be  the  lead  upon  tJie  feel  of 
Cupid  ;  and  I  agree  in  tlie  opinion  of  Madame  Dacier,  if 
her  life  of  the  poet,  tliat  he  was  always  too  (bnd  of  pleaeurf 
to  many. 


t)8 


ODES   OF  ANACREOK 


That  though  my  fancy,  for  a  while, 
Hath  hung  on  many  a  woiaan's  smile, 
I  soon  dissolv'd  each  passing  vow, 
And  nt'er  was  caught  by  love  till  now ! 


ODE  XXXI.» 

Arm'd  with  hyacinthine  rod, 
(Arms  enough  for  such  a  god,) 
Cupid  bade  me  wing  my  pace. 
And  try  with  him  the  rapid  race. 
O'er  many  a  torrent,  wild  and  deep. 
By  tangled  brake  and  pendent  steep, 
With  weary  foot  I  panting  flew. 
Till  my  brow  dropp'd  with  chilly  dew.' 
And  now  my  soul,  exhausted,  dying. 
To  my  lip  was  faintly  flying ; ' 
And  now  I  thought  the  spark  had  fled, 
When  Cupid  hover'd  o'er  my  head, 


1  Tlie  design  of  this  little  fiction  is  to  intimate,  tliat  much 
peater  pain  attends  insensibility  than  can  ever  result  from 
tlie  tenderest  impressions  of  love.  Longepierre  has  quoted 
an  ancient  epigram  which  bears  some  similitude  to  tliia 
■vie :  — 

Lecto  compositus,  vix  prima  silentia  noctis 

Carpebam,  et  somno  luniina  victa  dabam  ; 
Cum  me  saevus  Amor  prensuni,  sursumque  capillis 

Excitat,  et  lacerum  pervigilare  jubet. 
Tu  famulus  nieus,  inquit,  ames  cum  mille  puellaa, 

Solus  lo,  solus,  dure  jacere  |)otes  ? 
Exilio  et  pedibus  nudis,  tunica(|U8  soluta, 
Omne  iter  impediu,  nullum  iter  expedio. 
Nunc  propero,  nunc  ire  piget ;  rursumque  redire 

Pffinitet ;  et  pudor  est  stare  via  media. 
Ecce  tacent  voces  hominum,  strepitusque  ferarum, 

Et  volucrum  cantus,  turbaque  fida  canum. 
Solus  ego  ex  cunctis  paveo  souinuinque  torumque, 
Et  sequor  imperium,  s«ve  Cujtido,  tuuni. 
Upon  my  couch  I  lay,  at  niglit  profound, 
My  languid  eyes  in  magic  slumber  bt-und, 
When  Cupid  came  and  snatcli'd  me  from  my  bed, 
And  forc'd  me  many  a  weary  way  to  tread. 
"  What !  (said  the  god)  shall  you,  whose  vows  are  known, 
Who  love  so  many  nymphs,  tlius  sleep  alone?  " 
I  rise  and  follow ;  all  the  night  I  stray, 
Unshelter'd,  trembling,  doulnCul  of  my  wayj 
Tracing  with  naked  foot  the  painful  track. 
Loath  to  proceed,  yet  fearful  to  go  back. 
Yes,  at  that  liour,  when  Nature  seems  interr'd, 
Noi  warbling  birds,  nor  lowing  flocks  are  heard, 
I,  I  alone,  a  fugitive  from  rest, 
I'assion  my  guide,  and  madness  in  my  breast. 
Wander  the  world  around,  unknowing  where. 
The  slave  of  love,  the  victim  of  despair ! 
S  Till  my  brow  dropped  with  cliilly  dew.]     I  have  followed 
ttiose  who  read  rctfjcv  W/jojs  for  in.tp£v  vlpm  ;  the  former  is 
•artiy  authorized  by  the  MS.  whicli  reads  -Ktipev  idpojj. 
»  And  now  my  soul,  exhausted,  dying. 
To  my  lip  wot  faintly  fiying :  S[c.']     In  the  original,  he 
MVH.  hi.s  heart  itcw  to  his  nose  ;  but  our  manner  more  nat- 


And  fanning  light  his  breezy  pinion, 
Rescued  my  soul  from  death's  dominion  j 
Then  said,  in  accents  half  reproving, 
"  Why  hast  thou  been  a  foe  to  loving  ? " 


ODE  xxxn.» 

Strew  me  a  fragrant  bed  of  leaves, 
Where  lotus  with  the  myrtle  weaves  ; 
And  while  in  luxury's  dream  I  sink. 
Let  me  the  balm  of  Bacchus  drink ! 
In  this  sweet  hour  of  revelry 
Young  Love  shall  my  attendant  be  — 
Dress'd  for  the  task,  Avith  tunic  round 
His  snowy  neck  and  shoulders  botuid, 
Himself  shall  hover  by  my  side, 
And  minister  the  racy  tide  ! 

urally  transfers  it  to  the  lips.  Such  is  the  effect  that  Plate 
tells  us  he  felt  from  a  kiss,  in  a  distich  quoted  by  Aului 
Gellius :  — 

Tj)!/  Tpvxm',  Ayadojtia  (j)i\(av,  fri  x;£iA£o-iv  e<rxS>V' 

liXQe  yap  ri  rXniiWu  a)j  SiaSriaontvti. 
Whene'er  thy  nectar'd  kiss  I  sip. 

And  drink  thy  breath,  in  trance  divine, 
My  soul  then  flutters  to  my  lip. 
Ready  to  fly  and  mix  with  thme. 
Aiilus  Gellius  subjoins  a  paraplirase  ot  this  epigram,  in 
which  we  find  a  numl)er  of  those  mignarJises of  expression, 
which  mark  the  eflemination  of  the  Latin  language. 

♦  And  fanning  light  his  breezy  pinion, 

Rescued  my  soul  from  death's  dominion  ;]  "  The  facility 
with  which  Cupid  recovers  him,  signifies  thai  the  sheets  of 
love  make  us  easily  forget  any  solicitudes  which  he  may 
occasion."  —  La  Fosse. 

*  We  here  have  the  poet,  in  his  true  attributes,  reclinmg 
upon  myrtles,  with  Cupid  for  his  cupbearer.  Some  inter 
preters  have  ruined  the  picture  by  making  K/jcoj  the  name 
of  his  slave.  None  but  Love  should  fill  the  goblet  of  Anao 
reon.  Sappho,  in  one  of  her  fragments,  has  assigned  thil 
ofiice  to  Venus.  EAdc,  Kuir^(,  x/'vaeiaio-ti'  ev  KvXiKtcaiv 
aSpoti  avpiiemyiicvov  ^jAimo-i  v^arap  otvux-i>aa  TtVT^iCi 
Toti  .raipoiiCpoti  yCKni  aois. 

Which  may  be  thus  paraphrased  :  — 

Hither,  Venus,  queen  of  kisseu 

This  shall  be  the  night  of  blisses  . 

This  the  night,  to  friendship  deal, 

Thou  Shalt  be  our  Hebe  here. 

Fill  the  golden  brimmer  high. 

Let  it  sparkle  like  tliiiie  eye  ; 

Bid  the  rosy  current  gush, 

Let  it  mantle  like  thy  blush. 

Goddess,  hast  thou  e'er  above 

Seen  a  feast  so  rich  in  love  ? 

Not  a  soul  that  is  not  mine  !  , 

Not  a  soul  that  is  not  thine ! 
"  Compare  witli  this  ode  (says  the  German  cr-nn}enta*x)I 
the  beautiful  poem  in  Ramler's  Lyr.  Blumenlese,  lib.  if 
p.  296,  'Amor  als  Diener.'  " 


ODES  OF  AJ^ACREON. 


101 


O,  swift  as  wheels  that  kindling  roll, 
Our  life  is  hurrying  to  the  goal : 
A  scanty  dust,  to  feed  the  wind. 
Is  all  the  trace  'twill  leave  behind 
Then  wherefore  waste  the  rose's  bloom 
Upon  the  cold,  insensate  tomb  ? 
Car.  flowery  breeze,  or  odor  a  breatn. 
Affect  the  still,  cold  sense  of  death  i 
O  no  ;  I  ask  no  balm  to  steep 
With  fragrant  tears  my  bed  of  sleep ; 
But  now,  while  every  pulse  is  glowing. 
Now  let  me  breathe  the  balsam  flowing ; 
Now  let  the  rose,  with  blush  of  fire, 
Upon  my  brow  in  sweets  expire  ; 
And  bring  the  nymph  whose  eye  hath  power 
To  brighten  even  death's  cold  hour. 
Yes,  Cupid  !  ere  my  shade  retire, 
To  join  the  blest  elysian  choir. 
With  wine,  and  love,  and  social  cheer, 
I'll  make  my  own  elysium  here  ! 


ODE  xxxm.' 

IwAS  noon  of  night,  when  round  the  pole 
The  sullen  Bear  is  seen  to  roll ; 
And  mortals,  wearied  with  the  day. 
Are  slumbering  all  their  cares  away ; 
An  infant,  at  that  dreary  hour, 
Came  weeping  to  my  silent  bower, 
A.iid  wak'd  me  with  a  piteous  prayer, 
To  shield  him  from  the  midnight  air. 
"  And  who  art  thou,"  I  waking  cry, 
"  ITiat  bidd'st  my  blissful  visions  fly  ? ''  • 
"  Ah,  gentle  sire  !  "  the  infant  said, 
'•  In  pity  take  me  to  thy  shed  ; 
Nor  fear  deceit :  a  lonely  child 
I  wander  o'er  the  gloomy  wild. 
Chill  drops  the  rain,  and  not  a  ray 
Illumes  the  drear  and  misty  way  !   ' 


>  M.  Bernard,  the  author  of  L'Art  d'aimer,  haa  written  a 
t^liet  called  "  Les  Surprises  de  I'Amour,"  in  which  the 
luSjec*  uf  the  third  entree  is  Anacreon,and  the  story  of  this 
He  suggests  one  of  the  scenes.  — CEuvresde  Bernard,  Anac. 
K«r.e  4t)i. 

The  German  annotator  refers  us  here  to  an  imitation  by 
Uz,  lib.  iii.,  "  Amor  und  sein  Bnider ; "  and  a  pnem  of 
Kleist,  "die  Ilpilung."  La  Fontaine  baa  translated,  or 
rather  'mitated,  thi.i  ode. 

*  "  ^nd  teho  art  thou,"  I  teaking  cry, 

"  That  bidd'st  my  blissful  viMionsjly  ?  "]  Anacreon  appears 
k)  have  been  a  voluptuary  even  in  dreaming,  by  the  lively 
Kgret  which  he  expresnes  at  being  disturbed  from  his  vision- 
iry  enjoyments.    See  the  odes  x.  and  xxxvii. 

*  '7Va(  Love!  the  UttU  vandtring  sprite,  ^c]  Se«  the 
toautiful  description  of  Cupid,  by  Moachus,  in  bis  first  idyL 


1  neard  the  baby's  tale  of  woe ; 
I  neard  the  bitter  night  winds  blow ; 
And  sighing  for  his  piteous  fate, 
I  trimm'd  my  lamp  and  op'd  the  gate. 
I'was  Love  !  the  little  wandering  sprite, 
His  pinion  sparkled  through  the  night. 
I  knew  him  by  his  bow  and  dart ; 
I  knew  him  by  ray  fluttering  heart. 
Fondly  I  take  him  in,  and  raise 
fhe  dying  embers'  cheering  blaxe ; 
Press  from  his  dank  and  clinging  hair 
The  crystals  of  the  freezing  air, 
And  in  my  hand  and  bosom  hold 
His  little  Angers  thrilling  cold. 

And  now  the  embers'  genial  ray 
Had  warm'd  his  anxious  fears  away  ; 
"  I  pray  thee,"  said  the  wanton  child, 
(My  bosom  trembled  as  he  smil'd,) 
"  I  pray  thee  let  me  try  my  bow. 
For  through  the  rain  I've  wander'd  so, 
That  much  I  fear,  the  midnight  shover 
Has  injur'd  its  elastic  power." 
The  fatal  bow  the  urchin  drew  ; 
Swift  from  the  string  the  arrow  flew ; 
As  swiftly  flew  as  glancing  flame. 
And  to  my  inmost  spirit  came  ! 
"  Fare  thee  well,"  1  heard  him  say. 
As  laughing  wild  he  wiiig'd  away  i 
"  Fare  thee  well,  for  now  I  know 
The  rain  has  not  relax'd  my  bow  ; 
It  still  can  send  a  thrilling  dart. 
As  thou  shalt  own  with  all  thy  heart ! ' 


ODE  XXXIV.« 

O  THOU,  of  all  creation  blest. 
Sweet  insect,  that  delight'st  to  rest 


4  fn  a  Latin  ode  addressed  to  the  grasshopper,  Ripi«  kai 
preserved  some  of  tlie  thoughts  of  our  author :  — 

O  qua  virenti  graminis  in  toro. 

Cicada,  blande  sidis,  et  herbidos 
Saltus  oberras,  otiosoa 
Ingeniusa  cicre  cantus. 

Seu  forte  adultis  floribus  incubas, 

Coeli  caducis  ehria  fictibus,  &c 

O  thou,  that  on  the  graxsy  bed 

Which  Nature's  venial  Hand  has  spread, 

Reclinest  soft,  and  tun'st  thy  song, 

The  dewy  herbs  and  leaves  among ! 

Whether  thou  ly'st  on  springing  flowers. 

Drunk  with  the  balmy  morning  rhowMB, 

Or,  &.C 
See  what  Lic«tuB  nys  about  graMboppen,  np.  93  an-J  I8!l 


104 


ODES  OF  ANACREON 


Upon  the  "wildwood's  leafy  tops, 
To  drink  the  dew  that  morning  drops, 
And  chirp  thy  song  with  such  a  glee, ' 
That  happiest  kings  may  envy  thee. 
Whatever  decks  the  velvet  field, 
Whate'er  the  circling  seasons  yield. 
Whatever  buds,  whatever  blows. 
For  thee  it  buds,  for  thee  it  grows. 
Nor  yet  art  thou  the  peasant's  fear. 
To  him  thy  friendly  notes  are  dear  ; 
For  thou  art  mild  as  matin  dew ; 
And  still,  when  summer's  flowery  hie 
Begins  to  paint  the  bloomy  plain. 
We  hear  thy  sweet  prophetic  strain ; 
Thy  sweet  prophetic  strain  we  hear, 
And  bless  the  notes  and  thee  revere  ! 
The  Muses  love  thy  shrilly  tone  ; ' 
Apollo  calls  thee  all  his  own  ; 
'Twas  he  who  gave  that  voice  to  thee, 
'Tis  he  who  tunes  thy  minstrelsy. 

1  Andchirpthy  song  with  midt  a  glee,  S[c.']  "  Some  authors 
lave  affirmed  (says  Madame  Dacier),that  it  is  only  male 
grasshoppers  which  sing,  and  that  the  females  are  silent ; 
and  on  this  circumstance  is  founded  a  bon-mot  of  Xenar- 
tlms,  the  comic  poet,  who  says  tir'  tiaiv  ol  rcTTiyei  ovk 
tvianiovcs,  tiiv  raiq  yvvai^iv  anj'  hji  ovv  ijxourii  £>"  >  ^  sue 
not  the  grasshoppers  happy  in  having  dumb  wives '  ? " 
This  note  is  orignally  Henry  Stephen's ;  but  I  chose  rather 
to  make  a  lady  my  authority  for  it. 

2  The  Muses  love  thy  shrilly  tone ;  ^c]  Phile,  de  Animal. 
Proprietat.  calls  this  insect  Movaatf  (piXof,  the  darling  of  the 
Muxes  ;  and  Moti(7a)i>  opviv,  the  bird  of  the  Muses  ;  and  we 
find  Plato  compared  for  his  eloquence  to  the  grasshopper,  in 
the  following  punning  lines  of  Timon,  preserved  by  Diogenes 
Laortius :  — 

T(jv  TiavTtov  S'  ijyeiTo  TrAaruffrarof,  aX\*  ayopTirtis 
'HSvcnrii  rCTTt^tv  laoypaipoi,  oi  0'  'E/cuJ()/iO» 
Acvipti  Kpe^uftcvoi  ona  Xsipioeuaav  Utat. 

This  last  line  is  borrowed  from  Homer's  Iliad,  y,  where 
(here  occurs  the  very  same  simile. 

3  Melodious  insect,  child  of  earth,]  Longepierre  has  quoted 
the  two  first  lines  of  an  epigram  of  Antipater,  from  the  first 
nook  of  the  Antholugia,  where  he  prefers  the  grasshopper  to 
•Jie  svin : 

A/)Mi  TtTTtyas  jxeOvaai  SpoaOf,  aWa  iriovTSi 

AciSeiv  KVKV(i)ti  ciat  ycyuvoTcpoi. 
In  dew,  that  drops  from  morning's  wings, 

The  gay  Cicada  sipping  floats  ; 
And  dnink  with  dew,  his  matin  sings 
Sweeter  than  any  cygnet's  notes. 
*  '^'heocritus  has  imitated  this  beautiful  ode  in  his  nine- 
teenth idyl ;  but  is  very  inferior,  I  think,  to  his  original,  in 
delicacy  of  point  and  nai'vet6  of  expression.    Spenser,  in  one 
Df  his  smaller  compositions,  has  sported  more  diffusely  on 
the  same  subject     The  poem  to  which  I  allude,  begins 
thcs:  — 

Upon  a  day,  as  Love  lay  sweetly  slumbering 

A  I  In  his  mother's  lap ; 
A  gentle  bee,  with  his  loud  trumpet  murmuring, 
Aliout  him  flew  by  hap,  &.c.  &.c. 


Unworn  by  age's  dim  decline. 
The  fadeless  blooms  of  youth  aie  thiua. 
Melodious  insect,  child  of  earth,' 
In  wisdom  mirthful,  wise  in  mirth . 
Exempt  from  every  weak  decay. 
That  withers  vulgar  frames  away  , 
With  not  a  drop  of  blood  to  stain 
The  current  of  thy  purer  vein  } 
So  blest  an  age  is  pass'd  by  thee, 
Thou  seem'st  —  a  little  deity ! 


ODE  XXXV.* 

Cupid  once  upon  a  bed 
Of  roses  laid  his  weary  head  ; 
Luckless  urchin,  not  to  see 
"W^ithin  the  leaves  a  slumbering  bee ; 
The  bee  awak'd  —  with  anger  wild 
The  bee  awak'd,  and  stung  the  child 

In  Alnieloveen's  collection  of  epigrams,  there  is  one  oy 
Luxorius,  correspondent  somewhat  with  the  turn  of  Anac< 
reon,  where  Love  complains  to  his  mother  of  being  wound 
ed  by  a  rose. 

The  ode  before  us  is  the  very  flower  of  simplicity.  Th« 
infantine  complainings  of  the  little  god,  and  the  natural  and 
impressive  reflections  Which  they  draw  from  Veifus,  ar« 
beauties  of  inimitable  grace.  I  may  be  pardoned,  pertips 
for  introducing  here  another  of  Menage's  Anacreontics  no! 
for  its  similitude  to  the  subject  of  this  ode,  but  for  some  fain 
traces  of  the  same  natural  simplicity,  which  it  appears  to  iM 
to  have  preserved :  — 

E/)a>j  wot'  IV  xoptiaif 
Tajv  Trap6ev(i)v  aoyrov, 
Trjv  HOI  <piXriv  KopivvaVf 
'Us  ciicv,  ojf  TTpos  avTijv 
UpoocSpaiiC  rpaxiAd) 
^iSvfiai  TE  xcipai  auTUV 
<PiXei  pe,  iiriTcp,  etnc 
KaXov/iCvri  Kopivva, 
Mrirrip,  ipvdptai^ii, 
'Q,{  napdcvos  iitv  ovoa, 
K'  avTos  ic  ivax^ptiivtopf 
'Q;  Ofiixaai  nXavrjOcis, 
EpcLti  epvBpia^et. 
Eyu,  6c  oi  irapaaras. 
Ml)  Sv(rxcpa've,  0i.  .ii. 
KvTrpiv  TC  Kut  Koptvvai' 
Aiayvwaai  ovk  cxovct 
,  Kat  ol  pXtnovTCi  of«. 

As  dancing  o'er  the  enamell'J  pla<n, 
The  flow'ret  of  the  virgin  train, 
My  soul's  Corinna  lightly  play'd. 
Young  Cupid  saw  the  graceful  maid ; 
He  saw,  and  In  a  momert  flew, 
And  round  her  neck  his  arms  he  threw  ; 
Saying,  with  smiles  of  infant  joy, 
•'  O,  kiss  me,  mother,  kiss  thy  boy ! " 
Unconscious  of  a  mother's  name, 
The  modest  virgin  blush'd  with  shama 


ODES   OF    ANACREON. 


la 


Loud  and  piteous  are  his  cries  ; 
To  Venup  quicK  ne  runs,  he  flies  ; 
« O  motht .  !  —  I  am  wounded  through  — 
I  die  with  pain  —  in  sooth  I  do  ! 
Stung  by  some  little  angry  thing, 
Some  serpent  on  a  tiny  wing  — 
A.  bee  it  was  —  for  once,  I  know 
I  heard  a  rustic  call  it  so." 
Thaa  he  spoke,  and  she  the  while 
Hear  1  him  with  a  soothing  smile ; 
Then  said,  «•  My  infant,  if  so  much 
Thou  feel  the  little  wild  bee's  touch, 
How  must  the  Leart,  ah,  Cupid  !  be, 
rhe  hapless  heart  that's  stung  by  thee  ! ' 


ODE  XXXVL' 

Ip  hoarded  gold  posscss'd  the  power 

Ti  lengthen  life's  too  fleeting  hour. 

And  purchase  from  the  hand  of  death 

A  little  span,  a  moment's  breath. 

How  I  would  love  the  precious  ore ! 

And  every  hour  should  swell  my  store  : 

That  when  Death  came,  with  shadowy  jinion, 

To  waft  me  to  his  bleak  dominion,* 

I  might,  by  bribes,  my  doom  delay. 

And  bid  him  call  some  distant  day. 

But,  since  not  all  earth's  golden  store 

Can  bay  for  lu  one  bright  hour  more. 


Aiid  «ngry  Cupid,  ecaree  believing 
That  vision  could  be  so  deceiving— 
Thus  to  mistake  his  Cyprian  dame  ! 
It  made  ev'n  Cupid  blush  with  shame. 
"Be  not  ashani'd,  my  boy,"  I  cried, 
For  I  was  lingering  by  his  side ; 
"  Corinna  and  thy  lovely  mother. 
Believe  me,  are  so  like  each  other. 
That  clearest  eyes  are  oft  betray'd, 
And  take  thy  Venus  for  the  maid." 
Zittn,  ih  his  Cappricioei  Pensieri,  ban  given  a  trenalation 
i(  this  ode  of  Anacreon. 

1  Fontenelle  has  translated  this  ode,  in  his  dialogue  be- 
tween Anacreon  and  Aristotle  in  the  shades,  where,  on 
veiEhm^^he  merits  of  both  tliese  personages,  he  bestowi 
f^ie  prize  of  wisdom  upon  the  poet 

"  The  German  imitators  of  this  ode  are,  Lessing,  in  his 
^oeiK  '  Gestem  Brtider,*  &.C. ;  Gleim,  in  the  ode  '  An  den 
"^  >! ; '  and  Schmidt  in  der  Poet  Blumenl.,  Gotting.  1783,  p. 
7.     -  Degen. 

*  TTkdt  leken  Death  came,  with  thaJowy  ^ian, 

1  o  r^^/l  me  to  his  blrak  diiminum,  ^c]  The  commentators, 
who  are  so  fond  of  disputing  "  de  lanft  caprin9l,''  bave  been 
rerybuayon  the  authority  of  the  phra-^e  U'  av  ^nyetv  iwcXOi), 
The  reading  of  I*'  ai-  Oaforoi  circMn,  which  De  Medenbach 
proposes  in  his  Amcenitates  Literaria;,  was  already  hinted 
ty  Le  Fevre,  who  seldom  suggests  any  thing  worth  notice. 

*  The  goblet  neh,  the  board  offrimdt, 

<n0M  goeial  MKi«  tk*  goblet  bUnda ;]    Th  .   communioD 
14 


"Why  should  we  vainly  mourn  our  fate. 
Or  sigh  at  life's  uncertain  date  r 
Nor  wealth  nor  grandeur  can  illume 
The  silent  midnight  of  the  tomb. 
No  —  give  to  others  hoarded  treasures  — 
Mine  be  the  brilliant  round  of  pleasure* ; 
The  goblet  rich,  the  board  of  friends, 
Whose  social  souls  the  goblet  blends ;  • 
And  mine,  while  yet  I've  life  to  live, 
Those  joys  that  love  alone  can  giv* 


ODE  xxxvn.* 

'TwAS  night,  and  many  a  circling  bowl 
Had  deeply  warm'd  my  thirsty  soul ; 
As  lull'd  in  slumber  I  was  laid. 
Bright  visions  o'er  my  fancy  play'd. 
With  maidens,  blooming  as  the  dawn, 
I  seem'd  to  skim  the  opening  lawn  ; 
Light  on  tiptoe  bath'd  in  dew. 
We  flew,  and  sported  as  we  flew  I 

Some  ruddy  striplings,  who  look'd  on  — 
With  cheeks,  that  like  the  wine  god's  shone 
Saw  me  chasing,  free  and  wild. 
These  blooming  maids,  and  slyly  smil'd 
Smil'd  indeed  with  wanton  glee. 
Though  none  could  doubt  they  envied  me. 


of  friendship,  which  sweetened  the  l>owl  of  Anacreon,  hat 
not  been  forgotten  by  the  author  of  the  following  scholium, 
where  the  blessings  of  life  are  enumorai.'^d  with  proverbia. 
simplicity.  'Xyiaimv  titv  afitaruv  avipi  Sir/rtu.  ^vrepot 
Sc,  xaAac  (pvi)v  yevccOai.  To  rpiTOv  fc,  irXovrttn  aSoXtar^ 
Kai  TO  Tcraprov  avvcSav  /icra  tuv  (piXuv. 

Of  mortal  blessings  here  tlie  first  is  health, 
And  next  those  charms  by  w)t>ch  I'm  eye  we  move; 

The  third  is  wealth,  unwuunding  guiltless  wealth, 
Ajid  tlien,  sweet  intercourse  with  those  we  lora 

*  "  Compare  with  this  ode  the  beautiful  poem  '  der  1  r»- 
um  '  of  Uz."  —  Degen. 

Le  Fevre,  in  a  note  upon  this  ode,  enters  into  an  elaboratt 
and  learned  Justification  of  dninkenness  ;  and  this  is  pirli- 
bly  the  cause  of  the  scve/e  reprehension  which  he  appenn 
to  have  suflfered  for  his  Anacreon.  "  Fuit  olim  fateor  (sayt 
he  in  a  note  upon  I»nginus),  cum  Sapphonem  amaham 
Sed  ex  quo  ilia  me  perditissima  ftemina  pei.e  niiserum  per- 
didit  cum  sreleratissimo  suocongerrone,  (Anacreon xmdico 
si  nescis,  Lector,)  noli  sperare,  lt,r.  tec"  He  adduces  oa 
this  ode  the  authority  of  Plato,  who  allowe<l  ebriety,  at  th« 
Dionysian  festivals,  to  men  arrived  at  tlieir  fonicth  yeai. 
He  likewise  quotes  the  following  line  frnni  Alexis,  which  iM 
says  no  one,  who  is  not  totally  ignorant  of  the  world,  cat 
hesitate  to  confess  the  truth  of  :  — 

Ovittf  ^tXoiroTtis  toTtp  avOpuvos  xanof 

**No  lover  of  drinking  waa  evar  i  ricioua  mam  * 


lOo 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


And  still  I  flew  —  and  now  had  caught 

The  panting  nymphs,  and  fondly  thought 

To  gather  from  each  rosy  lip 

A  kiss  that  Jove  himself  might  sip  — 

When  sudden  all  my  dream  of  joys, 

Blushing  nymphs  and  laughing  boys, 

All  were  gone  !  '  —  "  Alas  !  "  I  said, 

Sighing  for  th'  illusion  fled, 

''  Again,  sweet  sleep,  that  scene  restore, 

0,  let  me  dream  it  o'er  and  o'er ! "  * 


ODE  xxxvin.» 

IxT  us  drain  the  nectar'd  bowl, 
Let  us  raise  the  song  of  soul 
To  him,  the  god  who  loves  so  well 
The  nectar'd  bowl,  the  choral  swell ; 
The  god  who  taught  the  sons  of  earth 
To  thrid  the  tangled  dance  of  mirth  ; 
Him,  who  was  nurs'd  with  infant  Love, 
And  cradled  in  the  Paphian  grove  ; 
Him,  that  the  snowy  Queen  of  Charms 
So  oft  has  fondled  in  her  arms.* 
O,  'tis  from  him  the  transport  flows, 
"Which  8\Veet  intoxication  knows  ; 
With  him,  the  brow  forgets  its  gloom. 
And  brilliant  graces  learn  to  bloom. 

Behold  !  —  my  boys  a  goblet  bear. 
Whose  sparkling  foam  lights  up  the  air. 


'   When  sudden  all  my  dream  of  joys. 
Blushing  nymphs  and  laughing  boys, 
All  were  gone .']    "  Nonntis  says  of  Bacchus,  almost  in  the 
«me  words  that  Anacreon  uses, — 

'Byponevoi  Se 
IlapOcvov  OVK  CKtxi(re,  Kai  ridcXiv  awOij  tavciv  ' 
Waking,  lie  lost  the  phantom's  channs, 
Tlie  nymph  liad  faded  from  liis  arms  • 
Again  to  shimber  he  essay'd, 
Again  to  ciasp  the  shadowy  maid.    Lokgepierre. 
Again,  sweet  sleep,  that  scrne  restore, 
O,  let  nt  dream  it  o'er  and  o''eT!"'\     Doctor  Johnson,  in 
■I  s  pref»M  to  Shalcspeare,  animadverting  upon  the  commen- 
stors  of  ti.U  poet,  who  jiretended,  in  every  little  coincidence 
rf  thought,  to  detect  an  imitation  of  some  ancient  poet,  al- 
idas  in  t-'.s  following  words  to  the  line  of  Anacreon  before 
i«  •  —  "  I  have  been  told  that  when  Caliban,  after  a  pleas- 
ng  dream,  says, '  I  cried  to  sleep  again,'  the  author  imitates 
Anacreon,  who  had,  like  any  other  man,  the  same  wish  on 
.06  same  occasion." 

»  "  Compare  with  this  beautiful  ode  to  Bacchus  the  verses 
•f  Hagedorn,  lib.  v., '  das  Gesellschaftliche ; '  and  of  Bur- 
ner, p.  51,  &c  &c  " —  Degen,  ' 
♦  trim  that  the  snow\  ^ueen  of  Charms 
So  ojl  has  fondled  m  her  arms.]     Robertellus,  upon  the 
•pithalamium  of  Catullus,  mentions  an  ingenious  derivation 


Where  are  now  the  tear,  the  sigh  ? 
To  the  winds  they  fly,  they  fly  ! 
Grasp  the  bowl ;  in  nectar  sinking, 
Man  of  sorrow,  drown  thy  thinking  ! 
Say,  can  the  tears  we  lend  to  thought 
In  life's  account  avail  us  aught  ? 
Can  we  discern  with  all  our  lore. 
The  path  we've  yet  to  journey  o'er  ? 
Alas,  alas,  in  ways  so  dark, 
'Tis  only  wine  can  strike  a  spark.* 
Then  let  me  quaff  the  foamy  tide. 
And  through  the  dance  meandering  glide 
Let  me  imbibe  the  spicy  breath 
Of  odors  chaf'd  to  fragrant  death ; 
Or  from  the  lips  of  love  inhale 
A  more  ambrosial,  richer  gale  ! 
To  heaits  that  court  the  phantom  Care, 
Let  him  retire  and  shroud  him  there ; 
While  we  exhaust  the  nectar'd  bowl, 
And  swell  the  choral  song  of  soul 
To  him,  the  god  who  loves  so  well 
The  nectar'd  bowl,  the  choral  swell ! 


ODE  XXXDL 

How  I  love  the  festive  boy, 
Tripping  through  the  dance  of  joy ! 
How  I  love  the  mellow  sage. 
Smiling  through  the  veil  of  age  ! 
And  whene'er  this  man  of  years 
In  the  dance  of  joy  appears, 


of  Cytheraea,  the  name  of  Venus,  -rapa   to   Kcvdetf   rovi 
tpuTOi.  which  seems  to  hint  that  "  Love's  fairy  favors  an 
lost,  wnen  not  concealed." 
^  Alas,  alas,  in  ways  so  dark, 

'Tis  only  vine  can  strike  a  spark.\  The  brevity  of  lift 
allows  arguments  for  the  voluptuary  as  well  as  the  moralist 
Among  many  parallel  passages  which  Longepierre  has  ad 
duced,  I  shall  content  mysell  with  this  epigram  fron  tin 
Anthologia. 

Aovcrauevoi,  UpoSiKti,  nvKaooiptda,  Kai  tov  axparw 

'KXKOjpev,  KvXtKOi  pettiovai  apaiicvoi, 
'Vaioi  h  xaipovTwv  tan  /3toi.  eira  ra  Xotna 

Tripas  KoyXvaei,  xat  ro  rtXoj  ^avaro; 
Of  which  the  following  is  a  paraphrase  :  — 
Let's  fly,  my  love,  from  noonday's  beam, 
To  plunge  us  in  yon  cooling  stream  j 
Then,  hastening  to  the  festal  bower. 
We'll  pass  in  mirth  the  evening  hour ; 
Tis  thus  our  age  of  bliss  shall  fly. 
As  sweet,  tliough  passing  as  thai  Mgh, 
Which  seems  to  whisper  o'er  your  iip, 
"  Come,  while  you  may,  of  rapture  sip." 
For  age  will  steal  the  graceful  iorm. 
Will  chill  the  pulse,  while  throbbing  warm 
And  death  —  alas  !  that  hearts,  which  thriU 
Like  yours  and  mine,  should  e'er  be  still ! 


ODES   OF  ANACREON. 


iO: 


8n  >ws  may  o'er  his  head  be  flung. 
But  his  heart  —  his  heaxt  is  young.' 


ODE  XL. 

I  KNOW  that  Heaven  hath  sent  me  here, 
To  run  this  mortal  life's  career  ; 
The  scenes  which  I  have  journeyed  o'er, 
Return  no  more  —  alu!> !  no  more  ; 
And  all  the  path  I've  yet  to  go, 
I  neither  know  nor  ask  to  know. 
Away,  tlicn,  wizard  Care,  nor  think 
Thy  letters  round  this  soul  to  link ; 
Never  can  heart  that  ^ecls  with  me 
Descend  to  be  a  slave  to  thee  !  * 
And  O,  before  the  vital  thrill. 
Which  trembles  at  my  heart,  is  still, 
I'll  gather  Joy's  luxuriant  flowers. 
And  gild  with  bliss  my  fading  hours ; 
Bacchus  shall  bid  my  winter  bloom, 
And  Venus  dance  me  to  the  tomb  1 ' 


SntnoM  may  o'er  hit  head  btfiung, 
Hvi  his  heart  — hii  heart  is  young.]    Saint  Pavin  makes 
^e  game  di.stiiiction  in  a  sunnet  to  a  young  girl 
Je  sain  bien  que  le^  destinies 
Ont  nial  coniiiossie  nu8  annies  ; 
Me  rcpardez  que  mun  aniuur  , 
Peut-etre  en  serez  vous  iniue. 
II  em  jeune  et  n'em  que  du  jour. 
Belle  Iris,  que  je  vuiis  ai  vu. 
Fair  and  young  tliou  bl(H)mest  now. 
And  1  full  many  a  year  Imve  told  ; 
But  read  the  heart  and  not  tlie  brow. 
Thou  siialt  not  find  my  love  is  old. 
My  lovc'si  a  child  ;  and  thou  canst  say 

How  much  his  little  ape  may  be. 
For  he  was  iKirn  the  very  day 
When  first  1  set  my  eyes  on  thee  ! 
t  M'eter  can  heart  that  feels  with  me 

Descend  to  be  a  slave  to  thee .']  Longepierre  quotes  here  an 
»pigram  from  tlie  Anihologia,  on  account  of  tlie  similarity 
•fa  particular  plirase.  Though  by  no  means  Anacreontic,  it 
ki  marked  by  an  ititeri^^ting  .simplicity  whicli  has  induced 
Be  to  paraphrase  it,  and  luay  atone  for  its  intrasion 

EAnif  (cai  <ro  Tvxn  iitya  xaiptrt.  Tov  Xiftcv'  ivpov. 

Ovif  tfioi  x'  Vf">»  irat^CTt  rouf  iitr'  tfic 
At  length  to  Fortune,  and  to  you, 
Delusive  no|>e  !  a  last  adieu. 
The  charm  that  once  beguii'd  is  o  er. 
And  I  have  reacli'd  my  destin'd  shore 
Away,  away,  your  flattering  arts 
May  now  tjetray  some  simpler  hearts. 
And  you  will  smile  at  their  believing, 
/uiu  uiey  sliall  weep  at  your  deceiving  ! 

t  Bacchus  shall  bid  my  winlrr  bloom, 
And  Veiiu:!  dance  me  to  the  tomb .']    The  same  commenta- 
■w  tuii  quoted  an  epiiaph,  written  upon  our  poet  by  Julian, 


ODE  XLI. 

When  Spring  adorns  the  dewy  scene, 
How  sweet  to  walk  the  velvet  green. 
And  hear  the  west  wind's  gentle  sighs, 
As  o'er  the  scented  mc-ad  it  flies  ! 
How  sweet  to  mark  the  pouting  vine, 
Heady  to  burst  in  tears  of  wine  ; 
And  with  some  maid,  who  breathes  but  lovt 
To  walk,  at  noontide,  through  the  grove,* 
Or  sit  in  some  cool,  green  recess  — 
O,  is  not  this  true  happiness  ? 


ODE  XLn.» 

Yes,  be  the  glorious  revel  mine. 
Where  humor  sparkles  from  the  wine 
Around  me,  lot  the  youthful  choir 
Respond  to  my  enlivening  lyre  ; 
And  while  the  red  cup  foams  along. 
Mingle  in  soul  as  well  as  song. 


in  which  he  makes  him   promulgate  the  precepts  of  got« 
fellowship  even  from  the  tomb. 

n  'AXiKi  ntv  To6*  aetca,  xat  ck  rvpiSov  it  fftvu, 
TltvcTt,  npiv  ravrriv  aiii)>t6a\naOt  Kovip 

This  lesson  of>  in  life  I  sung, 
And  from  my  grave  1  still  shall  cry, 

"  Drink,  mortal,  drink,  while  time  is  young. 
Ere  death  has  made  thee  cold  as  I." 

*  JtTid  with  some  maid,  who  breathes  but  love, 

To  walk,  at  noontide,  through  the  grove,]    Thus  Horane 

Quid  habes  illius,  illius 
Qiiie  spirabat  amores, 
Qtis  me  surpuerat  mihL        Lib.  iv.  Carm  13 

And  does  there  then  remain  but  tliis. 
And  hast  thou  lost  each  rosy  ray 

Of  her,  who  breath 'd  the  soul  of  bliss. 
And  stole  me  from  myself  away  ? 

*  The  character  of  Anacreon  is  here  very  strikingly  0» 
picted.  His  love  of  social,  harmonized  pleasures,  is  ez 
pressed  with  a  warmth,  amiable  and  endearing.  Among 
the  epigrams  imputed  to  Anacreon  is  the  ft  Mowing ;  it  !i 
the  only  one  worth  translation  and  it  breatlies  ths  mbm 
sentiments  with  Cis  ode :  — 

On  0iAo{,  bi  KpijTripi  vapa  irXcu  oifoirora^ciiv, 

KtiKta  Kat  TToXtnoii  iaxfivoevra  \tyn. 
AAA'  hcTii  ^lovatuiv  rt,Kai  ayXaa  ^<o/>' AiA^  jjirm 

T^Vftiitayuy,  cpaTijf  nvrjaxcrai  tvippoavvrii. 
When  to  the  lip  the  brimming  cup  is  pressed, 

And  hearts  are  all  afloat  upon  its  stream. 
Then  banish  from  my  board  th'  unpfilish'd  gneat. 

Who  makes  the  feats  of  war  his  barbarous  them* 
But  bring  the  man,  who  o'er  his  goblet  wreathes 

The  Muse's  laurel  with  the  Cyprian  flower, 
O,  give  me  him,  whose  soul  expansive  breathoB 

And  blends  reflnement  with  the  social  bouf 


Then,  "while  I  sit,  with  flow'rets  crown' d, 
To  regulate  the  goblet's  round, 
Let  but  the  nymph,  our  banquet's  pride, 
Be  seated  smiling  by  my  side, 
And  earth  has  not  a  gift  or  power 
That  I  would  envy,  in  that  hour. 
Envy !  —  O,  never  let  its  blight 
Touch  the  gay  hearts  met  here  to-night. 
Far  hence  be  slander's  sidelong  woimds, 
Nor  harsh  dispute,  nor  discord's  sounds 
Disturb  a  scene,  where  all  should  be 
Attuned  to  pia:e  and  harmony. 

Come,  let  us  hear  the  harp's  gay  note 
Upon  the  breeze  inspiring  float, 
While  round  us,  kindling  into  love, 
Young  maidens  throi  gh  the  light  dance  move. 
Thus  blest  with  mirth,  and  love,  and  peace, 
Sure  such  a  life  shou  I  never  cease  ! 


ODE  XLin. 

While  our  rosy  fiUets  shed 
Freshness  o'er  each  fervid  head. 
With  many  a  cup  and  many  a  smile 
The  festal  moments  we  beguile. 
And  while  the  harp,  impassion' d,  flings 
Tuneful  rapture  from  its  strings,' 
Some  airy  nymph,  with  graceful  bound, 
Keeps  measure  to  the  music's  sound ; 


1  And  xehile  the  harp,  tmpassion'd,  flings 

Tiititful  rapture  from  its  strings,  4c.]  Respecting  the  bar- 
l  itoi)  a  host  of  autliorities  may  be  collected,  wliich,  after  all, 
have  us  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  instrument.  There  is 
scarcely  any  point  upon  which  we  are  so  totally  uninformed 
as  tlie  music  of  the  ancienta.  The  authors  *  extant  upon  the 
subject  are,  I  imagine,  little  understood ;  and  certainly  if  one 
of  their  moods  was  a  progression  by  quarter  tones,  which  we 
are  told  was  the  nature  of  the  enliamionic  scale,  simplicity 
was  by  no  means  the  characteristic  of  their  melody  ;  for  this 
is  a  nicety  of  progression,  of  which  modem  music  is  not 
iiuceptible. 

The  inveniiof.  of  the  barbiton  is,  by  Athenteus,  attributed 
tb  Anacreon.  See  his  fourth  book,  where  it  is  called  to 
skfipjjia  Tov  AvaKpeovToi.  Neanthes  of  Cyzicus,  as  quoted 
by  Gyraldus,  asserts  the  same.  Vide  Chabot,  in  Herat,  on 
ihe  vords  ••  Lesboum  barbiton,"  in  the  first  ode. 

*  And  O,  the  sadness  in  his  niirh, 

Jli  o'er  his  bp  the  accents  die .']  Longepierre  has  quoted 
lere  am  epigram  from  the  Anthologia :  — 

Knvpn  Tii  n'  e(^i\r]at  vodc<nTCpa  x^'^caiv  iypoti. 
NsifTOp  erjv  TO  (fiiXitixa.  to  -yap  aTOjjia  vcKrapo;  cirvei. 
Svv  lieOvco  TO  ftXriiia,  ito\vv  tov  tpoira  ireirdtKioi. 
>  trnick  the  lollowing  paraphrase  may  give  some  idea :  — 

*  Collected  b7  Meibomioa. 


Waving,  in  her  snowy  hand. 

The  leafy  Bacchanalian  wand. 

Which,  as  the  tiipping  wanton  flies, 

Trembles  all  over  to  her  sighs. 

A  youth  the  while,  with  loosen'd  hair. 

Floating  on  the  listless  air. 

Sings,  to  the  wild  harp's  tender  tone, 

A  tale  of  woes,  alas,  his  own  ;    " 

And  O,  the  sadness  in  his  sigh, 

As  o'er  his  lip  the  accents  die  !  • 

Never  sure  on  earth  has  been 

Half  so  bright,  so  blest  a  scene. 

It  seems  as  Love  himself  had  come 

To  make  this  spot  his  chosen  home ; '  — 

And  Venus,  too,  with  all  her  wiles, 

And  Bacchus,  shedding  rosy  smiles. 

All,  all  are  here,  to  hail  with  me 

The  Genius  of  Festivity  !  * 


ODE  XLIV.» 

Buds  of  roses,  virgin  flowers, 
Cull'd  from  Cupid's  balmy  bowers. 
In  the  bowl  of  Bacchus  steep,  . 
Till  with  crimson  drops  they  weep. 
Twine  the  rose,  the  garland  twine. 
Every  leaf  distUling  wine  ; 
Drink  and  smile,  and  learn  to  think 
That  we  were  bom  to  smile  and  drink. 
Rose,  thou  art  the  sweetest  flower 
That  ever  drank  the  amber  shower  ; 


The  kiss  that  she  lefl  on  my  lip, 

Like  a  dewdrop  shall  lingering  lie; 
'Twas  nectar  she  gave  me  to  sip, 

'Twas  nectar  £  drank  in  her  sigh. 
From  the  moment  she  printed  that  kiss, 

Nor  reason,  nor  rest  has  been  mine  ; 
My  whole  soul  has  been  drunk  with  the  bliss, 
And  feels  a  delirium  divine  ! 
8  /( seems  as  Love  himself  had  come 
To  make  this  spot  his  chosen  home ;  — ]    The  introducticfl 
of  these  deities  to  the  festival  is  merely  allegorical.    Ma- 
dame Dacier  thinks  that  the  poet  describes  a  masquerade, 
where  these  deities  were  personated  by  the  company  il 
masks.    The  translation  will  conform  with  eithei  idea 
*  All,  all  are  here,  to  hail  with  me 

The  Oenius  of  Festivity!]  Kcopog,  the  dtity  or  genids  ol 
mirth.  Philostratus,  in  the  tliird  of  his  pictures,  gives  a  very 
lively  description  of  this  god. 

S  This  spirited  poem  is  a  eulogy  on  the  tose  ;  and  agaLa 
in  the  fifYy-fifth  ode,  we  shall  find  our  author  rich  in  th« 
praises  of  that  flower.  In  a  fragment  of  Sappho,  in  tlie  ro- 
mance of  Achilles  Tatius,  to  which  Barnes  refers  us,  th« 
rose  IS  fancifully  styled  "  the  eye  of  flowers ; "  and  th« 
same  poetess,  in  another  fragment,  calls  the  favors  of  tlif 
Muse  "  the  roses  of  Pieria."    See  the  notes  on  the  fifty-  fifti 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


lot 


Rose,  thou  art  the  fondest  child 

Of  dimpled  Spring,  the  wood  nymph  wild. 

Even  the  Gods,  who  walk  the  sky, 

Are  amorous  of  thy  scented  sigh. 

Cupid,  too,  in  Paphian  shades. 

His  hair  with  rosy  fillet  braids, 

When  with  the  blushing,  sister  Graces, 

The  wantor  winding  dance  he  traces.' 

Then  bring  me,  showers  of  roses  bring, 

Aw  t'iCd  them  o'er  mo  while  I  sing  ; 

Or  while,  great  Bacchus,  round  thy  shrine. 

Wreathing  my  brow  with  rose  and  vine, 

I  lead  some  bright  nymph  through  the  dance,* 

Commingling  soul  with  every  glance  ! 


ODE  XLV. 

Within  this  goblet,  rich  and  deep, 

I  cradle  all  my  woes  to  sleep. 

Why  should  we  breathe  the  sigh  of  fear. 

Or  pour  the  unavailing  tear  ? 

For  death  will  never  heed  the  sigh. 

Nor  soften  at  the  tearful  eye ; 

And  eyes  that  sparkle,  eyes  that  weep. 

Must  all  alike  be  seal'd  in  sleep. 

Then  let  us  never  vainly  stray. 

In  search  nf  thorns,  from  pleasure's  way ;  • 


'  *>  Compare  with  this  ode  (says  the  German  annotator)  the 
beaiitiriil  ode  of  Uz, '  die  Rose.'" 
1   Ifhm  leitk  the  blunking;  sister  Orares, 
The  teantoR  winding  dance  *'  traces.]     "  This  sweet  idea 
tf  hove  daiicinf;  with  the  Gracen,  is  nlcnast  peculiar  to  Anac- 
leoii." —  Degrn. 

*  /  lead  some  hrigkt  nymph  through  the  dance,  ^e.]     The 
•ptihet  fiii>)vKoXno(,  which  he  gives  to  the  nymph,  is  liter- 
ally '•  fiill-lposonied." 
»  Then  let  tu>  never  vainly  stray, 

/<■  search  of  thorns,  from  pleasure's  vay  ;  4'c.]    I  have  thus 
nideavore<l  to  convey  Ihe  meaning  of  ri  Se  rov  0ioy  ir\a- 
i>uitu  ,  aci^rUing  to  Regnier's  paraphrase  of  the  line:  — 
E  che  val,  fiior  delta  strada 
Del  piarore  alma  e  gradita, 
Vaneggisire  in  qiiesta  vita.' 
rhe  fastidious  affectatinn   of  some  commentators  has 
denounced  this  ode  as  spurious.     Degen  pronounces  the  four 
last  line*  to  be  the  patchwork  of  some  miserable  versificator, 
and  Rninck  condemns  the  whole  ode.     It  appears  to  me,  on 
the  contrary,  to  be  elegnntly  graphical ;  full  of  delicate  ex- 
pressions and  luxuriant  imagery.     The  abniptness  of  lit 
Willi  cnpof  ^afCfro;  is  striking  and  spirited,  and  has  been 
Imitated  rather  languidly  by  Horace :  — 

Vides  lit  alta  stet  nive  candidum 

Boracte 

The  imperative  iSe  is  infinitely  more  impressive ;  — as  in 
^bakspezre, 

But  look,  the  mom,  in  russet  mantle  clad, 
Walki  o'er  tlie  dew  of  yon  high  eastern  hilL 


But  wisely  quaff  the  losy  wave, 
Which  Bacchus  loves,  which  Bacchus  gav* 
And  in  the  goblet,  rich  and  deep, 
Cradle  our  crying  woes  to  8l«>ep. 


ODE  XLVI. 

Behold,  the  young,  the  rosy  Spring, 
Gives  to  the  breeze  her  scented  wing  ; 
While  virgin  Graces,  warm  M-ith  May, 
Fling  roses  o'er  her  dewy  way,* 
The  murmuring  billows  of  the  deep 
Have  languish' d  into  silent  sleep  ; 
And  mark  !  the  flitting  sea  birds  lave 
Their  plumes  in  the  reflecting  wave ; 
While  cranes  from  hoary  winter  fly 
To  flutter  in  a  kinder  sky. 
Now  the  genial  star  of  day 
Dissolves  the  murky  clouds  away  , 
And  cultur'd  field,  and  winding  stream. 
Are  freshly  glittering  in  his  beam. 

Now  the  earth  prolific  swells 
With  leafy  buds  and  flowery  bells  ; 
Gemming  shoots  the  olive  twinr* 
Clusters  ripe  festoon  the  vine ; 


There  is  a  simple  and  poetical  description  of  Spring,  in 
Catiillus's  beautiful  farewell  to  Bithynia.    Cann.  44. 

Barnes  conjectures,  in  his  life  of  our  (xiet,  that  this  od« 
was  written  after  he  had  returned  from  Athens,  to  settle  iii 
his  paternal  seat  at  Teos  ;  where,  in  a  little  villa  at  some 
distance  from  the  city,  commanding  a  view  of  the  j<5gcan 
Sea  and  the  islands,  he  contemplated  the  beauties  of  naturt 
and  enjiiyed  the  felicities  of  retirement  Vide  Barnes,  it 
Anac.  Vifa,$  xxjtv.  This  supposition,  however  unauthent: 
cated,  form:)  a  pleasing  association,  which  renders  (he  poeiii 
more  interesting. 

Chevreaii  says,  that  Oregoiy  Nazianzenns  has  paraphraseo 
somewhere  this  description  of  Spring ;  but  1  cannot  meet 
with  it.     See  Chevreau,  fEuvres  Mdl4es. 

"  Compare  with  this  ode  (says  Degen)  the  verses  of  n»n» 
dom,book  fourth, 'der  Fruhling,'and  bixik  flnh,'djr  >!*>  ° 

*  ffhile  virgin  Graces,  varm  with  May, 

Fling  roses  o'er  her  de»y  way.]  Oe  Pauw  reads,  \of,  •  i 
itiia  fjfvpi<aif,"\ht  roees  display  theil  graces"  Ihii  I 
not  uningenioiis ;  hut  we  lose  by  it  the  beauty  of  lh«  persor 
ification,  to  the  boldness  of  which  Reg-  er  has  ratf.er  ftiro 
luusly  objected. 

*  The  murmuring  btilovs  of  the  deep 

Have  langvish'd  into  sih-nt  i  leep ;  (fe]  It  has  l«en  jnsTt) 
remarked,  that  the  liquid  flowof  the  line  an nXvi-rrai  yaKnvt 
is  perfectly  expressive  of  the  tranquillity'  w  lich  it  d« 
scribes. 

T  Jind  cultur'd  JIM,  and  vinding  ttteom,  ^r.]  By  fiporta, 
tfiyii  "  the  works  of  men  "  (says  Baxter),  he  means  citiei, 
temples,  and  towns,  which  are  then  illuminated  !>}■  tb> 
beams  of  the  sun. 


110 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


All  aloi.g  the  branches  creeping, 
Thiough  the  velvet  foliage  peeping, 
Little  infant  fruits  we  see,  ' 
Vnrsing  into  luxury. 


ODE  XLVII. 

Trs  true,  mj  fading  years  decline. 

Vet  can  I  quaff  the  brimming  wine, 

As  deep  as  any  stripling  fair. 

Whose  cheeks  the  flush  of  morning  wear ; 

And  if,  amidst  the  wanton  crew, 

I'm  call'd  to  wind  the  dance's  clew, 

Then  shall  thou  see  this  vigorous  hand, 

Not  faltering  on  the  Bacchant's  wand. 

But  brandishing  a  rosy  flask,' 

The  only  thyrsi's  e'er  I'll  ask  !  • 

Let  those,  who  pant  for  Glory's  charms, 
Embrace  her  in  the  field  of  arms  ; 
While  my  inglorious,  placid  soul 
Breathes  not  a  wish  beyond  this  bowl. 
Then  fill  it  high,  my  ruddy  slave, 
And  bathe  me  in  its  brimming  wave. 
For  though  my  fading  years  decay, 
Though  manhood's  prime  hath  pass'd  away. 
Like  old  Silenus,  sire  divine. 
With  blushes  borrow'd  from  my  wine, 
I'll  wniton  'mid  the  dancing  train, 
A.nd  li\e  my  follies  o'er  again  ! 


ODE  XL VIII. 

When  my  thirsty  soul  I  steep, 
Every  sorrow's  lull'd  to  sleep. 
Talk  of  monarchs  !  I  am  then 
Richest,  happiest,  first  of  men ; 


'  But  brandishing  a  rosy  fiask,  ^e.  \  Aaxuf  was  a  kind  of 
resJieri)  vessel  for  wine,  very  much  in  use,  as  should  seem 
t>>  the  proverb  ucticoj  koi  ^vXuKOi,  which  was  applied  to 
Lliiise  who  were  intemperate  in  eating  and  drinking.  This 
I  ri  iverb  is  mentioned  in  some  verses  quoted  by  Athenteus, 
U'.ni  the  Hesione  of  Alexis. 

*  7VV.  only  thyrsus  e'er  Pll  ask!]  Phomutus  assigns  as  a 
reison  for  tlie  consecration  of  the  thyrsus  to  Bacchus,  that 
ineiiriety  often  renders  the  support  of  a  stick  very  necessary. 

■*  Iki)  leaves  my  brow  intwinin/r,  ^c]  "  The  ivy  was  con- 
»err:ited  to  Bacchus  (says  Montfaucon),  because  he  formerly 
lay  hill  under  that  tree,  or,  as  others  will  have  it,  because 
its  lei  ves  resemble  those  of  the  vine."  Other  reasons  for 
its  consecration,  and  the  use  of  it  in  garlands  at  banquets, 
Bipy  be  found  in  Longepierre,  Barnes,  &;c.  &c. 

*  Arm  ye,  arm  yt,  men  of  might, 

Hasten  to  the  sanguine  fight  ]  I  h»ve  adopted  the  inter- 
Dtrtrtion  01  Itegnier  and  others :  — 


Careless  o'er  my  cup  I  sing. 
Fancy  makes  me  more  than  k  \n«  . 
Gives  me  wealthy  Croesus'  stc  e. 
Can  I,  can  I  wish  for  more  ? 
On  my  velvet  couch  reclining. 
Ivy  leaves  my  brow  intwining," 
While  my  soul  expands  with  gleO; 
W'hat  are  kings  and  crowns  to  me 
If  before  my  feet  they  lay, 
I  would  spurn  them  all  away  ! 
Arm  ye,  arm  ye,  men  of  might, 
Hasten  to  the  sanguine  fight ;  * 
But  let  me,  my  budding  vine  ! 
Spill  no  other  blood  than  thine. 
Yonder  brimming  goblet  see. 
That  alone  shall  vanquish  me  — 
Who  think  it  better,  wiser  far 
To  fall  in  banquet  than  in  war. 


ODE    XLIX.» 

When  Bacchus,  Jove's  immortal  boy, 

The  rosy  harbinger  of  joy. 

Who,  with  the  sunshine  of  the  bowl. 

Thaws  the  winter  of  our  soul'  — 

When  to  my  inmost  core  he  glides, 

And  bathes  it  with  his  ruby  tides, 

A  flow  of  joy,  a  lively  heat. 

Fires  my  brain,  and  wings  my  feet. 

Calling  up  round  me  visions  known 

To  lovers  of  the  bowl  alone. 

Sing,  sing  of  love,  let  music's  sound 
In  melting  cadence  float  around. 
While,  my  youiig  Venus,  thou  and  I 
Responsive  to  ".ts  murmurs  sigh. 
Then,  waking  from  our  blissful  trance. 
Again  we'll  sport,  again  we'll  dance. 


Altri  sogua  Marte  fero  ; 

Che  sol  Baccoi  '1  .uio  conforto. 

E  This,  the  preceding  ode,  and  a  few  more  of  the  mvcA 
character,  are  merely  chansons  4  boire ; — tiie  e^usioiif 
probably  of  the  moment  of  conviviality,  and  afterwards 
sung,  we  m.iy  imagine,  with  rapture  throughout  Greece. 
But  that  interesting  association,  by  which  they  always  re- 
called the  convivial  emotions  that  produced  them,  can  now 
be  little  felt  even  by  the  most  enthusiasiic  reader;  anU 
much  less  by  a  phlegmatic  grammarian,  who  sees  notliin^ 
in  them  but  dialects  and  particles. 

6   Who,  with  the  sunshine  of  the  bowl, 

Thaws  the  winter  of  our  soul  —  ^c]  A  'ai  j  is  the  titl« 
which  he  gives  to  Bacchus  in  the  oiigitial.  It  is  a  curioui 
circumstance,  that  Plutarch  mistook  the  name  of  Lev 
among  the  Jews  for  Aciu  (one  of  the  bacchanal  cries),  aii4 
accordingly  suppofied  that  they  worshipped  Bacchus. 


ODES   OF  ANACREON 


li 


ODE  L.» 

W  HEM  wine  1  quaff,  before  my  eyee  . 

Dreams  of  poetic  glory  rise  ;  • 

Aiid  freshen'd  by  the  goblet's  dews. 

My  soul  invokes  the  heavenly  Muse. 

"When  wine  I  drink,  all  sorrow's  o'er ; 

I  think  of  doubts  and  fears  no  more ; 

But  Scatter  to  the  railing  wind 

Each  gloomy  phantom  of  the  mind. 

When  I  drink  wine,  th'  ethereal  boy, 

Bacchus  himself,  partakes  my  joy  ; 

And  while  we  dance  through  vernal  bowers,' 

Whose  ev'ry  breath  comes  fresh  from  flowers, 

In  wine  he  makes  my  senses  swim, 

Till  the  gale  breathes  of  nought  but  him  ! 

Again  I  drink,  —  and,  lo,  there  seems 
A  Crtlmer  light  to  fill  my  dreams  ; 
The  lately  rufHcd  wTeath  I  spread 
With  steadier  hand  around  my  head ; 
Then  take  the  lyre,  and  sing  "  how  blest 
The  life  of  him  who  lives  at  rest !  " 
But  then  comes  witching  wine  again. 
With  glorious  woman  in  its  train  ; 


>  Faber  thinks  thi.*  Ode  ppurjoua;  but,  I  believe,  be  is 
vngiilar  in  liis  opinion.  It  has  all  tlie  spirit  of  our  author. 
i.<ke  the  wreath  which  he  presented  in  the  dream,  "  it 
iinell>  of  Anacreon." 

The  fiirni  uf  the  original  is  remarkable.    It  is  a  kind  of 
viig  of  8;vnn  quatrain  stanzas,  each  bepnning  with  the  line 
'Or'  ty(t}  vtu  Tov  otvov. 
The  first  staiiza  alone  is  incomplete,  consisting  but  of 
three  lines. 

^    "  Cunii>are  with  this  poem  (says  Degen)  the  venes  of  Hag- 
Klorti,  lib.  v.,  ■  iler  Wein,'  v/bere  tiiat  divine  poet  has  wan- 
U>no.l  in  tiie  praises  of  wine." 
»  fVken  wine  I  quaff,  btfw  e  my  eyes 

lirtamt  uf  poetic  glory  vine  ;]  "  Anacreon  is  not  the  only 
'iiie  {•*■«>!•  Lonpepierre)  \  hoin  wine  has  inspired  with  poet- 
r/  We  ilnd  an  epijrram  >q  the  first  book  of  the  Antbologia, 
K'luLh  begins  thus  :  — 

Oivo;  Toi  XafJtcfTt  ;tj  i(  wcXct  lirwof  aoiSto, 
XStoft  6t  iriKJ*,  KaXo.  0,.  TtKOtf  cirof. 
If  with  water  yiiu  fill  ip  'our  glasaea, 
You'll  r.ever  write  ati.'  U'ing  wiae ; 
Fi'r  wine's  the  t>'ie  hoi.ie  i  f  Parnassus, 
Which  carries  a  bard  to  the  skies  ! 
'  ./f  n<r  u<AJ<  tBr  dance  tkt  tugh  vernal  bmeert,  (frc]     If  some 
il  the  ir.-uu'iu. r*  had  ■»b««: »ed  Doctor  Trapp's  caution,  with 
Mgaru  to  noXi-n'iiaitr  h'  f>  avfian,  "Cave  ne  r/»!um  intel- 
ligas,"  tbjy  wot-U  not  '.ave  s|K>iled  the  simplicity  of  Anac- 
'^Mio's  fanc) ,  b/  vcb  '.itravagaiit  conceptiono  m  the  Utl- 
owing-  — 

Quand  J<  bote,  %..-^  ail  s'imagine 
Clue,  dins  iin  tourhillno  'ilein  de  parfums  diven, 
BhccIius  mi'  iuipoite  dans  les  tin, 
*«inpli  d(  IS  ,1  txniu  diviMk 


And,  while  rich  perfumes  round  me  rise. 

That  seem  the  breath  of  woman's  sighs, 

Bright  shapes,  of  every  hue  and  form. 

Upon  my  kindling  fancy  sw  arm, 

Till  the  whole  world  of  beauty  seema 

To  crowd  into  my  dazzled  dreams  ! 

When  thus  I  drink,  my  heart  refines, 

And  rises  as  the  cup  declines; 

Rises  in  the  genial  flow. 

That  none  but  social  spirits  know, 

When,  with  young  revellers,  round  the  be 

The  old  themselves  grow  young  in  soul  1  * 

O,  when  I  drink,  true  joy  is  mine, 

There's  bliss  in  every  drop  of  wine. 

All  other  blessings  I  have  known, 

I  scarcely  dar'd  to  call  my  own ; 

But  this  the  Fates  can  ne'er  destroy, 

Till  death  o'ershadows  all  my  joy. 


ODE  LL» 

Fly  not  thus  my  brow  of , snow, 
Lovely  wanton  !  fly  no',  so. 
Though  the  wane  of  age  is  mine. 
Though  youth's  brilliant  flush  be  thin* 


Or  this :  — 

Indi  mi  mena 
Mentre  lieto  ebro,  deliro, 
fiarcho  in  giro 
Per  la  vaga  aura  serena. 

*  When,  with  young  revellera,  round  the  hotel. 
The  old  themselves  groie  young  in  gouU]  Suhjo  ned  tc 
Gail's  edition  of  Anacreon,  we  And  some  curious  letter* 
upon  ihe  Qiaaot  of  the  ancienti),  which  ap|ieared  in  tht 
French  Journals.  At  the  opening  of  tiie  Odeon  in  Paris, 
tlie  managers  of  that  spectacle  re<|ue.sted  Professor  Gail  Xc 
give  tliem  some  uncommon  name  fur  their  t<lt^.  He  fug 
gested  the  word  "  Thiase,"  which  was  adopted  ;  but  th« 
literati  of  Paris  questioned  the  propriety  of  llie  terra,  an** 
addressed  ttieir  criticisms  to  Gail  through  tlie  medium  c. 
the  public  prints. 

>  Alberti  has  imitated  this  ode  ;  and  Capilupus  in  the  ft  1 
lowing  epigram,  has  given  a  version  of  it :  — 

Cur,  Lalage,  mea  vita,  mros  conteninis  rmoiw  ' 
Cur  fugis  e  nostro  pulchra  piiella  sinu.' 

Ne  fueias,  sint  sjiarsa  licet  mea  tempora  earns 
Imi>ie  tuo  roseus  fulgeat  ore  colnr. 

Aspice  ut  intezta.s  dereant  qiioqiie  flore  coitdia* 
Candida  purpureis  lilia  mista  rosis, 

O,  why  repel  my  soul's  imiiassion'd  vow, 
And  fly,  beloved  maid,  these  longing  aitmi} 

Is  it,  that  wintry  time  has  strew'd  my  brow, 
While  thine  are  all  the  summer's  rooeate  chanaar 

See  the  rich  garland  cull'd  in  vernal  weather 
Where  the  young  rost-liud  with  tlie  lily  glows  , 

So,  In  Love's  wreatli  we  both  may  twine  togeih*' 
Aad  I  the  lily  be,  and  thou  the  roe* 


112 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


Still  I'm  doom'd  to  sigh  for  thee, 
Blest,  if  thou  couldst  sigh  for  me  ! 
See.  in  yonder  flowery  braid, 
CuU'd  for  thee,  my  blushing  maid,' 
How  the  rose,  of  orient  glow, 
Mingles  with  the  lily's  snow  ; 
Mark,  how  sweet  their  tints  agree, 
Just,  my  girl,  like  thee  and  me  ! 


ODE  Ln.« 

Away,  away,  ye  men  of  rules, 

What  have  I  to  do  with  schools  ? 

They'd  make  me  learn,  they'd  make  me  thinks 

But  would  they  make  me  love  and  drink  ? 

Teach  me  this,  and  let  me  swim 

My  soul  upon  the  goblet's  brim  ; 

Teach  me  this,  and  let  me  twine 

Some  fond,  responsive  heart  to  mine,' 

For,  age  begins  to  blanch  my  brow, 

I've  time  for  nought  but  pleasure  now. 

Fly,  and  cool  my  goblet's  glow 
At  yonder  fountain's  gelid  flow  ; 
I'll  quaff,  my  boy,  and  calmly  sink 
This  soul  to  slumber  as  I  drink. 


1  See,  m  yondrr  fioteery  braid, 

CuWd  for  thee,  my  blushing  mairf,  j     "  In  the  same  man- 
aer  that  Anacreon  pleads  for  tlie  whiteness  of  his  locks, 
from  the  beauty  of  the  color  in  garlands,  a  shepherd,  in 
Theocritus,  endeavors  to  recommend  his  blaik  hair:  — 
Kai  TO  tov  ineXav  can,  (tai  A  yparcra  vUKtvdo^, 
\W'  ttirras  cv  rots  artoavoii  ra  ■npiora  Xtyovrai  " 
Longepierre,  Barnes,  t[c. 

2  "  This  is  doubtless  the  work  of  a  more  modem  poet  than 
Anacreon  ;  for  at  the  period  when  he  lived  rhetoriciak.j  were 
not  known."  —  Degen. 

Though  this  ode  is  found  in  the  Vatican  manuscript,  I  am 
much  inclined  to  agree  in  this  argument  against  its  authen- 
ticity ;  for  though  the  dawnings  of  the  art  of  rhetoric  might 
•Iready  have  appeared,  the  first  who  gave  it  any  celebrity 
was  Corax  of  Syracuse,  and  he  flourished  in  the  century 
after  Anacreon. 

Our  poet  anticipated  the  ideas  of  Epicurus,  in  his  aversion 
to  the  labors  of  learning,  as  well  as  his  devi  tion  to  volup- 
tuousness. Ylanav  iraiSciav  fiaKapiot  (pevyere,  said  the 
pji;i;aopher  of  the  garden  in  a  letter  to  Pythocles. 

»  Teach  me  this,  and  let  me  twine 

S^mefond,  nxponsive  heart  to  mine.]  By  XP'""''!!  A(ppoSiTri; 
here,  1  understand  some  beautiful  girl,  in  the  same  manner 
that  Aiaioj  is  often  used  for  wine.  "Golden"  is  frequently 
Bn  epithet  of  beauty.  Thus  in  Virgil,  "  Venus  aurea ;  " 
and  in  Proi>ertius,  "  Cynthia  aurea."  TibuUus,  however, 
tails  an  old  woman  "  golden." 

The  translation  d'Autori  Anonimi,  as  usual,  wantons  on 
|kif)  oaHsage  of  Anacreon  ; 

E  m'  insegni  con  piu  rare 
ffftnoe  accorte  d'involara 


Soon,  too  soon,  my  jocund  sJave, 
You'll  deck  your  master's  grassy  grave  f 
And  there's  an  end  —  for  ah,  you  know 
They  drink  but  little  wine  below !  * 


ODE  LTH. 

When  I  behold  the  festive  train 

Of  dancing  youth,  I'm  young  again ! 

Memory  wakes  her  magic  trance. 

And  wings  me  lightly  through  the  daac« 

Come,  Cybeba,  smiling  maid  ! 

Cull  the  flower  and  twine  the  braid ; 

Bid  the  blush  of  summer's  rose 

Burn  upon  my  forehead's  snows  ;  • 

And  let  me,  while  the  wild  and  young 

Trip  the  mazy  dance  along. 

Fling  my  heap  of  years  away. 

And  be  as  wild,  as  young,  as  they. 

Hither  haste,  some  cordial  soul  I 

Help  to  my  lips  the  brimming  bowl; 

And  you  shall  see  this  hoary  sage 

Forget  at  once  his  locks  and  age. 

He  still  can  chant  the  festive  hymn. 

He  still  can  kiss  the  goblet's  brim  ^  • 


Ad  amabile  beltade 
n  bel  cinto  d'  onestade. 

*  .^tirf  tkere^s  an  end — for  ah,  you  knov 

They  drink  but  little  wine  below .']     Thus  Mamant :  -^ 

La  Mort  nous  guette  ;  et  quand  srs  loia 

Nous  ont  enfennds  une  fois 

Au  sein  d'une  fosse  profonde, 

Adieu  bons  vins  et  bon  repas  • 

Ma  science  ne  trouve  pas 

Des  cabarets  en  I'autre  inonde. 
From   Mainard,  Gombauld,  and  De  Cailly,  old  rretia 
poets,  some  of  the  best  epigrams  of  the  English  languajp 
have  been  borrowed. 

*  Bid  the  blush  of  summer's  rose 

Bum  upon  my  forehead's  snows;  ^c.]  Licetus,  in  his  fli 
eroglyphica,  quoting  two  of  our  poet's  odes,  where  he  caUi 
to  his  attendants  for  garlands,  remarks,  "  Constat  igitul 
floreas  coronas  poetis  et  potantibus  in  symposio  convenire 
non  autem  sapientibus  et  philosophia  n  afTectantibus."  -  '  .  1 
appears  that  wreaths  of  flowers  were  adapted  for  poets  and 
revellers  at  banquets,  but  by  no  means  became  thnie  whc 
had  pretensions  to  wisdom  and  philosophy."  On  (his  priir 
ciple,  in  his  152d  chapter,  he  discovers  a  refinement  in  Virgil, 
describing  the  garland  of  the  poet  Silenus,  as  fallen  off 
which  distinguishes,  he  thinks,  the  divme  intoxication  1 
Silenus  from  that  of  common  drunkards,  who  always  wea/ 
their  crowns  while  they  drink.  Such  is  the  "  labor  inrp 
tiarum  "  of  commentators  ! 

*  He  still  can  kiss  the  goblet's  brim ;  ^c]  Wine  is  pr» 
scribed  by  Galen,  as  an  excellent  medicine  for  old  men 
"  Quod  frigidos  et  humoribus  expletos  calefaciat,  &r. ; "  bu< 
Nature  was  Anacreon's  physician. 


ODES   OF   ANACREON. 


na 


Ai  deeply  qua.^,  as  lart^ely  nil. 
And  play  che  fool  righb  ncbiy  >jtilL 


ODE  LTV.' 

Methinks,  li.e  plctur'd  bull  wt  see 
Is  amorous  J^ve  —  it  must  be  h* ! 
Hew  fondly  b>*8t  he  seems  to  bear 
That  fairest  of  Phoenician  fair  ! 
How  proud  he  \jreasts  the  foamy  ti  v, 
And  spurns  the  billowy  surge  aside  i 
Could  any  beast  of  vulgar  vein, 
Undaunted  thus  defy  the  main  ? 
No  :  he  descends  irom  climes  above, 
He  looks  the  God,  he  breathes  of  Jov» ' 


«  TfceM  is  a  proverb  in  Eriplwf,  aa  quoted  by  AthenrcwS 
Which  says,  "  that  wine  makes  an  old  man  dance,  whswhei 
to  will  or  DoL" 

A*^u(  tar'  apx<^">St  <f  <r.i«(Of  ix^^i 
Oii'ni'  Xeyovat  rovf  ytpu.'ras,  <ii  varep, 
XltiJety  x"P^">'  9vSsXoi>Tnj. 

1  "  I'hiti  ode  is  written  upon  a  picture  which  represented 
'he  tape  of  Europa."  —  Madame  Di.tier. 

It  may  probably  huve  been  a  description  of  one  of  tho^e 
r<iliis,  which  the  Sidonians  stnirk  of/  in  honor  of  Europa, 
representing  a  woman  carried  across  the  sea  by  a  bull. 
riius  Natalis  Comes,  lib.  viii.  cap.  33.  "  Sidonii  numismata 
-i:m  fceinini  taiiri  dorso  insidente  ac  mue  transfretante  ru- 
:!i  runt  in  ejus  honorem."  In  the  little  Irealise  upon  the  god- 
I'ss  f  Syria,  attributed  very  falsely  to  Lucian,  there  is 
mention  of  this  coin,  and  of  a  temple  dedicated  by  the  Si- 
I  'iiians  to  Astarti,  whom  some,  it  appeal i, confounded  with 
l-^iiropa. 

The  poet  Moschus  has  left  a  very  beautifUl  idyl  on  the 
•tory  of  Eurn[ia. 

«  JVo .-  A«  de.ieends  from  climet  above, 

Ue  looks  the  Qod,  he  breatlua  of  Jove .']  1 1jtis  Moschtis :  — 

Kpvtf/c  ^cov  KOt  rpcipt  St/iaf  xat  ytPtre  ravpaf. 

'J'he  god  forget  himself,  his  heaven,  for  love. 
And  a  bull's  form  belled  th'  almighty  Jove. 

This  ode  is  a  brilliant  panegyric  on  the  rose.    "  All  an- 
tiquity (says  Barnes)  has  produced  nothing  more  beautiful." 
From  the  idea  of  peculiar  excellence,  which  the  ancients 
ittached  to  this  flower,  arose  a  pretty  proverbial  expression, 
osed  by  Aristophanes,  according  to  Suidas,  /jxja  fi'  cipniai, 
"  Tou  havf  »poken  roses,"  a  phrase  somewhat  similar  to 
khe  "  dire  d«s  fleurettes  "  of  the  Frenih.    In  the  same  idea 
of  excellence  originated,  I  doubt  not,  a  very  curious  appli- 
ration  of  the  word  l,oiuv,  fur  which  the  inquisitive  reader 
may  consult  Gaulminus  upon  the  epithalamium  of  our  poet, 
vhere  it  ia  introduced  in  the  romance  of  Theodorus.    Mu- 
'enii.  in  one  of  his  elegies,  calls  his  mi^^tress  his  rose :  — 
Jam  te  igitur  rursus  teneo,  formosula,  Jam  te 
(Quid  trepidas  .')  teneo ;  jam,  rosa,  te  tenea 

Eleg.  8. 
Now  I  again  may  clasp  thee,  dearest. 
What  is  t'tera  now,  on  eartli,  tliou  feareat  ? 

14 


ODE  LV.« 

While  we  invoke  the  wreathed  spring. 
Resplendent  rose  !  to  thee  we'll  sing ;  * 
Resplendent  rose,  the  flower  of  flowers, 
"WTiose  breath  perfumes  th'  01ympi?m  bowen 
Whose  virgin  blush,  of  chasten'd  dye, 
Enchants  so  much  our  mortal  eye. 
When  pleasure's  spring-tide  season  glow* 
The  Graces  love  to  wreathe  the  rose , 
And  Venus,  in  its  fresh-blown  leaves,* 
An  emblem  of  herself  perceives. 
Oft  hath  the  poet's  magic  tongue 
The  rose's  fair  luxuriance  sung  ;  • 
And  long  the  Muses,  heavenly  maids, 
Have  rear'd  in  it  their  tuneful  shades. 


Again  these  longing  anns  infold  thee, 
Again,  my  rose,  again  I  hold  the». 
This,  like  most  of  the  terms  of  endearment  in  the  moden 
tiatin  poets,  is  taken  from  Plautus ;  they  were  vulgar  and 
<(-lloquiaI  in  his  time,  but  are  among  the  elegances  of  th« 
ro  idem  Latinists. 

Passeratius  alludes  to  the  ode  before  us,  in  the  beginning 
of  liij  poem  on  the  Rose :  — 

Carmine  digna  rosa  est ;  vellem  caneretur  ut  illam 
Teius  argut&  cecinit  testudine  vates. 
*  Kesplendeiit  rose  '.  to  thee  ve'll  tinf  ;]  I  have  passed  over 
the  line  crw  Iraipti  av(ti  iie'Sirnv,  which  is  corrupt  in  this 
original  reading,  and  has  been  very  little  improved  by  the 
annotators.  I  shpuld  suppose  it  to  be  an  inteqiolation,  if  il 
were  not  for  a  line  which  occurs  afterwards  :  (fept  Sn  <pvaii> 
Xtyuitcv. 

S  And  fenus,  in  iu  fresh-blown  lenves,  ^c]     Belleau,  in  a 
note  upon  an  old  French  poet,  quoting  the  original  hers 
atppoiii/iu)v  t'  aOvppa,  translates  it,  "  coroine  les  d6lice«  •.' 
mignardices  de  Venus." 
«  Oft  halh  the  poeOs  ma/rie  tongue 

7%e  rose's  fair  luzuriatiee  sunff  ;  ^c]  The  following  is  h 
fragment  of  the  Lesbian  poetess.  It  is  cited  in  the  n  mane* 
of  Achilles  Tatiiis,  who  appears  to  have  resolved  the  nuro 
hers  into  prose.  Bi  roi;  avOcatv  rj^iXev  b  Zcti;  eirt6ttva> 
fiaatXea,  to  ^oSov  av  T'ov  avOiuiv  tSaaiXcvc.  yrn  can  atoff^St 
0t)T(ov  ayXa'tapa,  otpOaXpos  avBeoiv,  Xeiputvoi  tpvdnini,KaK 
Xoi  aarpavTov.  E/<a)r'>f  irwi,  Atppoitrriii  npo^cvti,  evti^ut 
(pvWoii  Kon'i,  evKit'l'roli  ireraXoii  Tpv<f>a.  to  rcruAot  if 
Zt^vpiu  ytXS. 

If  Jove  would  give  the  leafy  bowers 
A  aueen  for  all  their  world  of  flon  ^ra, 
The  rose  would  be  the  choice  of  Jove, 
And  blush,  the  queen  of  every  grov* 
Sweetest  child  of  weeping  morning, 
Gem,  the  vest  of  earth  adorning, 
Eye  of  gardens,  light  of  lawns. 
Nursling  of  soft  summer  dawns  ; 
Love's  own  earliest  sigh  it  breathes. 
Beauty's  brow  with  lustre  wreathes. 
And,  to  young  Zephyr's  warm  careaM« 
Spreads  abroad  its  verdant  treasw. 
Till,  blushing  with  the  wanton's  i>I«v 
It»  cheek  wears  e'en  a  richer  ra* 


When,  at  the  early  glance  of  mom, 
It  sleeps  upon  the  glittering  thorn, 
'Tis  sweet  to  dare  the  tangled  fenc«, 
To  cull  the  timid  flow'ret  thence, 
And  wipe  with  tender  hand  away 
TJie  tea/  that  on  its  blushes  lay ! 
Tis  sweet  to  hold  the  infant  stems, 
Yat  dropping  with  Aurora's  gems, 
A  J  i  fresh  inhale  the  spicy  sighs 
i  htt  from  the  weeping  buds  arise. 

When  revel  reigns,  when  mirth  is  high, 
And  Bacchus  beams  in  every  eye, 
Our  rosy  fiHets  scent  exhale, 
And  fiU  witl  balm  the  fainting  gale. 
TJ  sere's  nought  in  nature  bright  or  gay, 
Whare  roses  do  not  shed  their  ray. 
When  morning  paints  the  orient  skies, 
Eltr  fingors  burn  with  roseate  dyes ; ' 
Young  nymphs  betray  the  rose's  hue. 
O'er  whitest  arms  it  kindles  through. 
In  Cytherea's  form  it  glows, 
And  mingles  with  the  living  snows. 

Tlic  rose  distils  a  healing  balm, 
The  beating  pulse  of  pain  to  calm ; 


1   JfTken  morning  p'lints  the  orient  skies, 

Jierjjngera  bum  uiitk  roseate  dyes ;  H'c]  In  the  original 
licrc,  he  eiiuniprates  the  many  epithets  of  beauty,  borrowed 
fri'iii  roses,  wliich  were  nsed  by  tlie  (Kieta,  vapa  tojv  aofov 
We  see  that  (Kiets  were  dignified  in  Greece  with  the  title  of 
lagei  :  even  tin  careless  Aiiacreoii,  wlio  lived  but  for  love 
tiid  vohiptuousness,  was  called  by  Plato  the  wit*  Anac- 
reiin  —  "  fuit  htec  sapientia  quondam." 

3  Prf^ernrs  the  cold  inumtd  clay,  ^c]  He  here  alludes  to 
the  iiwe  of  the  rose  in  embalming  ;  and,  perhaps  (as  Barnes 
Jii.jks),  to  the  rosy  unguent  with  which  Venus  anointed 
tJie  ctirpso  of  Hector.—  Homer's  Iliad  ip.  It  may  likewise 
rc}::ird  the  ancient  practice  of  putting  garlands  of  roses  on 
the  dead,  as  in  Statins,  Theb.  lib.  x.  782. 

hi  sertis,  hi  veris  honore  soluto 

Accuniulant  artus,  patrilipie  in  sede  reponunt 
Corj'us  odorat'im. 

W  liere  "  veris  honor,"  though  it  mean  every  kind  of  flowers, 
a.j-y  seem  more  parlic.ilarly  to  refer  to  the  rose,  which  our 
p  e'  in  another  ode  tails  i<tfjoi  /J£^r)/<a.  We  read,  in  the 
ii  ei  iif  lyphics  of  Pierius,  lib.  Iv.,  that  some  of  the  ancients 
U;-ed  to  order  in  their  wills,  that  ruses  should  be  annually 
scattered  on  their  tombs,  and  Pierius  has  adduced  some 
lepulchral  inscriptions  to  this  puri>ose. 

>  And  mocks  the  vettige  of  decay .]  When  he  says  that 
Ihis  flower  prevails  over  time  itself,  he  still  alludes  to  its 
•ticacy  in  embalmment  (tenera  poneret  ossa  rosa.  Propert 
lib.  i.  eleg.  17),  or  perhaps  to  the  subsequent  idea  of  its 
fragrance  surviving  it.s  beauty  ;  for  he  can  scarcely  mean  to 
praise  foi  duraiion  the  "  nimium  breves  flores  "  of  the  rose. 
Philostra'us  ctunpares  :his  (lower  with  love,  and  says,  that 
Ih-'y  btiti  lefy  U  e  influeiice  of  time  ;  xt'O""'  ^«  <""■*  Eptoj, 


Preserves  the  cold  inurned  clay,* 
And  mocks  the  vestige  of  decay  :  • 
And  when  at  length,  in  pale  decline. 
Its  florid  beauties  fade  and  pine. 
Sweet  as  In  youth,  its  balmy  breath 
Diffuses  odor  even  in  death  !  * 
O,  whence  could  such  a  plant  have  sprupff ' 
Listen,  —  for  thus  the  tale  is  sung. 
When,  humid,  from  the  silvery  stream, 
Effusing  beauty's  warmest  beam, 
Venus  appear'd,  in  flushing  hues, 
Mcllow'd  by  ocean's  briny  dews ; 
When,  in  the  starry  courts  above, 
The  pregnant  brain  of  mighty  Jove 
Disclos'd  the  nymph  of  azure  glance. 
The  nymph  who  shakes  the  martial  lance  •  - 
Then,  then,  in  strange  eventful  hour. 
The  earth  produc'd  an  infant  flower, 
Which  sprung,  in  blushing  glories  dress'd 
And  wanton'd  o'er  its  parent  breast. 
The  gods  beheld  this  brilliant  birth, 
And  hail'd  the  Rose,  the  boon  of  earth  I 
With  nectar  drops,  a  ruby  tide. 
The  sweetly  orient  buds  they  dyed,* 
And  bade  them  bloom,  the  flowers  divine 
Of  him  who  gave  the  glorious  vine ; 


OUTS  ^oSa  oiitv.    Unfortunately  the  similitude  lies  rxjl  u 
their  duration,  but  their  transience. 
*  Sweet  as  in  youth,  its  balmy  breath 
Diffuses  odor  even  in  death!]    Thus  Casper  BarlaeuK,  in 
his  Ritus  Nuptiarum : 

Ambrositim  late  rosa  tunc  quoque  spargit  odorem, 
Cum  fluit,  aut  multo  languida  sole  jacet 
Nor  then  the  rose  its  odor  loses, 

When  all  its  flushing  beauties  die  ; 
Nor  less  ambrosial  balm  diffuses, 
When  wither'd  by  the  solar  eye. 

S   fVuh  nectar  drops,  a  ruby  tide. 

The  sweetly  orient  buds  they  dijed,  ^c]  The  author  of  the 
"  Pervigilium  Veneris  "  (a  poem  attributed  to  Catullus,  the 
style  of  which  appears  to  me  to  have  all  the  labored  luxun- 
ance  of  a  much  later  period)  ascribes  the  tincture  of  the  xcai 
to  the  blood  from  the  wound  of  Adonis  — 

ros» 

FusjB  aprino  de  cruore  — 
according  to  the  emendation  of  Lipsius.     In  the  foil  > 
epigram  this  hue  is  differently  accounted  for  :  — 
Ilia  quidem  studiosa  suum  defendere  Adonim 

Gradivus  stricto  quern  petit  ense  ferox, 
Affixit  duris  vestigia  cseca  rosetis, 

Albaque  divino  picta  cruore  rosa  est. 
While  the  enamonr'd  queen  of  jov 
Flies  to  protect  her  lovely  boy. 

On  whom  the  jealous  war  god  rushes ; 
'She  treads  upon  a  thorned  rose. 
And  while  the  wound  with  crimson  flows. 
The  snowy  flow'ret  feels  her  blood,  and  blushes 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


lU 


And  bade  them  on  th«  spangled  thorn 
'xpand  their  bosoms  to  the  mom. 

ODE  LVI.' 

He,  who  instructs  the  youthful  crew 
To  bathe  them  in  the  brimmer's  dew 
And  taste,  uncloy'd  by  rich  excesses, 
All  the  Lliss  that  wine  possesses  ; 
He,  who  inspires  the  youth  to  bound 
Elastic  through  the  dance's  round,  — 
bicchuH,  the  god  again  is  here. 
And  leads  along  the  blushing  year  ; 
The  blushing  year  with  vintage  teems. 
Ready  to  shed  those  cordial  streams. 
Which,  sparkling  in  the  cup  of  mirth, 
Illuminate  the  sons  of  earth  !  * 

Then,  when  the  ripe  and  rermil  wine,  — 
iJlest  infant  of  the  pregnant  vine, 
Which  now  in  mellow  clusters  swells,  — 
O,  when  it  bursts  its  roseate  cells, 
Brightly  the  joyous  stream  qhall  flow. 
To  balsam  every  mortal  woe  ! 
None  shall  be  then  cast  down  or  weak. 
For  health  and  joy  shall  light  each  cheek; 
No  heart  will  then  desponding  sigh. 
For  wine  shall  bid  despondence  fly. 
Thus  —  till  another  autumn's  glow 
Shall  bid  another  vintage  flow. 

I  *  Compare  with  this  elegant  ode  the  veraes  of  Uz,  lib.  L 
ilie  Weinlwe.'  "  —  Degen. 

Tliis  ap|)ears  to  be  one  of  the  hymn*  which  were  sung  at 
■^.e  :'riiiivcrsarj'  festival  of  the  vintage  ;  one  of  the  titiXrtviui 
;.;  1  ,  ao  our  poet  him<elf  terms  them  in  the  fifty-ninth  ode. 
\\f  I  annot  lielp  feeling  a  sort  of  reverence  for  these  classic 
•elics  of  the  relJL'i'in  of  antiqriiry.  Horace  may  be  supposed 
ja  *iave  written  tlie  nineteenth  ode  of  his  second  book,  and 
Jie  twenty-fifth  of  the  third,  for  some  bacchanalian  eelebn- 
Jon  of  this  kind. 

'   ffhieh,  gparkling  in  the.  mji  nf  mirth, 

niuminau  tkt  Hnu  tf  tur(hi'\  In  the  original  irorov 
arrrnov  anitt'wv,  Madame  Dacier  thinks  that  the  poet 
here  had  the  nepenthe  of  Homer  in  his  mind.  Odysiicy, 
lib.  iv.  This  nepenthe  was  a  something  of  exquisite  charm, 
nf  iseil  by  Helen  into  the  wine  of  her  guests,  which  had 
i\t  power  of  dls|ielling  every  anxiety.  A  French  writer, 
Df  Werk,  coTijectiires  thai  this  spell,  which  made  the  howl 
(0  beguiling,  was  the  charm  of  Helen's  converution.  See 
Bay!e,  art.  Heline. 

3  This  ode  is  a  very  animated  description  of  a  picture  of 
Ven  IS  on  a  discus,  which  represented  the  goddess  in  her 
Brxt  emerBerire  fmm  the  waves.  About  two  centuries  after 
our  (Kiel  wrote,  the  pencil  of  the  artist  .\|>elles  embellished 
this  subject,  in  his  famous  painting  of  the  Venus  Anadyo- 
neni,  the  model  of  which,  an  Pliny  mforms  us,  was  the 
"Maiitiful  Campaspe,  given  to  him  by  Alexander ;  though, 
ucording  to  Natalis  0)m«8,  lib.  vii.  cap.  10,  it  was  Phryne 
"ho  sat  to  Apclle-i  for  the  face  and  breast  of  this  Venus. 

There  are  a  few  blemishes  in  the  reading  of  the  ode  before 


ODE  Lvn.» 

Whose  was  the  artist  hand  that  ipr^At* 

Upon  this  disk  the  ocean's  bed  ?  * 

And,  in  a  flight  of  fancy,  high 

As  aught  OP  earthly  wing  nan  fly, 

Depicteu  thus,  in  semblance  warm. 

The  Queen  of  Love's  voluptuous  form 

Floating  along  the  silv'ry  sea 

In  beauty's  naked  majesty  ! 

O,  he  hath  given  th'  enamour'd  sight 

A  witching  banquet  of  delight. 

Where,  gleaming  through  the  waters  clsar^ 

Glimpses  of  undream'd  charms  appear. 

And  all  that  mystery  loves  to  screen, 

Fancy,  like  Faith,  adores  unseen.* 

Light  as  a  leaf,  that  on  the  breex« 
Of  summer  skims  the  glassy  seas. 
She  floats  along  the  ocean's  breast. 
Which  undulates  in  sleepy  rest ; 
While  stealing  on,  she  gently  pillows 
Her  bosom  on  the  heaving  billows. 
Her  bosom,  like  the  dew-wash'd  rose,* 
Her  neck,  like  April's  sparkling  snows, 
Illume  the  liquid  path  she  traces. 
And  burn  within  the  stream's  embraces. 
Thus  on  she  moves,  in  languid  pride. 
Encircled  by  the  azure  tide, 

us,  which  have  influenced  Faber,  Heyne,  Brunek,  &r.  U 
denounce  the  whole  poem  as  spurious.  But,  "non  ef( 
paucis  offendar  maculis."  I  think  it  is  quite  beauLfii' 
enough  to  be  authentic. 

*  Whose  was  the  artist  hand  that  spread 

Upon  this  diik  the  octanes  bed?]  The  abniptness  of  fz<iu 
Ti(  T'.ip'vat  TrovTov,  is  finely  expressive  of  sudden  adinir.i 
tion,  and  is  one  of  those  beauties  which  we  cannot  but  adniirt 
m  their  source,  thougli,  by  frequent  imitation,  they  ore  uom 
become  familiar  and  unimpressive. 

6  ^nd  all  that  mystery  loots  to  tercen. 

Fancy,  like  Faith,  adores  unseen,  4'C.]  The  picture  han 
has  all  the  delicate  character  of  the  semi-reducta  Venus,  and 
afTortk:  a  happy  specimen  of  what  the  (K>elr>'  of  pauslor 
ought  to  be —  glowing  but  through  a  veil,  and  stealing  npoi. 
the  heart  from  concealment  Few  of  the  ancients  have  at 
tained  this  modesty  of  description,  which,  like  the  gildf  i 
cloud  that  hung  over  Jupiter  and  Juno,  is  impervicui  h 
ever>'  beam  but  that  of  fancy 

*  Hir  bosom,  like  the  deio-vasK'd  rose,  S[e,\  " 'P*)"  t.i» 
(says  an  anonymous  annotator)  is  a  whimsical  epithet  ibi 
the  bosom."  Neither  Catullus  nor  Gray  have  been  cf  hit 
opinion.    The  former  has  the  expression, 

En  hic  in  roseis  latet  papillis. 
And  the  latter, 

liO  !  where  the  rosy-bosom'd  hours,  &e. 
Cmttiis,  a  modem  Lalinist,  might  indeed  be  censarrd  Km 
too  vague  a  use  of  the  epithet  "  rosy,"  when  b«  appliei  <* 
to  tbe  eyes :  — "  e  roseis  oculis." 


.16 


ODES   OF  ANACREON, 


As  some  fair  lily  o'er  a  bed 

Of  violets  bends  its  graceful  head. 

Beneath  their  queen's  inspiring  glance, 
The  dolphins  o'er  the  green  sea  dance, 
Bearing  in  triumph  young  Desire,' 
And  infant  Love  with  smiles  of  fire  ! 
WhUe,  glittering  through  the  silver  waves, 
The  tenants  of  the  briny  caves 
Around  the  pomp  their  gambols  play. 
And  gleam  along  the  watery  way. 


ODE  LVIII.« 

When  Gold,  as  fleet  as  zephjT's  pinion. 
Escapes  like  any  faithless  minion,'' 
And  flies  me  (as  he  flics  me  ever  *), 
Do  I  pursue  him  ?  never,  never  ! 
No,  let  the  false  deserter  go, 
For  who  would  court  his  direst  foe  ? 
But,  when  I  feel  my  lighten' d  mind 
No  more  by  grovelling  gold  confin'd, 
Then  loose  I  all  such  clinging  cares, 
And  cast  them  to  the  vagrant  airs, 
llien  feel  I,  too,  the  Muse's  spell. 
And  wake  to  life  the  dulcet  shell, 
"Which,  rous'd  once  moie,  to  beauty  sings, 
While  love  dissolves  along  the  strings  ! 

But  scarcely  has  my  heart  been  taught 
How  little  Gold  deserves  a  thought. 


1  young  Desire,  ^e.]     In  the  original  'I/irpoj,  who 

Haa  the  snme  deity  witli  Jocus  among  the  Romans.  Aure- 
ius  Augiirellus  has  a  ix)em  h^inning  — 

1-vitat  olim  Bacchus  ad  coenani  suoa 

Comon,  Jocuin,  Cupidinein. 

tVhicb  Pamell  has  closely  imitated  :  — 

Gay  Bacchus,  liking  Estcourt's  wine, 

A  noble  meal  bespoke  us  ; 
And  for  the  guests  that  were  to  dine, 

Brought  Comus,  Love,  and  Jocus,  &c. 

I  have  followed  Barnes's  arrangement  of  this  ode,  which, 
ihougli  deviating  somewhat  from  the  Vatican  MS.,  appears 
to  me  the  more  natural  order, 
s  When  Oold,  as  fleet  as  zephyr's  pinion,  ' 

Escapes  like  any  faithless  minion,  ^c]  In  the  original  'O 
f^arrtrrii  b  xp^iffoj.  There  is  a  kind  of  pun  in  these  words, 
ta  Mad  ime  Uacier  has  already  remarked  ;  for  Chrysos,  which 
lignifies  gold,  was  also  a  frequent  name  for  a  slave.  In  one 
ef  Lucian's  dialogues,  there  is,  I  think,  a  similar  play  upon 
the  word,  where  the  followers  of  Chrysippus  are  called 
golden  fishes.  The  puns  of  the  ancients  are,  in  general, 
*ven  more  vapid  than  our  own  ;  some  of  the  best  are  those 
lecorded  of  Diogenes. 

*  jJno  flies  me  (as  he  flies  me  ever),  ^e.]  Aci  J',  ati  fte 
fniyet.  This  grace  of  iteration  has  already  been  taken  no- 
fic«*  ot    Though  sometimes  merely  a  playful  beauty,  it  is 


When,  lo  !  the  slave  returns  once  more. 
And  with  him  wafts  delicious  store 
Of  racy  wine,  whose  genial  art 
In  slujnber  seals  the  anxioijs  heart. 
Again  he  tries  my  soul  to  sever 
From  love  and  song,  perhaps  forever  ! 

Away,  deceiver  !  why  pursuing 
Ceaseless  thus  my  heart's  undoing  ? 
Sweet  is  the  song  of  amorous  fire, 
Sweet  the  sighs  that  thrill  the  lyre  ; 
O,  sweeter  far  than  all  the  gold 
Thy  wings  can  waft,  thy  mines  can  hold. 
Well  do  I  know  thy  arts,  thy  wiles  — 
They  wither' d  Love's  young  wreathed  smiles 
And  o'er  his  lyre  such  darkness  shed, 
I  thought  its  soul  of  song  was  fled  ! 
ITiey  dash'd  the  wine  cup,  that,  by  him. 
Was  filled  with  kisses  to  the  brim.* 
Go  —  fly  to  haunts  of  sordid  men. 
But  come  not  near  the  bard  again. 
Thy  glitter  in  the  Muse's  shade. 
Scares  from  her  bower  the  tuneful  maid  j 
And  not  for  worlds  w.ould  I  forego 
That  moment  of  poetic  glow, 
When  my  full  soul,  in  Fancy's  stream, 
Pours  o'er  the  lyre  its  swelling  theme. 
Away,  away  !  to  worldlings  hence, 
Who  feel  not  this  diviner  sense  ; 
Give  gold  to  those  who  love  that  pest,  — 
But  leave  the  poet  poor  and  blest. 


peculiarly  expressive  of  impassioned  sentiment,  and  we  maj 
easily  believe  that  it  was  one  of  the  many  sources  of  that 
energetic  sensibility  which  breathed  through  the  style  of 
Bappho.  See  Gyrald.  Vet.  Poet.  Dial.  9.  It  will  not  be  snii 
that  this  is  a  mechanical  ornament  by  any  one  who  can  fee, 
its  charm  in  those  lines  of  Catullus,  where  lie  complains  of 
the  infidelity  of  his  mistress,  Lesbia  :  — 

Cceli,  Lesbia  nostra,  Leshia  ilia, 

Ilia  Leshia,  quam  Catullus  unam, 

Plus  quam  se  atque  suos  aniavit  omnes. 

Nunc,  &c. 
Si  sic  omnia  dixisset !  —  but  the  rest  does  not  bear  citatmn. 
6   They  dash'd  the  wine  cup,  t'lat,  by  him. 
Was  fillea  with  kissrs  to  the  brim.]    Original :  — 
<l>iXi//iar(i)»'  Se  KeSvioi', 

HndlOtl   KVITCWU  KljJVrfi. 

Horace  has  "Desiderique  teniperare  poculum,"  not  lig- 
uratively,  however,  like  Anacreon,  but  importing  the  lov« 
philters  of  the  witches.     By  "  cups  of  ki.sses  "  our  poet  may 
allude  to  a  favorite  gallantry  among  the  ancients,  of  drinkin| 
when  the  lips  of  their  mistresses  had  touched  the  brim :  — 
"  Or  leave  a  kiss  within  the  cup, 
And  I'll  not  ask  for  wine." 
As  in  Ben  Jonson's  translation  from  Philostratus  ;  and  Lu 
cian  has  a  conceit  upon  the  same  idea,  "  'Ii/a  /cui  -rnvTn  d\ 
Kui  6i\riit"  "  '''^'  y""  '"•''^  *'  """^^  ^  ^^  drink  and  Kiss." 


ODES   OF  ANACREON. 


Hi 


ODE  LIX.» 

Ripen'd  by  the  solar  beam. 

Now  the  ruddy  clusters  teem, 

In  osier  baskets  borne  along 

By  all  the  festal  vintage  throng 

Of  rosy  youths  and  virgins  fair, 

Ripe  as  the  melting  fruits  they  bear. 

Now,  now  they  press  the  pregnant  grapes, 

And  now  the  captive  stream  escapes, 

In  fervid  tide  of  nectar  gushing, 

And  for  its  bondage  proudly  blushing ! 

While,  round  the  vat's  impurpled  brim, 

TVe  choral  song,  the  vintage  hymn 

Of  losy  youths  and  virgins  fair. 

Steals  on  the  charm'd  and  echoing  air. 

Mark,  how  they  drink,  with  all  their  eyes, 

The  orient  tide  that  sparkling  flies. 

The  infant  Bacchus,  born  in  mirth, 

While  Love  stands  by,  to  hail  the  birth. 

^\^len  he  whose  verging  years  decline 
As  deep  into  the  vale  as  mine. 
When  he  inhales  the  vintage  cup. 
His  feet,  new-wing'd,  from  earth  spring  up, 
And,  as  he  dances,  the  fresh  air 
Plays  whispering  through  his  silvery  hair. 
Meanwhile  young  groups  whom  love  invites, 
To  joys  ev'n  rivalling  \*-ine's  delights. 
Seek,  arm  in  arm,  the  shadowj-  grove, 
Andjthere,  in  words  and  looks  of  love. 
Such  a-s  fond  lovers  look  and  say. 
Pass  the  sweet  moonlight  hours  away.* 


ODE  LX.» 

AwAKB  to  life,  my  sleeping  shell, 
To  Phoebus  let  thy  numbers  swell ; 


I  Ibe  titl«  EirtArivio;  v/ivof,  which  Bames  has  given  to 
*!  >de,  is  by  no  means  ap|>n>priate.  We  have  already  had 
III"  if  those  hymns  (ode  56),  but  this  is  a  description  of  tlie 
niiutue  ;  and  llie  title  ci;  otfov,  which  it  bears  in  the  Vati- 
»n  MS.,  is  more  correct  than  any  that  have  been  suggested. 

Df^en,  m  tJie  true  spirit  of  literary  scepticism,  doubts  that 
iiu  ode  is  genuine,  without  assigning  any  reaMin  for  such  a 
luspicion  ;  —  "  non  amo  te,  Pabidi,  nee  possum  dicerequare." 
But  this  is  far  from  s.-itisfactor}'  criticism. 

*  Thos^  well  arqiiuinted  with  the  original  need  hardly  be 
reniindod  that,  in  these  few  concluding  verses,  I  have  thought 
ight  ti/  give  on  y  t)ie  general  meanin;{  «>f  my  author,  leaving 
♦je  nrtails  iintmjrhed. 

*  This  hymn  to  Ajxillo  is  supposed  not  to  have  been  writ- 
ten by  .\nacreon  ;  and  it  is  undoubtedly  rather  a  sublimer 
Sight  than  the  Teian  wing  is  accustomed  to  soar.  But,  in  a 
toet  of  ivhose  workf  so  small  a  pr> -portion  has  reached  us, 
li'ertity  of  style  i'  by  no  meant  a  safe  criterioi      If  wa 


And  though  no  glorious  prize  be  thine, 

No  Pythian  wreath  around  thee  twine, 

Yet  every  hour  is  glory's  hotir 

To  him  who  gathers  wisdom's  flower. 

Then   wake  thee  from   thy   voiceless    iliim 

bers. 
And  to  the  soft  and  Phrygian  niunbexs. 
Which,  tremblingly,  my  lips  repeat. 
Send  echoes  from  thy  chord  as  sweet. 
'Tis  thus  the  swan,  with  fading  notes, 
Down  the  Cayster's  currt  nt  floats. 
While  amorous  breezes  linger  round. 
And  sigh  responsive  soimd  for  sound. 

Muse  of  the  Lyre  !  illume  my  dream. 
Thy  Phoebus  is  my  fancy's  theme  ; 
And  hallow'd  is  the  harp  I  bear. 
And  hallow'd  is  the  wreath  I  wear, 
Hallow'd  by  him,  the  god  of  lays, 
Who  modulates  the  choral  maze. 
I  sing  the  love  which  Daphne  twin'd 
Around  the  godhead's  yielding  mind ; 
I  sing  the  blushing  Daphne's  flight 
From  this  ethereal  son  of  Light ; 
And  how  the  tender,  timid  maid 
Flew  trembling  to  the  kindly  shade  * 
llesign'd  a  form,  alas,  too  fair, 
And  grew  a  verdant  laurel  there ; 
Whose  leaves,  with  sympathetic  thrill. 
In  terror  seem'd  to  tremble  still ! 
The  god  pursu'd,  with  wing'd  desire ; 
And  when  his  hopes  were  all  on  fire, 
And  when  to  clasp  the  nymph  he  thought, 
A  Ufeless  tree  was  all  he  caught ; 
And,  'stead  of  sighs  that  pleasure  heaves. 
Heard  but  the  west  wind  in  the  leaves  ! 

• 
But  pause,  my  soul,  no  more,  no  moi* 
Enthusiast,  whither  do  I  soar  ? 

knew  Horace  but  as  a  satirist,  ^should  we  easily  bc-'eve  then 
could  dwell  such  aniniatinti  in  his  lyre?  Suidas  says  thai 
our  poet  wrote  hymns,  and  this  (Ksrhaps  is  one  of  them.  °A'« 
can  perceive  in  wliat  an  altered  and  imiwrfect  atate  nis  wore* 
are  at  present,  when  we  find  a  scholiast  upon  Horac«  «i»*«j 
an  ode  from  the  third  InkjR  of  Anacreon 

*  And  hote  the  tender,  timid  maid 

Flete  trembling  to  On  kindly  shade,  f  c]    Origlnai :  -• 

Tu  iicv  t«)rt0tt)t  KcvTpuv, 
^vatii>t  6^  a/iinf/c  liopipii/. 

I  And  the  word  xcvrnuv  here  has  a  double  force,  as  il  aim 
signifies  tlial  "omnium  parentem,  quam  sanctus  Numa,&£ 
Ice"  (8ee  MartiaL)  In  order  to  confirm  this  iuiport  of  ti» 
word  here,  tliose  who  are  curious  in  new  mduigs,  mc 
place  the  stop  after  ipvotuif,  thus :  — 

Tj  /ijf  CKntiptvyt  KtvTOo> 
^v<r<b)(,  d'  uiicitX«  uvo^'v 


This  Bweetly-madd'ning  dream  of  soul 
Hath  huyried  me  beyond  the  goal. 
Why  Bhoxdd  I  sing  the  mighty  darts 
Which  fly  to  wound  celestial  hearts, 
When  ah,  the  song,  with  sweeter  tone, 
Can  tell  tlie  darts  that  wound  my  own  ? 
Still  be  Anacreon,  still  inspire 
The  descar*  of  the  Teian  lyre  :  • 
Still  let  the  nectar' d  numbers  float, 
Distilling  lore  in  every  note  ! 
And  when  some  youth,  whose  glowing  soul 
Has  felt  the  Paphian  star's  control, 
When  he  the  liquid  lays  shall  hear. 
His  heart  will  flutter  to  his  ear, 
And  drinking  there  of  song  divine, 
Banquet  on  intellectual  wine  !  * 


StUl  be  AnaereoH,  stUl  inspire 

'JTie  descant  of  the  Teian  lyre :]  The  original  is  Ton  Ava- 
tpcovra  ittiiov.  I  have  translated  it  under  the  supposition 
Hmt  the  hymn  is  by  Anacreon  ;  tluiugli,  I  fear,  from  this 
very  line,  tliat  his  claim  to  it  can  scarcely  be  supported. 

Tof  AvaKptoi/TU  nifiDV,  "  Imitate  Anacreon."    Such  is 
the  lesson  given  us  by  the  lyrist ;  and  if,  in  poetry,  a  simple 
elegance  of  sentiment,  enriched  by  the  most  playful  felicities 
of  fancies,  be  a.  charm  which  invites  or  deserves  imitation, 
where  shall  we  find  such  a  gtiide  as  Anacreon?     In  moral- 
ity, too,  with  w^me  little  reserve,  we  need  not  blush,  I  think, 
to  follow  in  his  footsteps.     For  if  his  song  be  tiie  language 
of  his  heart,  though  luxurious  and  relaxed,  he  was  artless 
and  benevolent ;  and  who  would  not  forgive  a  few  irregu- 
larities, when  atoned  for  by  virtues  so  rare  and  so  endearing .' 
When  we  think  of  the  sentiment  in  those  lines:  — 
Away  !  I  hate  the  slanderous  dart, 
Which  steals  to  wound  th'  unwary  heart, 
now  many  are  there  in  the  world,  to  whom  we  would  wish 
to  jiay.  Ton  AvuKpcovra  fitjiov! 

2  Here  ends  the  last  of  the  odes  in  the  Vatican  MS.,  whose 
authority  helps  to  confirm  the  geimiiie  antiquity  of  them  all, 
though  a  lew  have  stolen  among  the  number,  wliich  we 
may  hesitate  in  attributing  to  Anacreon.  In  the  little  essay 
prefixed  to  this  translation,  I  observed  that  Karnes  has 
quoted  this  ncmuscript  incorrectly,  relying  upon  an  imper- 
ii copy  of  it,  which  Isaac  Vossius  had  taken.  I  shall  just 
tiir.tion  two  ^r  tliree  instances  of  this  inaccuracy  —  the 
ftrrt  which  occur  to  me.  In  the  ode  of  the  Dove,  on  the 
words  riri/jHKTi  avyKaXvxi/u>,  he  says,  "  Vatican  MS. 
a\)(TKia^(,iv,  etiam  Prisciano  invito:"  but  the  MS.  reads 
<ivvKa\vxl/w,  with  avoKiaaiii  interlined.  Degen  too,  on  the 
same  line,  is  somewhat  in  error.  In  tlie  twenty-.^econd 
:)ile  of  this  series,  line  thirteenth,  the  MS.  has  Tcmn  with 
a  interlined,  and  Barnes  imputes  to  it  the  reading  of  rsfcif;. 
In  the  fifty-seventh,  line  twelfth,  he  professes  to  have 
pre.served  the  reading  of  the  MS.  AAuA»);<ti'i)  S  cv'  avrri, 
while  t.he  latter  has  uXoAij^tvoj  6'  en'  uvra.  Almost  all 
tie  other  aunotators  havr  transplanted  these  errors  from 
Barnos. 


ODE  LXI.» 

YoxrrH's  endearing  charms  are  fled  ; 
Hoary  locks  deform  my  head  ;        ' 
Bloomy  graces,  dalliance  gay, 
All  the  flowers  of  life  decay.  * 
Withering  age  begins  to  trace 
Sad  memorials  o'er  my  face  ; 
Time  has  shed  its  sweetest  bloom. 
All  the  future  must  be  gloom. 
This  it  is  that  sets  me  sighing  ; 
Dreary  is  the  thought  of  dying  !  * 
Lone  and  dismal  is  the  road 
Down  to  Pluto's  dark  abode  ; 
And,  when  once  the  journey's  o'er, 
Ah  !  we  can  return  no  more  !  • 


ODE   LXIL' 
Fill  me,  boy,  as  deep  a  draught, 
As  e'er  was  fill'd,  ab  e'er  was  quafFd ; 

*  Tne  intrusion  of  this  melancholy  ode,  among  the  cai». 
less  levities  of  our  poet,  reminds  us  of  the  .skeletons  whict 
the  Egyptians  used  to  hang  up  in  their  banquet  rooms,  tc 
inculcate  a  thought  of  mortality  even  amidst  the  dissipation* 
of  mirth.  If  it  were  not  for  the  beauty  of  its  numbers,  tli« 
Teian  Muse  should  disown  this  ode.  "Quid  babe^illlU8, 
illius  qiis  spirabat  amores  ? " 

To  Stobffius  we  are  indebted  for  it 

*  Bloomy  ffract^,  dalliance  guy. 

All  the  f^vscTs  vf  life,  decay."]  Horace  often,  with  feeling 
and  elegance,  deplores  the  fugacity  of  human  enjoyments. 
See  book  ii.  ode  11 ;  and  thus  in  the  second  epistle,  book 
iL:  — 

Singula  de  nobis  anni  prsdantiir  euntes ; 

Eripuere  jocos,  venerem,  convivia,  luduin. 

The  wing  of  every  passing  day 
Withers  some  blooming  joy  away , 
And  wafts  from  our  enamour'd  arms 
The  banquet's  mirth,  the  virgin's  charms. 

*  Dreary  ia  the  thought  of  dying!  ^e.]  Regnier,  t,  ,er- 
tine  French  poet,  has  written  some  sonnets  on  the  approach 
of  death,  full  of  gloomy  and  trembling  repentance  Chau- 
lieu,  however,  supports  more  consistently  the  spirit  of  th« 
Epicurean  philosopher.  See  his  poem.  ad<lje3s<>d  'x>  *iw 
Marquis  de  Lafare  — 

Plus  j'approche  dii  terme  et  moins  jo  le  reaoi  .e,  &c. 

*  And,  when  once  the  journey's  o'er. 

Ah!  we  can  return  no  more!]  Scaligei  upon  Oatullus'l 
well-known  lines,  "  Qui  nunc  ft  per  iter,  Xcc,"  reirarlc* 
that  Acheron,  with  the  same  i.lea,  is  called  ui/c^r^ov  b> 
Theocritus,  and  ivaiKdpofiui  by  Nicander. 

'  This  ode  consists  of  two  fragments,  which  are  to  be 
found  in  Atliensus,  biHik  x.,  and  which  Barnes,  from  tha 
similarity  of  their  tendency,  has  combined  into  one.  I  think 
this  a  very  Justifiable  liberty,  and  have  adopted  it  in  somi 
other  fragments  of  our  poet. 

Degen  refers  us  here  to  v«rses  of  Lz,  lib^  iv  , '  del  Triiil 


ODES   OF  ANACllEON. 


11« 


But  let  the  water  amply  flow, 

To  cool  the  grape's  intemperate  glow ;  * 

Let  not  the  fiery  god  be  single, 

But  with  the  nymphs  in  union  mingle. 

For  though  the  bowl's  the  grave  of  sadneae, 

Ne'er  let  it  he  the  birth  of  madness. 

No,  banish  from  our  board  to-night 

TL»:  revelries  of  rude  delight ; 

1 .,  Scf  thians  leave  these  wild  excesses, 

0  jjs  be  the  joy  that  soothes  and  blesses  ! 

Ajid  while  the  temperate  bowl  we  wreathe, 

In  concert  let  our  voices  breathe, 

Beguiling  every  hour  along 

With  harmony  of  soul  and  song. 


ODE  LXIIL" 

To  Litre,  the  soft  and  blooming  child, 
I  touch  the  harp  in  descant  wild ; 
To  Love,  the  babe  of  Cyprian  bowers. 
The  boy,  who  breathes  and  blushes  flowers ; 
To  Love,  for  heaven  and  earth  adore  him, 
^d  gods  and  mortals  bow  before  him ! 


ODE  LXIV.» 

Haste  thee,  nymph,  whose  well-aimed  spear 
Wounds  the  fleeting  mountain  deer  ! 


*  But  let  the  watrr  amply  Jltne, 

To  cool  the  jrrape's  intemperate  gUne ;  ^c]  It  was  Am- 
pliictynn  whu  first  taught  tlie  Greekii  to  mix  water  with 
tL;ir  wine  ;  in  commemuratiun  of  which  circiiiiistance  they 
vected  altars  to  Bacchus  and  the  nymphs.  On  this  mytbo- 
ugical  allegory  the  following  epigram  is  founded  :  — 
Ardentem  ex  utero  Semeles  lavSre  Lyeum 

Naiades,  extiiicto  fulmiuis  igne  sacri ; 
C»ii  nymphis  igitur  tractnhilis,  at  sine  nymphis 
.  »  >Vnti  rursus  f;ilmine  corripitur. 

PlCRIUI  VALEBIArrUS. 

Which  ii,  non  verbum  verbo,  — 

While  heavenly  fire  consum'd  his  Theban  dame, 
A  Naiad  caught  young  Bacchus  from  tlie  tlaiiio, 

And  dipp'd  him  burning  ui  her  pure.st  lymph  ; 
Rence,  still  be  loves  the  Naiad's  crystal  urn. 
And  when  his  native  fires  too  fiercely  bum, 

Seeks  the  cool  waters  of  the  fountain  nymph. 

This  fragment  is  preserved  in  Clemens  Alexandrinus, 
Btmm.  lib.  vi.  and  in  Arseniu^  Collect.  Grsc."  —  Barnes. 

It  a^poan  to  have  been  the  opening  of  a  hymn  in  praise 
of  Love. 

*  This  hymn  to  Diana  is  extant  in  Ilephsstion.  Tliere  is 
tn  anecdote  of  o;.<r  poet,  which  has  led  some  to  doubt 
whether  he  ever  wrotb  <uiy  odes  of  this  kind.  It  is  related 
«v  the  Scholiist  upon  Pinuc  (Isthmionic.  od.  ii.  v.  l,as  cited 


Dian,  Jove's  immortal  child. 

Huntress  of  the  savage  wild  ! 

Goddess  with  the  sun-bright  hair ! 

Listen  to  a  people's  prayer. 

Turn,  to  Lethe's  river  turn, 

There  thy  vanquish'd  people  moum  I* 

Come  to  Lethe's  wavy  shore, 

Tell  them  they  shall  mourn  no  more. 

Thine  their  hearts,  their  altars  thine ; 

Must  they,  Dian  —  must  they  pine  * 


ODE  LXV.» 

Like  some  want6n  Ally  sporting. 

Maid  of  Thrace,  thou  fly'st  my  courting. 

Wanton  filly  !  tell  me  why 

Thou  trip'st  away  with  scornful  eye. 

And  seem' St  to  think  my  doating  heart 

Is  novice  in  the  bridling  art  ? 

Believe  me,  girl,  it  is  not  so  ; 

Thou'lt  find  this  skilful  hand  can  throw 

The  reins  around  that  tender  form. 

However  wild,  however  warm. 

Yes  —  trust  me  I  can  tame  thy  force. 

And  turn  and  wind  thee  in  the  course. 

Though,  wasting  now  thy  careless  houij 

Thou  sport  amid  the  herbs  and  flovcrs. 

Soon  shalt  thou  feel  the  rein's  control 

And  tremble  at  the  wish'd-for  goal ! 


by  Dunes)  that  Anacreon  being  asked,  why  he  addresic* 
all  his  hymns  tc  women,  and  none  to  the  deities '  answered, 
"  Because  women  are  my  deities." 

I  have  assumed,  it  will  be  seen,  in  reporting  this  anecdote 
ttie  same  lilwrty  which  I  have  ttiought  it  right  to  take  in 
translating  some  of  tlie  odes  ;  and  it  were  to  be  wished  thai 
these  little  infidelities  were  always  allowable  in  inter]  rol 
ing  the  writings  of  the  ancients  ;  thus,  when  nature  is  fur- 
gotten  in  the  original,  in  the  translation  "  taiupn  us>{u< 
recurret" 

*  Turn,  to  Lethe's  river  turn, 

Therr  thtj  vanquished  people  mourn.']  Ix>tlie,  a  r'.'er  ( • 
Ionia,  according  to  ^Btrabo,  falling  into  the  .MrancVr  In  io 
neighborhood  was  the  city  called  Magnesi: ,  ir  favoi  t 
whose  inhabitants  our  poet  is  supposed  to  have  a(ldre».'4  4 
this  supplication  to  Diana.  It  was  written  (as  Madame  Da- 
cier  conjectures)  on  the  occasion  of  some  battle,  in  \vli>rk 
the  Magnesians  had  been  defeated. 

>  This  ode,  which  is  addressed  vl  some  Thracian  girl,  t, 
ists  in  Ueraclides,  and  has  been  imitated  very  frequently  b) 
Horace,  as  all  Uie  annoiators  have  remarked.  M.id«in« 
Dacier  rejects  the  allegory,  which  nins  so  obviously  througb 
the  poem,  and  supposes  it  to  have  been  addre8.sed  to  a  youii| 
mare  belonging  to  Polycrates. 

Pierius,  in  the  founh  book  of  his  Hieroglyphics,  cites  thn 
ode,  and  informs  us  that  the  horae  was  the  hiem.  lypt  iea 
emblem  of  pride 


120 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


OBE  LXVI.1 

To  thee,  the  Queen  of  nymphs  divine, 
Fairest  of  all  that  fairest  shine  ; 
To  thee,  who  ril'st  with  darts  of  fire 
This  world  of  mortals,  young  Desire  I 
A.nd  O,  thou  nuptial  Power,  to  thee 
Vi  ho  bear'st  of  life  the  guardian  key, 
Kreathing  my  soul  in  fervent  praise, 
Anr  weaving  wild  my  votive  lays. 
For  thee,  O  Queen  !  I  wake  the  lyre, 
1 01  thee,  thou  blushing  young  Desire, 
A.nd  O,  for  thee,  thou  nuptial  Power, 
Come,  and  illume  this  genial  hour. 

Look  on  thy  bride,  too  happy  boy, 
And  while  thy  lambent  glance  of  joy 
Plays  over  all  her  blushing  charms. 
Delay  net,  snatch  her  to  thine  arms, 
Before  the  lovely,  trembling  prey. 
Like  a  young  birdling,  wing  away  ! 
Turn,  Stratocles,  too  happy  youth. 
Dear  to  the  Queen  of  amorous  truth. 
And  dear  to  her,  whose  yielding  zone 
Will  soon  resign  her  all  thine  own. 
Turn  to  Myrilla,  turn  thine  eye. 
Breathe  to  Myrilla,  breathe  thy  sigh. 
To  those  bewitching  beauties  turn  ; 
For  thee  they  blueh,  for  thee  they  bum. 

Not  more  the  rose,  the  queen  of  flowers, 
Outblushes  all  the  bloom  of  bowers. 
Than  she  unrivall'd  grace  discloses. 
The  sweetest  rose,  where  all  are  roses. 
O,  may  the  sun,  benignant,  shed 
His  blandest  influence  o'er  thy  bed  ; 

1  This  ode  is  introduced  in  the  Romance  of  Theodonis 
Piodnjuius,  and  is  that  kind  of  epithalamium  which  was 
fitii^  liko  a  scolium  at  the  nuptial  banquet. 

Ai  K  ng  the  many  works  of  the  impassioned  Sappho,  of 
A  liirh  time  and  ignorant  superstition  have  deprived  us,  tlie 
liiss  ol  her  epithalamiums  is  not  one  of  the  least  that  we  de- 
fUite.  The  foUowmg  lines  are  cited  as  a  relic  of  one  of 
£i  MO  poems  :  — 

0\6ie  yaiiSpc.  aoi  jxtv  it)  yaiioi  uj  apao, 
EfcrsrfAtffr',  tx^'-i  ^^  Ttapbevov  av  apao. 

S«e  Scaliger,  in  his  Poetics,  on  the  Epithalamium. 

J    Ijtdf osier  there  an  infant  tree. 

To  bloom  like  her,  and  tower  like  thee  /]  Original  Kuira- 
ti  rros  Se  nefvKoi  aiv  tvi  Kriirto.  Passeratius,  upon  the  words 
"  cum  castam  amisil  florem,"  in  the  Nuptial  Song  of  Catul- 
lus, after  explaining  "  flos  "  in  somewhat  a  similar  sense  to 
tlut  which  Gauhninus  attributes  to  poSiw,  says,  "  Hortum 
(uoque  vocant  in  quo  flos  ille  carpitur,  et  Graecis  Krjrrov  ttrri 
TO  C(tiri6atov  yvvatKWV." 

I  may  remark,  in  passing,  that  the  author  of  the  Greek 
wrwn  of  this  cbanniiig  ode  of  Catullus,  has  neglected  a 


And  foster  there  an  infant  tree. 

To  bloom  like  her,  and  tower  like  tht* ! 


ODE  LXVII.» 

Rich  in  bliss,  I  proudly  scorn 
The  wealth  of  Amalthea's  horn ; 
Nor  should  I  ask  to  call  the  throne 
Of  the  Tartessian  prince  my  own  ;  * 
To  totter  through  his  train  of  years. 
The  victim  of  declining  fears. 
One  little  hour  of  joy  to  me 
Is  worth  a  duU  eternity  ! 


ODE  Lxvm.» 

Now  Neptune's  month  our  sky  deforms, 

The  angry  night  cloud  teems  with  storms : 

And  savage  winds,  infuriate  driven, 

Fly  howling  in  the  face  of  heaven  ! 

Now,  now,  my  friends,  the  gathering  gloom 

With  roseate  rays  of  wine  illume  : 

And  while  our  wreaths  of  parsley  spread 

Their  fadeless  foliage  round  our  head, 

Let's  hymn  th'  almighty  power  of  wine, 

And  shed  libations  on  his  shrine  I 


ODE  LXIX.« 

Thet  wove  the  lotus  band  to  deck 
And  fan  with  pensile  wreath  each  neck  ; 


most  striking  and  Anacreontic  beauty  in  those  verses  "  U 
flos  in  septis,  &c."  which  is  the  repetition  of  the  line 
"  Multi  ilium  pueri,  multe  optavere  puelle,"  with  the  slight 
alteration  of  nuUi  and  nulls.  Catullus  himself,  however, 
has  been  equally  injudicious  in  his  version  of  the  famoui 
ode  of  Sappho ;  having  translated  yeX<oaas  liitpotn,  bu( 
omitted  all  notice  of  the  accompanying  charm,  a6v  (p'onov 
(70$.    Horace  has  caught  the  spirit  of  it  more  faithfully  :  - 

Duice  ndentem  Lalagen  amabo, 
Dulce  loquentem. 

8  This  fragment  is  preserved  in  the  third  book  of  Straho 

*  Of  the.  Tartessian  prince  my  own  ;]  He  heie  alluaes  tc 
Arganthonius,  who  lived,  according  to  Lucian,  a  hundred 
and  fifty  years  ;  and  reigned,  according  to  Herodotus,  eighty 
See  Barnes.  r 

6  This  is  composed  of  two  fragments  ;  the  seventieth  a*  I 
eighty-first  in  Barnes.    They  are  both  found  in  Eustathiua 

8  Three  fragments  form  this  little  odo,  all  of  which  afh 
prestirved  in  Athenseus.  They  are  the  eighty-Miond,  aev 
enty-ifth  and  eighty-third,  in  Barnes. 


M 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


IS 


And  pvery  guest,  to  shade  his  head, 
Three  little  fragrant  chaplcts  spread ; ' 
And  one  was  of  th'  Egj-ptian  leaf, 
The  rest  were  roses,  fair  and  brief; 
Wliile  fiom  a  golden  vase  profound. 
To  all  on  flowery  beds  around, 
A  H«>be,  of  celestial  shape, 
Poar'd  the  rich  droppings  of  the  grape ! 


QBE  LXX.« 

A  BHOKBK  cakp,  with  honey  sweet. 
Is  all  my  spare  and  simple  treat  : 
Ar.d  while  a  generous  bowl  I  crown 
To  float  ray  little  banquet  down, 
I  take  the  soft,  the  amorous  lyre, 
And  sing  of  love's  delicious  fire  : 
In  mirthful  measures  warm  and  free, 
I  sing,  dear  maid,  and  sing  for  thee  ! 


ODE  LXXL» 

WrrH  twenty  chords  my  lyre  is  hung, 
And  while  I  wake  them  all  for  thee, 

Thou,  O  maiden,  wild  and  young, 
Disport'st  in  airy  levity. 

rhe  nursling  fawn,  that  in  some  shade 
Its  antler' d  mother  leaves  behind,* 

Is  not  more  wantonly  afraid, 
More  timid  of  the  rustling  wind  ! 


*  ^nd  every  grtett,  to  riude  hit  head. 

Three  little  fra front  chapleU  spread  ;]  Longepierre,  to 
{ive  an  idea  of  the  luxurious  estimation  in  which  garlands 
>rerM  held  by  tlie  ancients,  relates  an  anecdote  of  a  cour- 
tesan, who  in  order  to  gratify  three  lovers,  without  leaving 
:Bu^e  fur  jealousy  with  any  of  tliem,  gave  a  kiss  to  one,  let 
'Jie  other  drink  after  her,  and  put  a  garland  on  the  brow  of 
the  third  ;  so  that  each  was  satisfied  with  his  favor,  and 
tattered  himself  with  the  preference. 

rhia  circumstance  resembles  very  macb  the  subject  of  one 
rf  the  trntont  of  Savarl  de  MauUon,  a  troubadour.  See 
L  Hi'<t  .it*  Linimire  des  Troubadours.  The  recital  is  a  cu- 
rious picture  of  the  puerile  gallantries  of  chivalry. 

*  Compiled  by  Banies,  fn>m  Atheuvus,  Hepbcstion,  and 
ArseniuB.    Bee  Barnes,  00th. 

*  This  I  have  formed  from  tlie  eighty-fourth  and  eighty- 
IRh  of  Barnes's  edition.  The  two  fragments  are  found  in 
Aihencus. 

*  Tkinnr sling f*m%, that  in  tome ik»i$ 

lis  antUr'd  nother  leaers  behind,  ^e.]    In  the  original : — 
'Of  tc  v%n  KCpotaotK 
AraXci  S6ct(  vs'o  iitfrpot, 
16 


ODE  Lxxn. 

Fahs  thee  well,  petidious  maid. 

My  soul,  too  long  on  earth  Jelay'd, 

Delay'd,  perfidious  girl,  by  thee. 

Is  on  the  wing  for  liberty. 

I  fly  to  seek  a  kindlier  sphere, 

Since  thou  hast  ccas'd  to  love  me  here ' 


ODE  LXXIIL* 

A  WHILE  I  bloom'd,  a  happy  flower. 
Till  Love  approach'd  one  fatal  hour. 
And  made  my  tender  branches  feel 
The  wounds  of  his  avenging  steel. 
Then  lost  I  fell,  like  some  poor  willow 
That  falls  across  the  wintry  billow ' 


ODE  LXXTV- 

MoxABCH  Love,  resistless  boy. 

With  whom  the  rosy  Queen  of  Joy, 

And  nymphs,  whose  eyes  hav^Heaven's  biM 

Disporting  tread  the  mountain  dew ; 

Propitious,  O,  receive  my  sighs, 

Which,  glowing  with  entreaty,  rise, 

That  thou  wilt  whisper  to  the  breast 

Of  her  I  love  thy  soft  behest ; 

And  counsel  her  to  learn  from  thee. 

That  lesson  thou  hast  taught  to  me. 

Ah !  if  my  heart  no  flattery  tell, 

Thou'lt  own  I've  learn'd  that  lesson  well ! 


"  Homed  "  here,  andoubtedly,  seems  a  strange  epithet 
Madame  Dacier  however  observes,  tliat  Sophocles,  Calliinfr 
chus,  ice.  have  all  applied  it  in  the  very  same  manner,  and 
she  seems  to  agree  in  the  conjecture  of  the  scholiast  upon 
Pindar,  that  perhaps  horns  are  not  always  peculi.u  to  t<>e 
males.  I  think  we  may  with  mure  ease  coiiclu'te  i^ 
to  be  a  license  of  tlie  poet,  "jussit  habere  puel'am  ooi 
nua." 

s  This  fragment  is  preserved  by  the  scholiast  upon  Alii 
tophanes,  and  is  the  eighty-seventh  in  Barnes. 

*  This  is  to  be  found  in  Hephestion,  and  is  the  eighty 
ninth  of  Barnes's  edition. 

I  have  omitted,  from  among  these  scraps,  a  very  cod  si  let 
able  fragment  imputed  toourpoet,  Hai/0i)(5'  Ei'p«iruXr;/<tA<i, 
&c  which  is  preserved  in  the  twelfth  hook  of  Ather.Kiis,  an4 
is  the  ninety-first  in  Barnes.  If  it  was  really  Anacreon  who 
wrote  it,  "  nil  fuit  unqiiam  sic  impar  sibi."  It  ii  iu  j  «tyi« 
of  gross  satire,  and  abt>unds  with  ezpreesiona  that  uer« 
could  be  gracefully  translated. 

'  A  fragment  preserved  by  Dion  Chrysoetom.  OraL  U.  4 
Regno.    See  Barnes,  S9. 


\'i'2 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


ODE  LXXV.> 

*ipiRrt  of  Ijove,  whose  locks  unroll' d, 
Stream  on  the  breeze  like  floating  gold ; 
Come,  within  a  fragrant  cloud 
Blushing  with  light,  thy  votary  shroud  ; 
And,  on  those  wings  that  sparkling  play, 
Waft,  O,  waft  me  hence  away  ! 
Love  !  my  soul  is  full  of  thee. 
Alive  to  all  thy  luxury. 
But  she,  the  nymph  for  whom  I  glow, 
The  lovelj'^  Lesbian  mocks  my  woe  ; 
Smiles  at  the  chill  and  hoary  hues, 
That  time  upon  my  forehead  strews. 
Alas  !  I  fear  she  kecjjs  her  charms. 
In  store  for  younger,  happier  arms  ! 


ODE  LXXVI.» 

Hither,  gentle  Muse  of  mine, 
Come  and  teach  thy  votary  old 

Many  a  golden  hymn  divine. 
For  the  nymph  with  vest  of  geld. 

Pretty  nymph,  of  tender  age. 
Fair  thy  siUcy  locks  unfold ; 

Listen  to  a  hoary  sage. 

Sweetest  maid  with  vest  of  gold ! 


ODE  LXXVn.' 

Would  that  I  wore  a  tuneful  lyre, 

Of  burnish'd  ivory  fair. 
Which,  in  the  Dionysian  choir, 

Some  blooming  boy  should  bear  ! 


1  This  fragment,  which  is  extant  in  Atheneus  (Barnes, 
101),  is  Hiipposed,  on  the  authority  of  Chamteleon,  to  have 
bern  addressed  to  Sappho.  We  have  also  a  stanza  attrib- 
Jl«Yd  to  her,  wliich  some  romancers  have  supposed  to  be  her 
mswer  to  Anacreon.  "  Mais  par  mulheur  (as  Bayle  says), 
Sappho  viiit  au  monde  environ  cent  ou  six  vingt  ans  avant 
An»cr6on."  —  J^ouvelles  de  la  Rep.  des  Lett  torn.  ii.  de  No- 
niiibtB,  1C81.  The  following  is  lier  fragment,  the  compli- 
aisnt  of  which  is  finely  imagined  ;  she  supposes  tbat  tlie 
M'.M  has  dictated  the  verses  of  Anacreon  :  — 

Ke(vov  cj  xpuo'^^po''*  Motxr'  evtanes 
"i^vn,  tx  rris  KaWiyvvaiKos  eadXas 

TiptaSvi  nyavos. 
O  Muss !  who  sit'st  on  golden  throne, 
Full  many  a  hymn  of  witching  tone 

The  Teian  sage  is  tauglit  by  thee ; 
But,  Goddess,  from  thy  throne  of  gold, 
The  sweetest  hymn  ihou'st  ever  told, 

He  lately  learn'd  and  sung  for  me 


Would  that  I  were  a  gjlden  vase, 
That  some  bright  nymph  might  hold 

My  spotless  frame,  with  blushang  gracie. 
Herself  as  pure  as  gold  ! 


ODE  LXXVIII* 

When  Cupid  sees  aow  thickly  now, 
The  snows  of  Time  fall  o'er  my  brow. 
Upon  his  wing  of  golden  light. 
He  passes  with  an  eaglet's  flight. 
And  flitting  onward  seems  to  say, 
"  Fare  thee  well,  thou'st  haa  iny  day  1 ' 

Cupid,  whose  lamp  has  lent  the  ray, 
That  lights  our  life's  meandering  way, 
That  God,  within  this  bosom  stealing, 
Hathwaken'd  a  strange,  mingled  feeling, 
Which  pleases,  though  so  sadly  teasing. 
And  teases,  though  so  sweetly  pleasing !  * 


Let  me  resign  this  -w  retched  oreath, 

Since  now  remains  to  me 
No  other  balm  than  kindly  death,. 

To  soothe  my  miaery  !  * 


I  KNOW  thou  lov'st  a  brimming  measure. 
And  art  a  kindly,  cordial  host ; 

But  let  me  fill  and  drink  at  pleasure  — 
Thus  I  enjoy  the  goblet  mosi  ^ 


I  FEAR  that  love  disturbs  my  rest. 
Yet  feel  not  love's  impassion'd  care ; 


8  Formed  of  the  124th  and  119th  fragmenis  m  Barnea, 
both  of  wliich  are  to  be  found  in  Scaliger's  Poeticb. 

De  Pauw  ttiinks  that  those  detached  lines  and  ■;oupletii, 
which  Scallger  has  adduced  as  examples  in  his  Poeticrf,  are 
by  no  means  authentic,  but  of  his  own  fabrication, 

8  This  is  generally  inserted  among  the  remains  of  Alc«as 
Some,  liowever,  have  attributed  it  to  Aiiucreon.  See  ouJ 
poet's  twenty-second  ode,  and  the  notes. 

4  See  Barnes,  173d.  This  fragment  to  which  I  have  taJre» 
the  liberty  of  adding  a  turn  not  to  be  found  in  tha  original, 
is  cited  by  Lucian  in  his  short  essay  on  the  Gallic  Hercules. 

6  Barnes,  125th.  This  is  in  Scaliger's  Poetics.  Gail  haa 
omitted  it  in  his  collection  of  fragments. 

8  This  fragment  is  extant  in  Arsen.us  and  Hephestiou 
See  Barnes  (69th),  who  has  arranged  the  metre  of  it  tbij 
skilfully. 

f  Barnes,  72d.  This  fragment,  which  is  found  in  A  :b* 
ncus,  contains  an  excellent  lesson  for  the  votaries  of  lupitM 
Hiepitalis. 


I 


ODES   OF  ANACREON. 


I  think  there's  madness  in  my  breast, 
Yet  cannot  tind  that  madness  there  ! ' 


FaoM  dread  Leucadia's  fro\vning  steep, 
111  plunge  into  the  whitening  deep  : 
And  there  lie  cold,  to  death  resign' d. 
Since  Love  intoxicates  my  mind  !  * 


Mix  me,  child,  a  cup  divine, 
Crystal  water,  ruby  wine  : 
Weave  the  frontlet,  richly  flushing, 
O'er  my  w mtry  temples  blushing. 
Mix  tlie  brimmer  —  Love  and  I 
Shall  no  more  the  contest  try. 
Here  —  upon  this  holy  bowl, 
I  surrender  all  my  soul !  ' 


Amono  the  Epigrams  of  the  Anthologia,  are 
found  some  panegyrics  on  Anacrcon,  which  I 
had  translated,  and  originally  intended  as  a  sort 
if  Coronis  to  this  work.  But  I  found  upon 
nonsiJoration,  that  they  wanted  variety ;  and 
thai  a  frequent  recurrence,  in  them,  of  the  same 
'bought,  would  render  a  collection  of  such 
poems  uninteresting.  I  shall  take  the  liberty, 
however,  of  subjoining  a  few,  selected  from  the 
number,  that  I  may  not  appear  to  have  totally 
ne;^lccted  those  ancient  tributes  to  the  fame  of 
•Vnacreon.  The  four  epigrams  which  I  give  are 
imi)uted  to  Anlipater  Sidonius.  They  are  ren- 
dered, perhaps,  with  too  much  freedom ;  but 
designing  originally  a  translation  of  all  that  are 
extant  on  the  subject,  I  endeavored  to  enliven 
their  unilbrmity  by  sometimes  indulging  in  the 
liberties  of  paraphrase. 

I  Found  in  llephsstion  (see  Barnes,  96tb),  and  reminds 
>ne  liutnewhat  of  tlie  following:  — 

Odi  et  anil) ;  qiiare  id  fnciam  fortasse  requiris  ; 

>ie!<ci» :  Ked  lieri  sentiu,  et  excrucior.  Carm.  53. 

I  love  ttice  and  linte  thee,  hut  if  I  can  tell 
Tbt  ca  fae  uf  niy  love  and  my  hate,  may  I  die. 

1  can  tea    '.  alas  \  I  ran  feel  it  t<x>  well. 
That  .  love  thee  and  hate  thee,  but  cannot  tell  why. 

«  Tills  .f  also  in  liephiptition,  and  |ierhapa  is  a  frncmcnt 
•I  some  poem,  in  which  Anarreon  had  commemorated  tlie 
h't  of  Sappho.     It  is  tlie  133d  of  Banies. 

*  Collected  h)  llames,  from  Demetrius  Phalareus  and 
Euiitatliiug,  ai.d  subjoined  in  his  edition  to  tlie  epigrams 
ittrihuted  to  our  poet.  And  here  in  the  la)>t  of  those  little 
rattered  flowers,  which  I  thought  I  might  venture  with  any 
irare  to  transplant ;  —  happy  if  it  could  be  said  of  tlie  gar- 
and  which  they  form,  To  li'  w!;'  Afaitpcovros. 

Anlipater  Sidonius,  the  author  of  this  epigram,  lived, 
iitiMding  to  Vosiias,  de  Poetis  Grccis,  tn  the  second  year 


ANTinATPOr  J-'AflNlOY,  EIi:  ANAKPEONl'A 

0AAJOI  TfTQaxu{it;filiii(,  AraX()lor,  ufitf't  Ot  xiOOSj 

a(lQa  Tf  itci^curwi'  noQtpvQtmy  niruXw 
ntjYai  i'  oo/m'ojvtoj  aru6HilioivTo  yuilaxro;, 

ivioS»(  d'  uno  yijs  i,Sv  jfimro  fitdv, 
oifQa  K*  rot  anoSiti  r«  xai  oarta  Tif>xf>i*  aQtirat. 

«(  8i  Ti(  (fdiuivoif  jfQtfiTtTtTai  ivtffioavva, 
o)  TO  (fiXo*  OTiiJius,  (fii>i(,  (iuii/iiTur,  cu  avt  aotia 

nuvxa  Jiu.TAcunu;  xui  ovv  ((larri  ^tov. 

Abound  the  tomb,  O,  bard  divine  ! 

Where  soft  thy  hallow'd  brow  reposes, 
Long  may  the  deathless  ivy  twine, 

And  summer  spread  her  waste  of  rose*  * 

And  there  shall  many  a  fount  distil, 
And  many  a  rill  refresh  the  flowers  : 

But  wine  shall  be  each  purple  rill. 
And  every  fount  be  milky  showers. 

Thus,  shade  of  him,  whom  Nature  taught 
To  tune  his  lyre  and  soul  to  pleasure, 

Who  gave  to  love  his  tendercst  thought 
Who  gave  to  love  his  fondest  measure.  - 

Thus,  after  death,  if  shades  can  feel. 

Thou  mayst,  from  odors  round  thee  streanring 

A  pulse  of  past  enjoyment  steal, 

And  live  again  in  blissful  dreaming  I  * 


of  the  169th  Olympiad.  He  ap|)ears,  from  what  Cicero  and 
Quintilian  have  said  of  him,  to  have  been  a  kind  of  iiiiprnv- 
visatore.  See  Institut.  Orat.  lib.  x.  caji.  7.  There  is  nothing 
more  known  respecting  this  poet,  except  some  particulars 
about  his  illness  and  death,  which  are  mentioned  as  curious 
by  Pliny  and  others  ;  —  and  there  remain  of  his  woiks  but  a 
few  epigrams  in  the  Antliologia,  among  which  are  found 
these  inscriptions  upon  Anacreon.  These  remains  havj 
been  sometimes  imputed  to  another  poet*  of  the  same  name, 
of  whom  Vosfiiiis  gives  us  the  following  account :  —  "  Anti- 
pater  Thessalonicensis  vixit  tem|)ore  Augusti  Cssaris,  ut 
qui  saltantem  viderit  Pyladem,  sicut  constat  ex  quodam  ej  ir 
epigrammate  \vOo\oyiai,  lib.  iv.  tit  tij  niixc(TTpii'ai.  A' 
eum  ac  Bathyllum  primos  fuisse  pantomimos  ac  sub  All- 
gusto  clamisse,  satis  notiim  ex  Dione,  &c.  &c" 

The  reader,  who  thinks  it  worth  observing,  may  find  » 
strange  oversight  in  lIofTman's  quoU'ilion  of  this  article  fn  ic 
VoKsius,  I>'xic.  Univers.  By  the  omission  of  a  sentence 
he  has  made  Vossius  assert  that  the  |H)ct  Aniipatel  was  or.a 
of  the  first  pantomime  dancers  in  Rome. 

Barnes,  upon  the  epigram  before  us,  mentions  a  version 
of  it  by  Brodcus,  which  is  not  to  be  found  in  that  r^mnien- 
tator ;  but  he  more  than  once  confounds  Brod;eus  witb 
another  annotator  on  the  Anthologia,  Vincentius  C  bMipteua 
who  has  given  a  translation  of  the  epigmm. 


*  Flcnujue  tamen  TheM*Wi!ecDai  tribnendtTideDtu.  —  A  met 
Lectiona  et  Emendn* 


1 24 


ODES   OF   ANACREON. 


TOT  AYTOY,  EIZ  TON  ATTON. 

ryjUBOS-  AvaxQciovTog,  6  Ttj'iog  tv6a8t  xvxvog 

EiSti,  jfi/  nai6(av  tuyQoTaXT)  fiavtrj. 
A.)efitjv  XtiQtoivTi  fisXittrat  aficpi  Ba&vXXio 

'  Ifitqa'   xai  xiaaov  Xfvxog  oSiuds  Xi6og. 
0\,3'   4cStjg  aoi  iQoirag  aneojifasr,  sv  S'  Ax^Qovtog 

Sly,  oXog  oiSivtig  KvnqiSi  -dtQfioTtQtj. 

Herb  bleeps  Anacreon,  in  this  ivied  shade  ; 
Here  mute  in  death  the  Teian  swan  is  laid.' 
Cold,  cold  that  heart,  which  while  on  earth  it 

dwelt 
All  the  sweet  frenzy  of  love's  passion  felt. 
And  yet,  O  Bard  !  thou  art  not  mute  in  death, 
Still  do  we  catch  thy  lyre's  luxurious  breath  ;  * 
And  still  thy  songs  of  soft  Bathylla  bloom. 
Green  as  the  ivy  round  thy  mouldering  tomb. 
Nor  yet  has  death  obscur'd  thy  fire  of  love. 
Pot  still  it  lights   thee  through  the  Elysian 

grove; 
Where  dreams  are  tl  le,  that  bless  th'  elect 

alone. 
And  Ven\i8  calls  theo  even  in  death  her  own  ! 


•  the  Teian  sican  is  laid.]    Thus  Horace  of  Pin- 


dar: 


Multa  Dircsum  levat  aiira  cycnum, 
A  Bwan  was  the  hieroglyphical  emblem  of  a  poet.     Anac- 
teon  lias  been  called  tlie  swan  of  Teoa  by  another  of  his 
eulogists. 

Ev  roij  ns\txpoi{  'Ifiepoicrt  <rvvTpo(pov 
Awaioj  Ai'Uirptoi'ra,  Ti7i'oi'  kvkvov, 
'Ea(pri\ai  iypi]  vcxrapos  fit\ri6ovri. 

Euyti/ouj.  \v6o\oY- 
God  of  the  grape !  thou  hast  betray'd 

In  wine's  bewildering  dream, 
The  fairest  swan  that  ever  play'd 
Along  the  Muse's  stream  !  — 
The  Teian,  nurs'd  with  all  those  honey'd  boys, 
The  young  Desires,  light  Loves,  and  rose-lipp'd  Joys  ! 
«  Still  do  we  catch  tliy  lyre's  luxuriuus  breath;']     Thus 
Siinonides,  speaking  of  our  poet :  — 

MoATn?  6'  ov  \ridrj  licXncpircos  aW  ert  kcivo 
JifipStTov  ovSc  ^avoiv  evvacrcv  civ  a'l'Sri, 

TtpoviSov,  AvOoXoy- 
Nor  yet  are  all  his  numbers  mute, 

Though  dark  within  the  tomb  he  lies  • 
But  living  still,  his  amorous  lute 
With  sleepless  animation  sighs  ! 
Ib'a  is  the  famous  SInionides,  whom  Plato  styled  "  divine," 
though  Le  Fevrc,  in  his  Poiites  Grecs,  supposes  that  the  epi- 
grams under  his  i  ame  are  all  falsely  imputed.    The  most 
considerable  of  his  remains  is  a  satirical  poem  upon  women, 
preserved  by  Stobteus,  xpoyof  yvvaiKiiiv. 

We  may  judge  from  the  lines  I  have  just  quoted,  and  the 
import  of  the  epigram  before  us,  that  the  works  of  Anacreon 
Were  perfect  in  the  times  of  Sirrr-nides  and  Antipater.  Ob- 
Aipceus,  the  commentator  here,  appears  to  exult  in  their 
destruction  and  tellini{  us  they  were  burned  by  the  bishops 


TOT  AYTOY,  E12  TON  ATTON. 

A  FINE,  laipov  naqa  iixov  Avaxquovrog  oftitpttt 

El  Tl  roi  tx  pi^Xiuv  tjkBev  tfiiav  oiptkog, 
Srctiaov  tfirj  anoSit],  antioor  yui'oj,  oc^^a  xo  otv» 

Oarea  Y'j&ijOt  ta^ia  t'OTitofitia, 
fig  0  Jiovvaov  (ii^iXiifitvog  ovaoi  xwfiog, 

'fig  6  (ptXux()7jTov  ovvTQo(pog  aQfiiivirig, 
Mtjde  xuTaifQifitvog  Baxj(ov  dtj^a  rovror  VTintom 

Tuv  ysvtt]  fitQonwv  jfeugoj.'  oiptiXontrov,^ 

O  STRANGER  !  if  Anacrcon's  shell 
Has  ever  taught  thy  heart  to  swell  * 
With  passion's  throb  or  pleasure's  sigh, 
In  pity  turn,  as  wandering  nigh. 
And  drop  thy  goblet's  richest  tear  * 
In  tenderest  libation  here  ! 


and  patriarchs,  he  adds,  "  nee  sane  id  necquicquam  fece 
runt,"  attributing  to  tliis  outrage  an  elTect  which  it  could 
not  possibly  have  produced. 

8  The  spirit  of  Anacreon  is  supjiosed  to  utter  these  versei 
from  the  tomb,  —  somewhat  "  mutatus  ab  illo,"  at  least  in 
simplicity  of  expression. 

♦  if  Anacreon's  shell 

Has  evir  taught  t'^y  heart  to  swell,  ^e.]  We  may  guesi 
from  the  words  ck  0iSX<ov  e/tatv,  that  Anacreon  was  nol 
merely  a  writer  of  billets-doux,  as  some  French  critics  have 
called  him.  Amongst  these  Mr.  Le  Fevre,  witli  all  his  pro- 
fessed admiration,  has  given  our  poet  a  character  bv  ni 
means  of  an  elevated  cast :  — 

Aussi  c'est  pour  cela  que  la  post^rit^ 
L'a  toujours  justement  d'age  en  age  chant6 
Conime  un  franc  goguenard,  ami  de  goinfrerie. 
Ami  de  billets-^loux  et  de  badinerie 
See  the  verses  prefixed  to  his  Poetes  Grecs.    This  is  unlikf 
the  language  of  Tlieocritus,  to  whom  Anacreon  is  indebted 
for  the  following  simple  eulogium  :  — 

EI2  ANAKPE0NT02  ANAPIANTA. 

Ouaai  Tov  avipiavra  tovtov,  ta  f£i'£, 
aiTuv&a,  (cai  Atj ',  etrav  es  oikov  ei>Oris 

AvaKpeovTOi  ctKov'  cioov  ev  Ttco, 

Twv  npoad'  £1  Tl  Ttpiaaov  (xiSorrotwv, 

npucdeti  Se  \coti  tuij  vcoiaiv  ujtro, 
epcii  arpcKtwi  oXov  tov  avSpa 

Upon  the  Statue  of  Anacreoit. 
Stranger  !  who  near  this  statue  chance  to  roam, 

Let  it  a  while  your  studious  eyes  engage  • 
That  you  may  say,  returning  to  your  home, 
"  I've  seen  the  image  of  the  Teian  sage. 
Best  of  the  bards  who  deck  the  Muse's  page." 
Then,  if  you  add,  "  That  striplings  lov'd  him  well," 
You  tell  them  all  he  was,  and  aptly  tell. 
I  have  endeavored  to  do  justice  to  the  simplicity  of  tkt.l 
inscription  by  rendering  it  as  literally,  I  believe,  as  a  verac 
translation  will  allow. 

8  And  drop  thy  goblet's  richest  tear,  ^'c]  Thus  Simcaidei^ 
in  another  ot  his  epitaphs  on  our  poet :  — 

Kai  ptv  aei  reyyoi  vOTcpri  ipuaoi,  hi  ''  yspajot 
AapoTCpov  pa}.aK<iiv  tnvuv  tx  aTOiiuruiv. 


I 


di 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


I2£ 


Ijo  shall  ray  sleeping  ashes  thrill 
With  visions  of  enjoyment  still. 
Not  even  in  death  can  I  resign 
The  festal  joys  that  once  were  mine, 
VVhPM  Harmony  pursu'd  my  ways, 
And  Bacchus  wanton'd  to  my  lays.' 
O,  if  deliijht  could  charm  no  more. 
If  all  the  goblet's  bliss  were  o'er. 
When  fate  had  once  our  doom  decreed. 
Then  dying  would  be  death  indeed  ; 
Nor  could  I  think,  unblest  by  wine, 
Divinity  itself  divine  ! 


TOT  AYTOY,  EIX  TON  AYTON. 

ifSii  i'  I,  yiiuxiji;  }rvMTiXaXo(  xi&ana, 
I'Sii  xai  Sui(>3i(,  TO  IIu6o}y  tuQ,  6>  av  (itXtaSarrf 

Sa^^rr',  ariKf)ovov  riKTuQ  fvaQfiopiov, 
ri6to)*  Y^Q  EouiTvf  »ipv(  oxo.TOf*  t(  dt  at  fiovrov 

Toju  T»  xui  oxo/iuf  I'/ty  fxr;|iuJtra;. 


Lpt  vines,  in  clustering  beauty  wreath'd, 

Dro')  all  their  treasurcH  on  his  head, 
Whose  liiw  a  dew  of  sweetness  hreath'd 

Kirher  than  vine  hath  ever  shed  ! 

•  Anii  Baet'  UK  wawton'd  to  my  V.ys,  ^e.]  The  original 
tere  is  curni|>ted,  the  line  b>;  i  ^tovvaov,  tcx..  is  unintel- 
icihle. 

Briiurk's  bniendation  improves  the  sense,  but  I  doubt  if 
It  can  be  commended  for  elei;ance.  He  reads  the  line 
thus :  — 

ij  6  ^ih>vvaito  XcXa-jiCfOf  ovirort  ico3\i'<>v. 
Bee  Bninrk,  Annlecta  Veler.  Poet.  Orsc.  vul.  ii. 

t  Thy  harp,  that  lehisptr'd  through  raeh  lingering  night,  ^e.J 

tn  another  of  these  poems,  "  the  nightly-siicaking  lyre  "  of 

Itie  bnrU  is  represented  as  not  yet  silent  even  after  his  deatli. 

0$  b  iptXatptfof  re  Kilt  ottioSaprii  <piXoK(i.fio( 

xavfVX'i'i  Koovoi*  rnv  ^iXovatSa  xtXw«>, 

To  bnaiity's  smile  and  wine's  delight, 

To  joys  he  lov'd  on  earth  so  well, 
Still  shall  his  spirit,  all  the  night, 
Attune  the  wild,  aerial  shell ! 
»  The  pvrent  neetar  of   its  numbers,   ^-e.]      Thus,  says 
ftrunck,  in  the  prologue  to  the  Satires  of  Persius :  — 

Cantare  credas  Pegaseium  nectar. 
'  Melos"  is  the  usual  reading  in  this  line,  and  Casaubon 
pas  defended  it ;  but  "  nectar  "  is,  I  think,  much  more  spir- 
ted. 

*  She,  thf  younff  spring  of  tky  dtnre^,  ^c]     The  original, 
0  W.'Soiv  <ap,  is  lieaiitiful.     VVe  regret  that  such  praise 

li:ould  be  lavished  so  pre|)o«trn)usly,  and  feel  that  the  poet's 
»iistrrss  Eurj'pyle  would  have  deserved  it  lietter.  Her  name 
las  been  told  us  by  Meleager,  as  already  quoted,  and  in  an- 
Mhcr  epigram  by  Antipater. 

limnck  has  Kfiovojv  ;  but  xpovatf  the  common  readlnc.  K  lt«T 
tttt  a  detached  quotation. 


At  length  thy  gold.m  hours  have  wing'd  theii 
flight. 
And  drowsy  death  that  eyelid  steepeth ; 
Thy  harp,  that  whisper'd  through  each  lingT 
ing  night,* 
Now  mutely  in  oblivion  sleepeth  ! 

She,  too,  for  whom  that  harp  profusely  shed 
The  purest  nectar  of  its  numbers,' 

She,  the  young  spring  of  thy  desires,  hath  fled, 
And  with'  her  blest  Anacreon  slumbers  I  * 

Farewell !  thou  hadst  a  pulse  for  every  dart  * 
That  mighty  Love   could  scatter   from   hii 
quiver  ; 
And  each  new  beauty  found  in  thee  a  heart. 
Which  thou,  with   all   thy  heart  and  sotiL 
didst  give  her  !  • 

iypa  is  SepKOiitvoiaiv  cy  Oitfiaaiif  ovXov  actioif, 

aidvaaoiv  Airnoijf  atSo(  VTrepOe  KO/iiSf 
lit  Kpof  EvpvTTvXriv  Ttrpaniievoi     . 
Long  may  the  nymph  around  thee  plav 

Eurypyle,  thy  soul's  desire, 
Basking  her  beauties  in  the  ray 

That  lights  thine  eyes'  dissolving  Orel 
Sing  of  her  smile's  bewitching  power. 

Her  every  grace  that  warms  and  blessea  ; 
Sing  of  lier  brows'  luxuriant  flower. 
The  beaming  glory  of  her  tresses. 
The  expression  here,  av9oi  K'^ynif,  "  the  flower  of  tM 
hair,"  is  borrowed  from  Anacreon  himself,  as  appears  by  • 
fragment  of  the  poet  preserved  in  StobiEUS :  Ai:cKCtpa(  <P 
dTuXris  iipouiiv  avOof. 

6  Farewell!  thou  had.it  a  pulse  for  every  dart,  ^e.]  t(pv( 
cuo^TOi,  "  Scopus  eras  naturl,"  not  "  speculator,"  as  Barnes 
very  falsely  interprets  it 

Vinrentius  Obsopneus,  upon  this  passage,  contrives  to  in 
dulge  us  with  a  little  astrological  wisdom,  and  talks  in  • 
style  of  learned  scandnl  about  Venus,  "  male  posita  ciui; 
Mnrte  in  domo  Satumi." 

«  ^nd  each  new  beauty  found  in  thee  a  heart,  t(t  ]  This 
couplet  is  not  othenvise  warranted  by  the  original  thaji  ai 
it  dilates  the  tliought  which  Antipater  has  flguratively  8t 
pressed. 

Critias,  of  Athens,  pays  a  tribute  to  the  legitimate  gallar.tn 
of  Anacreon,  calling  him,  with  elegant  conciseness,  yvvadrfui 
jfn  eyontKiia. 

Toi"  it  yvvaittitiiv  iieXcwv  irAifai'Ta  jror'  btiaf, 
'Hivv  AviiKpcmvrn,*  Tcwf  ct{  'EXXai'  ai/riycv 
Tv/iwooiuv  epcOtiTiia,  yvvaiK(ov  riTicpoirivtia 
Teoe  gave  to  Greece  her  treasure. 
Sage  Anacreon,  sage  in  loving  ; 
Fondly  weaving  lays  of  pleasure 

For  tiie  maids  who  blu^■h'd  approving. 
When  in  nightly  banquets  sporimg, 

Where's  the  guest  coulil  ever  fly  him' 
When  with  love's  seduction  courting, 
Where's  the  nymph  could  e'er  deny  liim  ' 

*  Urns  Bcaliser.  In  his dediratory  rers't  to  Ponanl 
Mandua,  ioaTlloqniu,  dolda  Anacreon. 


126 


POEMS   RELATING  TO   AMERlOi^ 


POEMS    RELATING    TO    AMERICA 


PREFACE 

TC    THE  SECOND  VOLUME. 

The  Poems  suggested  to  me  by  my  visit  to 
Bermuda,  in  the  year  1803,  as  well  as  by  the 
tour  which  I  made  subsequently,  through  some 
perts  of  North  America,  have  been  hitherto  very 
injudiciously  arranged  ;  any  distinctive  character 
they  may  possess  having  been  distiirbed  and 
confused  by  their  being  mixed  up  not  only  with 
trifles  of  a  much  earlier  date,  but  also  with  some 
portions  of  a  classical  story,  in  the  form  of  Let- 
ters, M  hich  I  had  made  some  progress  in  before 
my  departure  from  England.  In  the  present 
edition,  this  awkward  jumble  has  been  reme- 
died ;  and  all  the  Poems  relating  to  my  Trans- 
atlantic voyage  will  be  found  classed  by  them- 
selves. As,  in  like  manner,  the  line  of  route 
by  which  I  proceeded  through  some  parts  of 
the  States  and  the  Canadas,  has  been  left  hith- 
erto to  be  traced  confusedly  through  a  few  de- 
tached notes,  I  have  thought  that,  to  future 
readers  of  these  poems,  some  clearer  account  of 
the  course  of  that  journey  might  not  be  unac- 
ceptable, —  together  with  such  vestiges  as  may 
still  linger  in  my  memory  of  events  now  fast 
fading  into  the  background  of  time. 

For  the  precise  date  of  my  departure  from 
England,  in  the  Phaeton  frigate,  I  am  indebted 
to  the  Naval  Recollections  of  Captain  Scott, 
then  a  midshipman  of  that  ship.  ♦'  We  were 
«oon  ready,"  says  this  gentleman,  "  for  sea,  and 
a  few  days  saw  Mr.  Merry  and  suite  embarked 
on  board.  Mr.  Moore  likewise  took  his  passage 
with  us  on  his  way  to  Bermuda.  We  quitted 
Sj.itliead  on  the  25th  of  September  (180.>),  and 
In  a  sliort  week  lay  becalmed  under  the  lofty 
ti'M>k  of  Pico.  In  this  situation,  the  Phaeton  is 
'i  \h  ted  in  the  frontispiece  of  Moore's  Poems." 

During  the  voyage,  I  dined  very  frequently 
vitn  tlie  officers  of  the  gunroom ;  and  it  was 
not  a  little  gratifying  to  me  toaearn,  from  this 
gent  li  man's  volume,  that  the  cordial  regard 
these  social  and  )pen-hearted  men  inspired  in 
mc  was  not  wholly  unreturned,  on  their  part. 
After  mentioning  our  arrival  at  Norfolk,  in  Vir- 
t;iniH,  Captain  Scott  says,  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merry 
left  the  Phaeton,  under  tlie  usual  salute,  accom- 
[Muiied  by  Mr.  Moore ; "  —  then,   adding  some 


kind  compliments  on  the  score  of  talents,  &c. 
he  concludes  with  a  sentence  which  it  gave  m« 
tenfold  more  pleasure  to  read,  —  '•  The  g-au- 
room  mess  witnessed  the  day  of  his  departure 
with  genuine  sorrow."  From  Norfolk,  aftei  s 
stay  of  about  ten  days,  under  the  hosfi'.alle 
roof  of  the  British  Consul,  Colonel  Hamilton,  I 
proceeded,  in  the  Driver  sloop  of  war,  to  Ber- 
muda. 

There  was  then  on  that  station  another  youth- 
ful sailor,  who  has  since  earned  for  himself  a 
distinguished  name  among  English  writers  of 
travels,  Captain  Basil  Hall, — then  a  midship- 
man on  board  the  Leandcr.  In  his  Fragments 
of  Voyages  and  Travels,  this  writer  has  called 
up  some  agreeable  reminiscences  of  that  period  ; 
in  perusing  which,  —  so  full  of  life  and  reality 
are  his  sketches,  —  I  found  all  my  own  naval 
recollections  brought  freshly  to  my  mind.  Ths 
very  names  of  the  different  ships,  then  so  fa- 
miliar to  my  ears,  —  the  Leander,  the  Boston, 
the  Cambrian,  —  transported  me  back  to  the 
season  of  youth  and  those  Summer  Isles  once 
more. 

The  testimony  borne  by  so  competent  a  wit 
ness  as  Captain  Hall  to  the  truth  of  my  sketches 
of  the  beautiful  scenery  of  Bermuda  is  of  fat 
too  much  value  to  me,  in  my  capacity  of  trav- 
eller, to  be  here  omitted  by  me,  however  con- 
scious I  must  feel  of  but  ill  deserving  the  praise 
he  lavishes  on  me,  as  a  poet.  Not  that  I  pre- 
tend to  be  at  all  indifferent  to  such  kind  tributes ; 
—  on  the  contrary,  those  are  always  the  most 
alive  to  praise,  who  feel  inwardly  kast  confi- 
dence in  the  soundness  of  their  own  title  to  it. 
In  the  present  instance,  however,  my  vanity 
(for  so  this  uneasy  feeling  is  always  called)  seeki 
its  food  in  a  different  direction.  It  is  not  as  ■ 
poet  I  invoke  the  aid  of  Captain  Hall's  opini 
but  as  a  traveller  and  observer  ;  it  is  not  :d 
invention  I  ask  him  to  bear  testimony,  iu 
my  matter  of  fact. 

"  The  most  pleasing  and  most  exact  descrip 
tion  which  I  know  of  Bermuda,"  saj-s  this  {gen- 
tleman, "  is  to  be  found  in  Moore's  Odes  and 
Epistles,  a  work  published  many  years  ago. 
The  reason  why  his  account  excels  in  br^uty  as 
well  as  ir  precision  that  of  other  men  probably 
is,  that  the  scenes  described  lie  so  much  beyrmd 
the  scope  of  ordinary  observation  in  cold'^r  ci 


II 


POEMS  RELATING   TO   AMERICA. 


Vii 


males,  and  the  feelings  which  they  excite  in  the 
heholdcr  are  so  much  higher  than  those  pro- 
duced by  the  scenery  we  have  been  accustomed 
to  lonk  at,  that,  unless  the  imagination  be  deeply 
drnwn  upon,  and  the  diction  sustained  at  a  cor- 
respondent pitch,  the  words  alone  strike  the  ear, 
while  the  listener's  fancy  remains  where  it  was. 
In  Moore's  account  there  is  not  only  no  exag- 
geration, but,  on  the  contrary,  a  wonderful  de- 
gree of  temperance  in  the  midst  of  a  feast  which, 
to  his  rich  fancy,  must  have  been  peculiarly 
tempting.  lie  has  contrived,  by  a  magic  pccu- 
liHily  his  own,  yet  without  departing  from  the 
tuth,  to  sketch  what  was  before  him  with  a 
fervor  which  those  who  have  never  been  on  the 
spot  mij;ht  well  be  excused  for  setting  down  as 
the  sport  of  the  poet's  invention."  ' 

IIow  tiuly  politic  it  is  in  a  poet  to  connect 
hii  verse  with  well-known  and  interesting  lo- 
lalities,  —  to  wed  his  song  to  scenes  already  in- 
vested with  fame,  and  thus  lend  it  a  chance  of 
sharing  the  charm  which  encircles  them,  —  I 
have  myself,  in  more  than  one  instance,  very 
agreeably  experienced.  Among  the  memorials 
Hi  this  description,  which,  as  I  learn  with  pleas- 
ure and  pride,  still  keep  me  remembered  in 
some  of  those  beautiful  regions  of  the  West 
w  hich  I  visited,  I  shall  mention  but  one  slight 
uistince,  as  showing  how  potently  the  Genius 
of  the  Place  may  Iciid  to  song  a  life  and  imper- 
Lvhubleness  to  which,  in  itself,  it  boasts  no  claim 
01  pretension.  The  following  lines,  in  one  of 
UiV  Hennudian  Poems, 

"Twn  tliere,  in  tlie  sha(!i'  of  tlie  Calabnsb  Tree, 
With  a  few  who  0)uld  feel  and  remember  like  me, 

btill  live  in  mcraorj-,  I  am  told,  on  those  fairy 
shores,  connecting  my  name  with  the  picturesque 
spot  they  describe,  and  the  noble  old  tree  which 
1  believe  still  adorns  it.*  One  of  the  few  treas- 
ures (of  any  kind)  I  possess,  is  a  goblet  formed 
of  one  of  the  fruit  shells  of  this  remarkable  tree, 
v.liich  was  brought  from  Bermuda,  a  few  years 
bince,  by  Mr.  Dudley  Costello,  and  which  that 
ycTitlema'i,  having  had  it  tastefully  mounted  as 
•  gv)blct,  very  kindly  presented  to  me ;  the  fol- 
lowij.g  words  being  part  of  the  inscription  which 
.t  'cars :  —  " To  Thomas  Moore,  Esq.,  this  cup, 
foimed  of  a  ca'abash  which  grew  on  the  tree 
that  bears  his  name,  near  WaLsingham,  Bermu- 
dp,  ic  inscribed  by  one  who,"  &c.  &c. 

From  Bermuda  I  i)roeeeded  in  the  Boston, 
with  my  friend  Caj-tain  (now  Admiral)  J.  E. 

>  FrafinenW  of  Voy«fe«  and  Travels,  vol.  ii.  rliap.  vi. 
•  \  representation  of  tliis  ralaliaxh,  talcen  from  a  drawing 
*f  it  iiis-Je.  nn  the  ddcL,  bv  Ur.  Savan  of  the  Cuval  Artil- 


Douglas,  to  New  York,  from  whence,  after  k 
short  stay,  we  sailed  for  Norfolk,  in  Virginia  ; 
and  about  the  beginning  of  June,  1804,  I  sel 
out  from  that  city  on  a  tour  through  part  of  the 
States.  At  Washington,  I  passed  some  days 
with  the  English  minister,  Mr.  Merry;  and  was, 
by  hira,  presented  at  the  levee  of  the  Presides;  t, 
Jefferson,  whom  I  found  sitting  with  Gnnoval 
Dearborn  .and  one  or  two  other  officers,  and  ui 
the  same  homely  costume,  comprising  slijipen 
and  Conncmara  stockings,  in  which  Mr.  Merry 
had  been  received  by  him  —  much  to  that  for- 
mal minister's  horror  —  when  waiting  upo» 
him,  in  full  dress,  to  deliver  his  credontiab» 
My  single  interview  with  this  remarkable  per- 
son was  of  very  short  duration  ;  but  to  have 
seen  and  spoken  with  the  man  who  drew  up 
the  Declaration  of  American  Independence  waji 
an  event  not  to  be  forgotten. 

At  Philadelphia,  the  society  I  was  chiefly 
made  acquainted  with,  and  to  which  (as  the 
verses  addressed  to  "  Delaware's  green  banks  "  ' 
sufficiently  testify)  I  was  indebted  for  some  of 
ray  most  agreeable  recollections  of  the  Uniteo 
States,  consisted  entirely  of  persons  of  the  Fed- 
eralist or  Anti-Democratic  party.  Few  and 
transient,  too,  as  had  been  my  opportunities,  of 
judging  for  myself  of  the  political  or  social  state 
of  the  country,  my  mind  was  left  open  too  much 
to  the  influence  of  the  feelings  and  prejudices 
of  those  I  chiefly  consorted  with ;  and,  certain- 
ly, in  no  quarter  was  I  so  sure  to  find  decided 
hostility,  both  to  the  men  and  the  principles 
then  dominant  throughout  the  Union,  as  amor.g 
officers  of  the  British  navy,  and  in  the  ranks  ol 
an  angry  Federalist  opposition.  For  any  bias 
therefore,  thsit,  under  such  circumstances,  m} 
opinions  and  feelings  may  be  thought  to  have 
received,  full  allowance,  of  course,  is  to  be  made 
in  appraising  the  weight  due  to  my  authorit) 
on  the  subject.  All  I  can  answer  for,  is  th? 
perfect  sincerity  and  earnestness  of  the  actua 
impressions,  whether  true  or  erroneous,  ur'l< : 
which  my  Epistles  from  the  United  States  w .  rr 
written  ;  and  so  strong,  at  the  time,  I  contc  » 
were  th  -se  impressions,  that  it  was  the  nni) 
period  of  my  past  life  during  which  1  hav, 
found  myself  at  all  sceptical  as  to  the  soundi.  jks 
of  that  Liberal  creed  of  poltiics,  in  the  profes- 
sion and  advocacy  of  which  I  may  be  almasl 
literally  said  to  have  begun  life,  and  shall  most 
probably  end  it. 

lery,  has  been  introduced  in  tlie  vignette  pre/lxed  to  thu 
volume. 
*  See  Epistle  to  .Mr.  W.  R.  Spencer, p.  153 of  thia  e-litioo 


IJ8 


POEMS  RELATING  TO   AMERICA 


Reaching,  for  the  second  time,  New  York,  I 
let  ou*-  from  thence  on  the  now  familiar  and 
easy  ent  apprise  of  visiting  the  Falls  of  Niagara. 
It  is  but  too  true,  of  all  grand  objects,  whether 
In  nature  or  art,  that  facility  of  access  to  them 
piucli  diminishes  the  feeling  of  reverence  they 
aght  to  inspire.  Of  this  fault,  however,  the 
route  to  Niagara,  at  that  period  —  at  least  the 
|jortion  of  it  which  led  through  the  Genesee 
JDuntry — could  not  justly  be  accused.  The 
Latter  part  of  the  journey,  which  lay  chiefly 
through  yet  but  half-cleared  wood,  we  were 
obliged  to  perform  on  foot ;  and  a  slight  accident 
1  met  with,  in  the  course  of  our  rugged  walk, 
laid  me  up  for  some  days  at  Buffalo.  To  the 
rapid  growth,  in  that  wonderful  region,  of,  at 
luast,  the  materials  of  civilization,  —  however 
ultimately  they  may  be  turned  to  account,  — 
tliis  flourishing  town,  which  stands  on  Lake 
Erie,  bears  most  ample  testimony.  Though  little 
hotter,  at  the  time  when  I  visited  it,  than  a  mere 
village,  consisting  chiefly  of  huts  and  wigwams, 
it  is  now,  by  all  accounts,  a  populous  and  splen- 
did citj',  with  five  or  six  churches,  tovm  hall, 
theatre,  and  other  such  appurtenances  of  a 
capital. 

In  adverting  to  the  comparatively  rude  state 
of  13uff'alo  at  that  period,  I  should  be  ungrate- 
ful were  I  to  omit  mentioning,  that,  even  then, 
on  the  shores  of  those  far  lakes,  the  title  of 
"  Poet,' '  —  however  unworthily  in  that  instance 
bestowed,  —  bespoke  a  kind  and  distinguishing 
welc  ome  for  its  wearer ;  and  that  the  Captain 
who  commanded  the  packet  in  which- 1  crossed 
Lake  Ontario,'  in  addition  to  other  marks  of 
courtesy,  begged,  on  parting  with  me,  to  be 
allowed  to  decline  payment  for  my  passage. 

When  we  arrived,  at  length,  at  the  inn,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Falls,  it  was  too  late  to 
think  of  visiting  them  that  evening  ;  and  I  lay 
awake  almost  the  whole  night  with  the  sound 
of  the  cataract  in  my  ears.  The  day  foUowi-tj-; 
1  Consider  as  a  sort  of  era  in  my  life ;  and  the 
first  glimpse  I  caught  of  that  wonderful  cataract 
gavd  me  a  feeling  which  nothing  in  this  world 
can  ever  awaken  again.*  It  was  through  an 
opening  among  the  trees,  as  we  approached  the 
Bpot  where  the  fuU  view  of  the  Falls  was  to 
burst  upon  us,  that  I  caught  this  glimpse  of  the 
mighty  mass  of  waters  folding  smoothly  over  the 
edge  of  the  precipice  ;    and  so  overwhelming 

1  Tne  Commodore  of  the  Lakes,  as  he  is  styled. 

«  The  two  first  sentences  of  the  above  paragraph,  as  well 
18  a  passage  tliat  occurs  in  a  subsequent  paragraph,  stood 
irixinally  as  part  of  the  Notes  on  one  of  the  American  Poems, 


was  the  notion  it  gave  me  of  the  awful  spect** 
cle  I  was  approaching,  that,  during  the  short 
interval  that  followed,  imagination  had  far  out- 
run the  reality ;  and,  vast  and  wonderful  aa 
was  the  scene  tliat  then  opened  upon  me,  my 
first  feeling  was  that  of  disappointment.  It 
would^  have  been  impossible,  indeed,  for  any 
thing  real  to  come  up  to  the  vision  I  had,  in 
these  few  seconds,  formed  of  it ;  and  thoM 
awful  scriptural  words,  "  The  fountains  of  the 
great  deep  were  broken  up,"  can  alone  give 
any  notion  of  the  vague  wonders  for  which  I 
was  prepared. 

But,  in  spite  of  the  start  thus  got  by  imagina- 
tion, the  triumph  of  reality  was,  in  the  end,  but 
the  greater ;  for  the  gradual  glory  of  the  scene 
that  opened  upon  me  soon  took  possession  of 
my  whole  mind ;  presenting,  from  day  to  day, 
some  new  beauty  or  wonder,  and,  like  all  that  is 
most  sublime  in  nature  or  art,  awakening  sad  as 
weU  as  elevating  thoughts.  I  retain  in  my 
memory  but  one  other  dream  —  for  such  do 
events  so  long  past  appear  —  which  can  in  any 
respect  be  associated  with  the  grand  vision  I 
have  just  been  describing  ;  and,  however  differ- 
ent the  nature  of  their  ajipeals  to  the  imagina- 
tion, I  should  find  it  difficult  to  say  on  which 
occasion  I  felt  most  deeply  affected,  when  look- 
ing on  the  Falls  of  Niagara,  or  when  standing 
by  moonlight  among  the  ruins  of  the  Coliseum. 

Some  changes,  I  understand,  injurious  to  the 
beauty  of  the  scene,  h  ive  taken  place  in  the 
shape  of  the  Falls  sinci  the  time  of  my  visit  to 
them  ;  and  among  these  is  the  total  disappear- 
ance, by  the  gradual  crumbling  away  of  the 
rock,  of  the  small  leafy  island  which  then  stood 
near  the  edge  of  the  Great  Fall,  and  whose 
tranquillity  and  unapproachableness,  in  the 
midst  of  so  much  turmoil,  lent  it  an  interest 
which  I  thus  tried  to  avail  myself  of,  in  a  Song 
of  the  Spirit  of  that  region : '  — 

There,  amid  the  island  eedge. 
Just  above  the  cataract's  edge, 
Wliere  the  foot  of  living  man 
Never  trod  since  time  began. 
Lone  I  sit  at  close  of  day,  &c  &<■ 

Another  characteristic  feature  of  the  vicinily 
of  the  Falls,  which,  I  understand,  no  long°i 
exists,  was  the  interesting  settlement  of  the 
Tuscarora  Indians.     With  the   gallant  Brock,* 

8  Introduced  in  the  Epistle  to  Lady  Charlotte  Rawdoii 
p.- 155  of  this  edition. 

♦  This  brave  and  amiable  officer  was  killed  at  Q.ueenstown, 
in  Upper  Canada,  soon  after  the  commencement  of  the  wai 


POEMS   RELATING  TO   AMERICA. 


1-2V 


who  then  commanded  at  Fort  George,  I  passed 
the  greater  part  of  my  time  during  the  few 
•weeks  I  remained  at  Niagara  ;  and  a  visit  I  paid 
to  these  Indians,  in  company  with  him  and  his 
Drother  officers,  on  his  going  to  distribute  among 
them  the  customary  presents  and  prizes,  was 
not  the  least  curious  of  the  many  new  scenes  I 
witnessed.  These  people  received  us  in  all  their 
ancient  costume.  The  young  men  exhibited  for 
our  amusement  in  the  race,  the  bat  game,  and 
other  Bports,  while  the  old  a:.d  the  women  sat  in 
groups  under  the  surrounding  trees ;  and  the 
whole  scene  was  as  picturesque  and  beautiful  as 
it  was  new  to  me.  It  is  said  that  West,  the 
American  painter,  when  he  first  saw  the  Apollo, 
at  Rome,  exclaimed  instantly,  "  A  young  Indian 
w  arrior  ! "  —  and,  however  startling  the  associa- 
tion may  appear,  some  of  the  graceful  and  agile 
forms  which  I  saw  that  day  among  the  Tusca- 
roras  were  such  as  would  account  for  its  arising 
in  the  young  painter's  mind. 

After  crossing  "  the  fresh-water  ocean "  of 
Ontario,  I  passed  do^^Ti  the  St.  Lawrence  to 
Montreal  and  Quebec,  staying  for  a  short  time 
at  each  of  these  places ;  and  this  part  of  my 
journey,  as  well  as  my  voyage  on  from  Quebec 
to  Halil'ax.  is  sufficiently  traceable  through  the 
few  pieces  of  poetry  that  were  suggested  to  me 
by  scenes  and  events  on  the  way.  And  here  I 
must  again  venture  to  avail  myself  of  the  valua- 
ble testimony  of  Captain  Hall  to  the  truth  of 
my  descriptions  of  some  of  those  scenes  through 
wnich  his  more  practised  eye  followed  me ;  — 
taking  the  liberty  to  omit  in  my  extracts,  as  far 
as  may  be  done  without  injury  to  the  style  or 
context,  some  of  that  generous  surplusage  of 
praise  in  which  friendly  criticism  delights  to 
Indulge.      , 

In  speaking  of  an  excursion  he  had  made  up  the 
River  Ottawa, —  ««a  stream,"  he  adds,  «<  which 
has  a  classical  place  in  every  one's  imagination 
from  Moore's  Canadian  Boat  Song,"  Captain 
Hall  proceeds  as  follows  :  —  '•  While  the  poet 
above  alluded  to  has  retained  all  that  is  essen- 
tially characteristic  and  pleasing  in  these  boat 
•ojigs.  and  rejected  all  that  is  not  so,  he  has 
coiitrived  to  borrow  his  inspiration  from  numer- 
ous surrounding  circumstances,  presenting  noth- 


with  Ainenca,  in  ttie  vear  1813.  He  was  in  the  act  of 
crie«ring  on  liia  men  when  he  fell.  The  inwription  on  the 
mominient  rftiaed  to  his  memory,  on  Qiieenstown  Heights, 
does  but  due  honor  to  his  manly  character. 

1  "  It  IS  sinpilarly  gratify-ing,"  the  author  adds,  "  to  di*- 
•oTer  that,  to  tliis  hour,  the  Canadian  voya/rturt  never  omil 


ing  remarkable  to  the  dull  seiues  of  ordiruu7 
travellers.  Yet  these  highly  poetical  images, 
drawn  in  this  way,  as  it  were  carelessly  and 
from  every  hand,  he  has  combined  with  such 
graphic  —  I  had  almost  said  geographical  — 
truth,  that  the  effect  is  great  even  upon  those 
who  have  never,  with  their  owt.  tyes,  seer  tht 
•  Utawa's  tide,'  ncr  *  flown  down  the  Raj  ids.' 
nor  heard  the  •  bell  of  St.  Anne's  toll  its  even- 
ing chime ; '  while  the  same  lines  give  to  dis- 
tant regions,  previously  consecrated  in  out 
imagination,  a  vividness  of  interest,  when 
viewed  on  the  spot,  of  which  it  is  difficult  Ic 
say  how  much  is  due  to  the  magic  of  the  poe- 
try, and  how  much  to  the  beauty  of  the  real 
scene." ' 

While  on  the  subject  of  the  Canadian  Boat 
Song,  an  anecdote  connected  with  that  once 
popular  ballad  may,  for  my  musical  readers  at 
least,  possess  some  interest.  A  few  years  since, 
while  staying  in  Dublin,  I  was  presented,  at  his 
own  request,  to  a  gentleman  who  told  me  that 
his  family  had  in  their  possession  a  curious  relio 
of  my  youthful  days,  —  being  the  first  notation 
I  had  made,  in  pencilling,  of  the  air  and  words 
of  the  Canadian  Boat  Song,  while  on  my  way 
down  the  St.  Lawrence,  —  and  that  it  wa?  their 
wish  I  should  add  my  signature  to  attest  tho 
authenticity  of  the  autograph.  I  assured  him 
with  truth  that  I  had  wholly  forgotten  even  the 
existence  of  such  a  memorandum  ;  that  it  would 
be  as  much  a  curiosity  to  myself  as  it  could  be 
to  any  one  else,  and  that  I  should  feel  thankful 
to  be  allowed  to  see  it.  In  a  day  or  two  after, 
my  request  was  complied  with,  and  the  follow- 
ing is  the  history  of  this  musical  •'  relic." 

In  my  passage  down  the  St.  Lawrence,  I  haa 
with  me  two  travelling  companions,  one  of 
whom,  named  Harkness,  the  son  of  a  wealthy 
Dublin  merchant,  has  been  some  years  dead 
To  this  young  friend,  on  parting  with  him,  al 
Quebec,  I  gave,  as  a  keepsake,  a  volume  1  hsi 
been  reading  on  the  way,  —  Priestley's  Lectures 
on  Historj- ;  and  it  was  upon  a  flyleaf  of  thi» 
volume  I  found  I  had  taken  down,  in  pen- 
cilling, both  the  notes  and  a  few  of  the  words 
of  the  original  song  by  which  my  own  boat 
glee  had  been  suggested.    The  following  is  tha 


their  offerings  to  the  shrine  of  St  Anne,  befrre  engatting  In 
any  enterprise  ;  and  that,  during  its  perfoniianre,  tliey  omil 
no  opportunity  of  keeping  up  so  propitious  an  iiitanuMira* 
The  fl<  urishing  village  which  surrounds  the  church  on  tbn 
''Green  Isle'  in  question  owes  its  existence  and  suppor 
entirely  to  these  pious  contribiitiona." 


forni    of    my    memorandum    of    the    original 
air:  — 


i_ii    l>   7^_  _    _ 


Then  follows,  as  pencilled  down  at  the  same 
moment,  the  first  verse  of  my  Canadian  Boat 
Song,  with  air  and  words  as  they  are  at  present. 
From  all  this  it  will  be  perceived,  that,  in  my 
own  setting  of  the  air,  I  departed  in  almost 
every  respect  but  the  time  from  the  strain  our 
toyarfeurs  had  sung  to  us,  leaving  the  music  of 
the  glee  nearly  as  much  my  own  as  the  words. 
Yet,  how  strongly  impressed  I  had  become  with 
the  notion  that  this  'vas  the  identical  air  sung 
by  the  boatmen,  —  how  closely  it  linked  itself 
m  my  imagination  with  the  scenes  and  sounds 
amidst  which  it  had  occurred  to  me,  —  maj'  be 
seen  by  reference  to  a  note  appended  to  the 
glee  as  first  published,  which  will  be  found  in 
the  foUoAving  pages.' 

To  the  few  desultory  and,  perhaps,  valueless 
recollections  I  have  thus  called  up,  respecting 
the  contents  of  our  second  volume,  I  have  onty 
to  add,  that  the  heavy  storm  of  censure  and 
criticism,  —  some  of  it,  I  fear,  but  too  well  de- 
served, —  which,  both  in  America  and  in  Eng- 
land, the  publication  of  my  "  Odes  and  Epistles  " 
drpw  down  upon  me,  was  followed  by  results 
H'hich  have  far  more  than  compensated  for  any 
.paan  such  attacks  at  the  time  may  have  inflicted. 
;In  ithe  most  formidable  of  all  my  censors,  at 
that  period,  —  the  great  master  of  the  art  of 
criticism,  in  our  day,  —  I  have  found  ever  since 
one  of  the  most  cordial  and  highly  valued  of 
all  my  friends ;  while  the  good  will  I  have  ex- 
perienced from  more  than  one  distinguished 
American  sufficiently  assures  me  that  any  in- 
justice 1  may  have  done  to  that  land  of  freemen. 
If  no'  long  since  wholly  forgotten,  is  now  re- 
membered only  to  oe  forgiven. 

As  some  consolation  to  me  for  the  onsets  of 
uriticisra,  I ;  received,  shortly  after  the  appear- 
tnce  of  mj-ivoiume,  a  letter  from  Stockholm, 
addressed  to  "  the  author  of  Epistles,  Odes, 
•.nd  (ither  Poems,"  and  informing  me  that 
•  the    Princes,  .Nobles,   and   Gentlemen,   who 

>  I'ajo  155  of  Uu8  ed'tira. 


composed  the  General  Chapter  of  the  most 
Illustrious.  Equestrian,  Secular,  and  Chapteral 
Order  of  St.  Joachim,"  had  elected  me  an  a 
Knight  of  this  Order.  Notwithstanding  the 
grave  and  official  style  of  the  letter,  I  regarded 
it,  I  own  at  first,  as  a  mere  ponderous  piece  of 
pleasantry ;  and  e^en  suspected  that  in  the 
name  of  St,  "  Joachim  "  I  could  detect  the  low 
and  iiTCverent  pun  of  St.  Jokehim. 

On  a  little  inquiry,  however,  I  learneu  tha' 
there  actually  existed  such  an  order  of  knight- 
hood; that  the  title,  insignia,  &c.  conferred  by 
it  had,  in  the  instances  of  Lord  Nelson,  the 
Duke  of  Bouillon,  and  Colonel  ImhofF,  who 
were  all  Knights  of  St.  Joachim,  been  autl  or- 
izcd  by  the  British  court ;  but  that  since  then, 
this  sanction  of  the  order  had  been  A\ithdrawn. 
Of  course,  to  the  reduction  thus  caused  in  the 
value  of  the  honor  was  owing  its  descent  in  the 
scale  of  distinction  to  "  such  small  deer  "  of 
Parnassus  as  myself.  I  wrote  a  letter,  howeve  r, 
full  of  grateful  ackncjwledgment,  to  Monsieui 
Hansson,  the  Yice  Chancellor  of  the  Order, 
saying  that  I  was  unconscious  of  havhig  entitled 
myself,  by  any  public  service,  to  a  reward  due 
only  to  the  benefactors  of  mankind  ;  and  there- 
fore begged  leave  most  respectfully  to  decline  it. 


FRANCIS,   EARL  OF  MOIRA 

GENERAL  IN  HIS  MAJESTY'S  FORCES,  MASTEh 
GENERAL  OF  THE  ORDNANCE,  CONSTABLE  OS 
THE    TOWER,    ETC. 

My  Lord  :  —  It  is  impossible  to  think  of  au 
dressing  a  Dedication  to  your  Lordship  without 
calling  to  mind  the  well-known  re^ly  of  tue 
Spartan  to  a  rhetorician,  who  proposed  to  pro- 
nounce a  eulogium  on  Hercules.  "  On  Her- 
cules !  "  said  the  honest  Spartan,  "  who  ever 
thought  of  blaming  Hercules?"  In  a  similai 
manner  the  concurrence  of  public  opinion  has 
^left  to  the  panegyrist  of  your  Lordsliip  a  very 
superfluous  task.  I  shall,  therefore,  be  tilent 
on  the  subject,  and  merely  entreat  your  indul- 
gence to  the  very  humble  tribute  of  gratitude 
which  I  have  here  the  honor  to  present 
I  am,  my  Lord, 

With  every  feeling  of  attachment 
and  respect, 
Your  Lordship's  very  devoted  Servant, 
THOMAS   MOORE 
37,  Bvrg  Street,  St.  Jamei'a, 
Jtpril  10, 180S. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO   AMERICA. 


ir 


PREFACE.' 

TiR  principal  poems  in  the  following  collec- 
tion were  written  during  an  absence  of  fourteen 
moi  ths  irom  Europe.  Though  curiosity  was 
certainly  not  the  motive  of  my  voyage  to  Amer- 
ica, yet  it  happened  that  the  gratification  of 
euriosity  was  the  only  advantage  which  I  de- 
rived from  it.  Finding  myself  in  the  country 
of  a  new  people,  whose  infancy  had  promised 
•o  mucli,  and  whose  progress  to  maturity  has 
been  an  object  of  such  interesting  speculation, 
I  determined  to  employ  the  short  period  of  time, 
whic  a  my  plan  of  return  to  Europe  afforded  me, 
in  tin  veiling  through  a  few  of  the  States,  and 
acquiring  some  knowledge  of  the  inhabitants. 

The  impression  which  my  mind  received  from 
•he  character  and  manners  of  these  republicans, 
miggested  the  Epistles  which  are  written  from 
the  city  of  Washington  and  Lake  Erie.*  How 
far  I  was  right,  in  thus  assuming  the  tone  of  a 
eatirist  against  a  people  whom  I  viewed  but  as  a 
stranger  and  a  visitor,  is  a  doubt  which  my  feel- 
ings did  not  allow  me  time  to  investigate.  All 
I  presume  to  answer  for  is  the  fidelity  of  the 
picture  which  I  have  given  ;  and  though  pru- 
dence might  have  dictated  gentler  language, 
truth,  I  think,  would  have  justified  severer. 

I  went  to  America  with  prepossessions  by  no 
means  unfavorable,  and  indeed  rather  indulged 
in  many  of  those  illusive  ideas,  with  respect  to 
the  purity  of  the  government  and  the  primitive 
happiness  of  the  people,  which  I  had  early  im- 
bibed in  my  native  coui\try,  where,  unfortunate- 
ly, discontent  at  home  enhances  every  distant 
temptation,  and  the  western  world  has  long  been 
looked  to  as  a  retreat  from  real  or  imaginary 
oppression  ;  as,  in  short,  the  elysian  Atlantis, 
where  persecuted  patriots  might  find  their 
Tisions  realized,  and  be  welcomed  by  kindred 
■ipirits  to  liberty  and  reuose.  In  all  these  flat- 
tering expectationf»  I  found  myself  completely 
disappointed,  and  felt  inclined  to  say  to  Amer- 
ica, as  Horace  SHya  to  his  mistress,  ••  intentata 
nites "  Brisso»,  in  the  preface  to  his  travels, 
obsen cs,  that  "  freedom  in  that  country  is  car- 
ried to  so  l>i?h  a  degree  as  to  border  upon  a 
Itate  of  nature  ;"  and  there  certainly  is  a  close 
*pproxiroation  to  savage  life,  not  only  in  the 

»  Thin  Preface,  as  well  as  Uie  Drdicntion  which  precedes 
g,  vrere  pr«nxpd   nriciiially  to  the   inixceilannoiis  vohime 
Bititleil  "  tMes  and  K|>iKilpt<,"<if  which,  hitherto,  Um  pnema 
•latinl^  to  my  Ainericm  tour  have  rormed  a  part. 
KpiMlM  <fL  VU.  and  VUl 


liberty  which  they  enjoy,  but  in  the  violence  of 
party  spirit  and  of  private  animosity  which  re- 
sults from  it.  This  illiberal  real  imbittcrs  aL 
social  intercourse  ;  and,  though  I  scarcely  could 
hesitate  in  selecting  the  party,  whose  views  ap- 
peared to  me  the  more  pure  and  rational,  yet  I 
was  sorry  to  observe  that,  in  asserting  theil 
opinions,  they  both  assume  an  equal  share  of 
intolerance;  the  Democrats,  consistently  with 
their  principles,  exhibiting  a  vulgarity  of  rancor, 
which  thte  Federalists  too  often  are  so  forgetfal 
of  their  cause  as  to  imitate. 

The  rude  familiarity  of  the  lower  orders,  an<< 
indeed  the  unpolished  state  of  socieiy  in  gen- 
eral, would  neither  surprise  nor  disgust  if  they 
seemed  to  flow  from  that  simplicity  of  character, 
that  honest  ignorance  of  the  gloss  of  refinement 
which  may  be  looked  for  in  a  now  and  inexpe- 
rienced people.  But,  when  we  find  them  ar- 
rived at  maturity  in  most  of  the  vices,  and  all 
the  pride  of  civilization,  while  they  are  still  so 
far  removed  from  its  higher  and  better  charac- 
teristics, it  is  impossible  not  to  feel  that  this 
youthful  decay,  this  crude  anticipation  of  the 
natural  period  of  corruption,  must  repress  ever* 
sanguine  hope  of  the  future  energy  and  great 
ncss  of  America. 

I  am  conscious  that,  in  venturing  these  few 
remarks,  I  have  said  just  enough  to  offend,  and 
by  no  means  sufficient  to  convince  ;  for  the  lim- 
its of  a  preface  prevent  me  from  entering  into  a 
justification  of  my  opinions,  and  I  am  committed 
on  the  subject  as  efl"ectually  as  if  I  had  written 
volumes  in  their  defence.  My  reader,  however, 
is  apprised  of  the  very  cursory  observation  upon 
which  these  opinions  are  founded,  and  can  easily 
decide  for  himself  upon  the  degree  of  attention 
or  confidence  which  they  merit. 

With  respect  to  the  poems  in  general,  which 
occupy  the  following  pages,  I  know  not  in  what 
manner  to  apologize  to  the  public  for  intru  ling 
upon  their  notice  such  a  mass  of  unconnected 
trifles,  such  a  world  of  epicurean  atoms  as  I 
have  here  brought  in  conflict  together.*  To  say 
that  I  have  been  tempted  by  the  liberal  offent 
of  my  bookseller,  is  an  excuse  which  can  hope 
for  but  little  indulgence  from  the  critic  ;  yet  I 
own  that,  without  this  seasonable  inducement, 
these  poems  very  possibly  would  never  hara 
been  submitted  to  the  world.  The  glare  of 
publication  is  too  strong  for  such  imperfect  pro- 
ductions :  they  should  be  shown  but  to  the  e« 
of  friendship,  in  that  dim  light  ot  privacy  whicV 

*  Sm  Um  fureguing  ^oto  1. 


us  as  favorable  to  poetical  as  to  female  beauty, 
and  serves  as  a  veil  for  faults,  while  it  enhances 
every  charm  which  it  displays.  Besides,  this  is 
not  a  period  for  the  idle  occupations  of  poetry, 
and  times  like  the  present  require  talents  more 
active  and  more  useful.  Few  have  now  the 
leisure  to  read  such  trifles,  and  I  most  sincerely 
regret  that  I  have  had  the  leisure  to  write  them. 


LORD  VISCOUNT  STRANGFORD. 

ftBOAMD  THE  PEABTON  FBIOATE,  OFF  THE  AZ0EE8,  BT  XOOIT- 
JLIQHT. 

Sweet  Moon  !  if,  like  Crotona's  sage,' 

By  any  spell  my  hand  could  dare 
To  make  thy  disk  its  ample  page, 

And  write  my  thoughts,  my  wishes  there ; 
How  many  a  friend,  whose  careless  eye 
Now  wanders  o'er  that  starry  sky. 
Should  smile,  upon  thy  orb  to  meet 
The  recollection,  kind  and  sweet, 
The  reveries  of  fond  regret. 
The  promise,  never  to  forget, 
And  all  my  heart  and  soul  would  send 
To  many  a  dear-lov'd,  distant  friend. 

How  little,  when  ye  parted  last, 
I  thought  those  pleasant  times  were  past, 
Forever  past,  when  brilliant  joy 
Was  all  my  vacant  heart's  employ  : 
When,  fresh  from  mirth  to  mirth  again, 

We  thought  the  rapid  hours  too  few  ; 
Our  only  use  for  knowledge  then 

To  gather  bliss  from  aU  we  knew. 
Delicious  days  of  whim  and  soul ! 

When,  mingling  lore  and  laugh  together, 
We  lean'd  the  book  on  Pleasure's  bowl. 

And  tum'd  the  leaf  with  Folly's  feather. 
1  ittle  I  thought  that  all  were  fled, 
I'hat,  ere  that  summer's  bloom  was  shed. 
My  eye  should  see  the  sail  unfurl'd 
rhat  wafts  me  to  the  western  world. 


1  Pythagoras ;  who  was  supposed  to  have  a  power  of 
irriting  upon  the  Moon  by  the  means  of  a  magic  mirror.  — 
Bee  Baylt,  art.  Pythag. 

*  Alluding  to  these  animated  lines  in  the  44th  Carmen 
■f  Can  "ius :  — 

Jam  mens  pnetrepidans  avet  vagari, 
Jam  'sti  rtudio  pedes  vigescunt ! 


And  yet,  'twas  time  ;  —  in  youth's  8we«t  dayt 
To  cool  that  season's  glowing  rays, 
Tlie  heart  a  while,  with  wanton  wing, 
May  dip  and  dive  in  Pleasure's  spring ; 
But,  if  it  wait  for  winter's  breeze, 
The  spring  will  chill,  the  heart  will  freeze. 
And  then,  that  Hope,  that  fairy  Hope,  — 

O,  she  awak'd  such  happy  dreams, 
And  gave  my  soul  such  tempting  scope 

For  all  its  dearest,  fondest  schemes. 
That  not  Verona's  child  of  song. 

When  flying  from  the  Phrygian  shore, 
With  lighter  heart  could  bound  along, 

Or  pant  to  be  a  wanderer  more  !  * 

Even  now  delusive  hope  will  steal 
Amid  the  dark  regrets  I  feel. 
Soothing,  as  yonder  placid  beam 

Pursues  the  murmurers  of  the  deep, 
And  lights  them  with  consoling  gleam, 
.  And  smiles  them  into  tranquil  sleep. 
O,  such  a  blessed  night  as  this, 

I  often  think,  if  friends  were  near, 
How  we  should  feel,  and  gaze  with  bliss 

Upon  the  moon-bright  scenery  here  ! 

The  sea  is  like  a  silvery  lake. 

And,  o'er  its  calm  the  vessel  glides 
Gently,  as  if  it  fear'd  to  wake 

The  slumber  of  the  silent  tides. 
The  only  envious  cloud  that  lowers 

Hath  hung  its  shade  on  Pico's  height,* 
Where  dimly,  'mid  the  dusk,  he  towers, 

And  scowling  at  this'heav'n  of  light, 
Exults  to  see  the  infant  storm 
Cling  darkly  round  his  giant  form ! 

Now,  could  I  range  those  verdant  isles, 

Invisible,  at  this  soft  hour. 
And  see  the  looks,  the  beaming  smiles. 

That  brighten  many  an  orange  bower  ; 
And  could  I  lift  each  pious  veil. 

And  see  the  blushing  cheek  it  shades..  — • 
O,  I  should  have  full  many  a  tale. 

To  tell  of  young  Azorian  maids.* 

Yes,  Strangford,  at  this  hour,  perhaps, 
Some  lover  (not  loo  idly  blest, 


'  A  very  high  mountain  on  one  of  the  Azores,  from  wliini 
the  island  derives  its  name.  It  is  said  by  some  tu  be  as  higit 
as  the  Peak  of  Teneriffe. 

4  I  believe  it  is  Guthrie  who  says,  that  the  inhabitants  o< 
the  Azores  ere  much  addicted  to  gallantry  This  is  an  at 
sertion  in  which  even  Guthrie  may  be  credted 


POEMS   RELATING   TO  AMERICA. 


IM 


Like  those,  who  in  their  ladies'  laps 

May  cradle  every  wiah  to  rest.) 
Warbles,  to  touch  hia  dear  one's  soul. 

Those  madrigals,  of  breath  divine. 
Which  Camoens'  harp  from  Rapture  stole 

And  gpve,  all  glowing  warm,  to  thine.' 
0,  could  the  lover  leani  from  thee, 

And  breathe  them  with  thy  gracefrU  tone, 
Su:;h  sweet,  beguiling  minstrelsy 

Would  make  the  coldest  nymph  his  own. 

But  hark  !  •  -  the  boatswain's  pipings  teU 
'Tis  time  to  bid  my  dream  furewcll : 
Eight  bells  :  —  the  middle  watch  is  set ; 
Ciood  night,  my  Strangford  !  —  ne'er  forget 
That,  far  beyond  the  western  sea 
^  one,  whose  heart  xemembers  thee. 


STANZAS. 


Ovftoi  it  nor'  titof  ■ 


■  lit  irpBoftiivti  rait. 


Ti»f»(>Kt  Tavdji(i)ireia  /hi  atSttp  ayan, 

iE*cHTL.  FrmfmetU. 

X  BEAM  of  tranquillity  smil'd  in  the  west, 
The  storms  of  the  morning  pursued  us  no 
more ; 
And  the  wave,  while  it  welcom'd  the  moment 
of  rest. 
Still  hcav'd,  as  remembering  ills  that  were 
o'er. 

Serenely  my  heart  took  the  hue  of  the  hour, 
Its  passions  were  sleeping,  were  mute  as  the 
dead ; 
And  the  spirit  becalm'd  but  remember'd  their 
power. 
As  the  biUow  the  force  of  the  gale  that  was 
fled. 

I  thought  of  those  days,  when  to  pleasure  alone 
My  heart  ever  granted  a  wish  or  a  sigh  ; 

When    the   saddest   emotion   my   bosom    had 
known. 
Was  pity  for  those  who  were  wiser  than  L 

I  reflected,  h'  w  soon  in  the  cup  of  Desire 
The  pearl  of  the  soul  may  be  melted  away ; 

I  Th«M  islands  belong  to  the  PortugiieM. 

s  It  ia  the  opininn  of  St.  Aiidtin  upon  Genonia,  and  I  be 
:eve  of  nearly  all  thu  Faiheri,  tJial  birdu,  like  fish,  were 
jriginally  produced  from  tlie  waton ;  in  defence  of  which 
'ea  titer  tun  soU«cted  every  fanciful  ciji»iinM«nce  which 


How  quickly,  alas,  the  pure  sparkle  of  fire 
We  inherit  from  heav'n,  may  be  queuch'd  i* 
the  clay ; 

And  I  pray'd  of  that  Spirit  who  lighted  the  flame; 

That  Pleasure  no  more  might  its  purity  dim 
So  that,  sullied  but  little,  or  brightly  the  s&me, 

I  might  give  back  the  boon  I  had  borrow' d 
from  Him. 

How  blest  was  the  thought !  it  appear'd  as  A 
Heaven 

Had  already  an  opening  to  Paradise  shown  ; 
As  if,  passion  all  chasten'd  and  error  forgiven. 

My  heart  then  began  to  be  purely  its  own. 

I  look'd  to  the  west,  and  the  beautiful  sky 
Which  morning  had  clouded,  was  clouded  no 
more : 
"  O,  thus,"  I  exclaimed,  "  may  a  heavenly  eye 
<*  Shed  light  on  the  soul  that  was  darken  <I 
before  " 


THE  FLYING  FISH.* 

When  I  have  seen  thy  snow-white  win« 
From  the  blue  wave  at  evening  spring. 
And  show  those  scales  of  silvery  white 
So  gayly  to  the  eye  of  light, 
As  if  thy  frame  were  form'd  to  rise, 
And  live  amid  the  glorious  skies  ; 
O,  it  has  made  me  proudly  feel, 
How  like  thy  wing's  impatient  zeal 
Is  the  pure  soul,  that  rests  not,  peni 
Within  this  world's  gross  element. 
But  takes  the  wing  that  God  has  givu. , 
And  rises  into  light  and  heaven  I 

But,  when  I  see  that  wing,  so  bright, 
Grow  languid  with  a  momeait's  flight, 
Attempt  the  paths  of  air  in  vain. 
And  sink  into  the  waves  again  ; 
Alas  !  the  flattering  pride  is  o'er ; 
Like  thee,  a  while,  the  soul  may  soar. 
But  erring  man  must  blush  to  think, 
Like  thee,  again  the  soul  may  sink. 

O  Virtue  !  when  thy  clime  I  seek. 
Let  not  my  spirit's  flight  be  weak  : 

can  tend  to  prove  a  kindred  rimilitude  between  them  ,  w. 
ytveiav  rm;  irtroitcvotf  irpof  ra  yitKra.  With  (liii<  IO«ugh 
in  our  mindii,  when  we  flrst  lee  the  Flying  FiAh,  we  couU 
almost  fancy,  that  we  are  preeent  at  the  moment  of  crea 
tion,  and  witnesa  the  biitta  of  the  tf%t  bird  Iruiu  the  wavw 


;34 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


Let  me  not,  like  this  feeble  thing, 
With  brine  still  dropping  from,  its  wing, 
Just  sparkle  in  the  solar  glow 
And  plunge  again  to  depths  below  ; 
But,  when  I  leave  the  grosser  throng 
With  wliom  my  soul  hath  dwelt  so  long, 
Let  mo,  in  that  aspiring  day, 
Cast  erery  lingering  stain  away, 
And,  ^anting  for  thy  purer  air, 
Fly  up  at  once  and  fix  me  there. 


MISS  MOORE. 

mCM   NORFOLK,    IN   VIRGINIA,    NOVEMBER,    1803. 

In  days,  my  Kate,  when  life  was  new. 
When,  lull'd  with  innocence  and  you, 
I  heard,  in  home's  beloved  shade. 
The  din  the  world  at  distance  made ; 
When,  every  night  my  weary  head 
Sunk  on  its  own  unthomed  bed, 
And,  mild  as  evening's  matron  hour. 
Looks  on  the  faintly  shutting  flower, 
A  mother  saw  our  eyelids  close. 
And  bless'd  them  into  pure  repose ; 
Then,  haply  if  a  week,  a  day, 
I  linger'd  from  that  home  away. 
How  long  the  little  absence  seem'd  ! 
How  bright  the  look  of  welcome  beam'd, 
As  mute  you  heard,  with  eager  smUe, 
My  tales  of  all  that  pass'd  the  while  ! 

Yet  now,  my  Kate,  a  gloomy  sea 
Rolls  wide  between  that  home  and  me  ; 
The  moon  may  thrice  be  born  and  die. 
Ere  ev'n  that  seal  can  reach  mine  eye. 
Which  used  so  oft,  so  quick  to  come, 
Still  breathing  all  the  breath  of  home,  — 
As  if,  still  fresh,  the  cordial  air 
From  lips  belov'd  were  lingering  there. 
But  now,  alas,  —  far  different  fate  ! 
It  comes  o'er  ocean,  slow  and  late, 
When  the  dear  hand  that  fill'd  its  fold 
With  words  of  sweetness  may  lie  cold. 

But  hence  that  gloomy  thought !  at  last, 
Biiloyed  Kate,  the  waves  are  past : 
I  tread  on  earth  securely  now. 
And  the  green  cedar's  living  bough 

I  Siich  romantic  works  as  "The  American  Farmer's 
Letters,"  and  the  account  of  Kentucky  hy  Imlay,  would 
leduce  us  into  a  belief,  that  innocence,  peace,  and  freedom 
tad  deserted  the  rest  of  the  world  for  Martha's  Vineyard 
«iiil  the  I    iks  of  the  C  hio.    The  Trench  trai  ellers,  too,  aj- 


Breathes  more  refreshment  to  my  eye* 

Than  could  a  Claude's  divinest  dyes. 

At  length  I  touch  the  happy  sphere 

To  liberty  and  virtue  dear. 

Where  man  looks  up,  and,  proud  to  clium 

His  rank  within  the  social  frame, 

Sees  a  grand  system  round  him  roll, 

Himself  its  centre,  sun,  and  soul ! 

Far  from  the  shocks  of  Europe  —  fat 

From  every  wild,  elliptic  star 

That,  shooting  with  a  devious  fire, 

Kindled  by  heaven's  avenging  ire, 

So  oft  hath  into  chaos  hurl'd 

The  systems  of  the  ancient  world. 

The  warrior  here,  in  arms  no  more, 
Thinks  of  the  toil,  the  conflict  o'er, 
And  glorying  in  the  freedom  won 
For  hearth  and  shrine,  lor  sire  and  son, 
Smiles  on  the  dusky  webs  that  hide 
His  sleeping  sword's  remember' d  pride 
While  Peace,  with  sunny  cheeks  of  toil. 
Walks  o'er  the  free,  unlorded  soil, 
Effacing  with  her  splendid  share 
The  drops  that  war  had  sprinkleu   here. 
Thrice  happj'  land  !  where  he  who  flies 
From  the  dark  ills  of  other  skies, 
From  scorn,  or  want's  unnerving  woes, 
May  shelter  him  in  proud  repose  : 
Hope  sings  along  the  yellow  sano. 
His  welcome  to  a  patriot  land  ; 
The  mighty  wood,  with  pomp,  receives 
The  stranger  in  its  world  of  leaves. 
Which  soon  their  barren  glory  yield 
To  the  warm  shed  and  cultur'd  field; 
And  he,  who  came,  of  all  bereft, 
To  whom  malignant  fate  had  left 
Nor  home  nor  friends  nor  country  dear, 
Finds  home  and  friends  and  country  here 

Such  is  the  picture,  warmly  such. 
That  Fancy  long,  with  florid  touch, 
Had  painted  to  my  sanguine  eye 
Of  man's  new  world  of  liberty. 
O,  ask  me  not,  if  Truth  havt  yet 
Her  seal  on  Fancy's  promise  set ; 
If  ev'n  a  glimpse  my  ej'es  behold 
Of  that  imagin'd  age  of  gold  ;  — 
Alas,  not  yet  one  gleaming  trace !  * 
Never  did  youth,  who  lov'd  a  face 

most  all  from  revolutionary  motives,  have  contributed  theu 
share  to  the  ditfusion  of  this  flattering  misconception.  A 
visit  to  the  country  is,  however,  quite  sufficient  to  ;orr*4 
even  the  most  enthusiastic  preiH>sse8sion. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


m 


A»  sketch'd  by  some  fond  pencil's  skill 
And  made  by  fancy  lovelier  still, 
Shrink  back  with  more  of  sad  surprise, 
When  the  live  model  met  his  eyes, 
Than  I  have  felt,  in  sorrow  felt, 
To  find  a  dream  on  which  I've  dwelt 
from  boyhood's  hour,  thus  fade  and  flee 
At  toudi  of  stem  reality  ! 

Bnt  courasje,  yet,  my  wavering  heart ! 
Blaipc  tuit  the  temple's  meanest  part,' 
r»U  th'-'U  haat  traced  the  fabric  o'er :  — 
y>a  -^et  wo  have  beheld  no  more 
Tlmr.  iuBt  the  porch  to  Freedom's  fane  ; 
And  chough  a  sable  spot  may  stain 
''.'>i6  vestibule,  'tis  wrong,  'tis  sin 
1  o  doubt  the  godhead  reigns  within  ! 
So  ncrc  I  pause  —  and  now,  my  Kate, 
'.'o  you,  and  those  dear  friends,  whose  fate 
touches  more  near  this  homesick  soul 
iTian  all  the  Powers  from  pole  to  pole, 
One  word  at  parting,  —  in  the  tone 
Most  sweet  to  you,  and  most  my  own. 
The  simple  strain  I  send  you  here,* 
Wild  though  it  be,  would  charm  your  ear. 
Did  you  but  know  the  trance  of  thought 
In  which  my  mind  its  numbers  caught. 
'Twas  one  of  those  half- waking  dreams, 
That  haunt  me  oft,  when  music  seems 
Ti'  bear  my  soul  in  sound  along, 
A.nd  turn  its  feelings  all  to  song. 
I  thought  of  home,  the  according  lays 
Came  full  of  dreams  of  other  days  ; 
freshly  in  each  succeeding  note 
I  found  some  young  remembrance  float, 
Till  following,  as  a  clew,  that  strain, 
I  wander' d  back  to  home  again. 

O,  love  the  song,  and  let  it  oft 
Live  on  your  lip,  in  accents  soft. 
Say  that  it  tells  you,  simply  well. 
All  I  have  bid  its  wild  notes  tell,  — 
Of  Memory's  dream,  of  thoughts  that  yet 
Glow  with  the  light  of  joy  that's  set, 
A.nd  all  the  fond  heart  keeps  in  store 
3f  friends  and  scenes  beheld  no  more. 
And  now,  adieu  !  —  this  artless  air. 
With  a  few  rhymes,  in  transcript  fair, 


•  Momlk,  it  luUHt  be  owned,  presenta  an  unftvorable 
•pmimon  of  America.  The  characteristics  of  Virginia  in 
lenoral  are  nut  such  as  can  delicht  either  the  politician  or 
tfie  moralist,  and  at  Norfolk  they  are  exhibited  in  their  least 
Attractive  fiirm.  At  the  time  when  we  arrived  the  yellow 
tover  had  not  yet  dixap|iearcd,  and  evorr  odor  that  araailed 
■■  in  tlie  otieeta  veiy  Krongly  accounted  for  it*  viaitatkm. 


Are  all  the  gifts  I  yet  can  boast 
To  send  you  from  Columbia's  coast ; 
But  when  the  sun,  with  warmer  smile. 
Shall  light  me  to  my  dcstin'd  isle,* 
You  shall  have  many  a  cowslip  bell 
Where  Ariel  slept,  and  many  a  shell. 
In  which  that  gentle  spirit  drew 
From  honey  flowers  the  morning  dew. 


A  BALLAD. 

THB   LAKB  Of  TUB   DISMAL  SWAWV 

WBITTM  AT  nORrOLK,  IM   TIKOIHIA. 

"They  tell  of  a  young  man,  who  lost  hii  mind  upon  »*^ 
death  of  a  girl  he  loved,  and  who,  suddenly  disappeanni 
from  his  friends,  was  never  afterwards  heanl  of  As  be  hat 
frequently  said,  in  his  ravings,  that  tlie  girl  was  not  dead 
but  gone  to  the  Dismal  Swamp,  it  is  sup|iosed  he  had  wan- 
dered into  that  dreary  wilderness,  and  had  died  of  hunger, 
or  been  lost  in  lome  of  its  dreadful  morasses."—  ^non 

"  La  Potei*  a  ws  monstres  comue  la  nature." —  D'Ali  m 

B»T. 

*<  Thet  made  her  a  grave,  too  cold  and  damp 

"  For  a  soul  so  wann  and  true  ; 
••  And  she's  gone  to  the  Lake  of  the  Dismal 

Swamp,* 
"  Where,  all  night  long,  by  a  firefly  lamp 

"  She  paddles  her  white  canoe. 

"  And  her  firefly  lamp  I  soon  shall  see, 
•'  And  her  paddle  I  soon  shall  hear : 
"  Long  and  loving  our  life  shall  be, 
'« And  I'll  hide  the  maid  in  a  cypress  tree, 
"  When  the  footstep  of  death  is  near." 

Away  to  the  Dismal  Swamp  he  speeds  — 

His  path  was  rugged  and  sore. 
Through  tangled  j  uniper,  beds  of  reeds. 
Through  many  a  fen,  where  the  serpent  feed*, 

And  man  never  trod  before. 

And,  when  on  the  earth  he  sunk  to  sleep. 

If  slumber  his  eyelids  knew. 
He  lay,  where  the  deadly  vine  doth  weep 
Its  venomous  tear  and  nightly  steep 

The  flesh  with  blistering  dew  1 


1  A  trifling  attempt  at  musical  compoaitkm  acconipaniafl 
this  Epistle. 

*  Bermuda. 

4  The  Great  Dismal  Swamp  is  ten  or  twelve  mile*  dbf-uM 
from  Norfolk,  and  the  Lake  in  the  middle  of  it  (about  aevM 
m  Ws  long)  is  called  Druuunond's  Pond. 


136 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  A3IERICA. 


4.nd  near  him  the  she  wolf  stirr'd  the  brake, 

And  the  copper  snake  breath' d  in  his  ear, 
Till  he  starting  cried,  from  his  dream  awake, 
♦  U,  when  shall  I  see  the  dusky  Lake, 
"  And  the  white  canoe  of  my  dear  ? " 

H  e  saw  the  Lake,  and  a  meteor  bright 

Quick  over  its  surface  play'd  — 
'  Welcome,"  he  said,  "  my  dear  one's  light !  " 
4  tid  the  dim  shore  echoed,  for  many  a  night, 

Tl.  e  name  of  the  death-cold  maid. 

Till  he  hollow'd  a  boat  of  the  birchen  bark, 

Which  carried  him  off  from  shore  ; 
Fir,  far  he  follow'd  the  meteor  spark, 
The  wind  was  high  and  the  clouds  were  dark, 
And  the  boat  return' d  no  more. 

But  oft,  from  the  Indian  hunter's  camp 

This  lover  and  maid  so  true 
Are  seen  at  the  1  our  of  midnight  damp 
To  cross  the  Lake  by  a  firefly  lamp, 

And  paddle  their  white  canoe  ! 


MARCHIONESS    DOWAGER    OF    DONE- 
GALL. 

FBOM  BKBMUDA,  JASDABT,  1801. 

Lady  !  where'er  you  roam,  whatever  land 
Wooes  the  bright  touches  of  that  artist  hand ; 
Whether  you  sketch  the  valley's  golden  meads, 
Where  mazy  Linth  his  lingering  current  leads  ; ' 
Enamour'd  catch  the  mellow  hues  that  sleep. 
At  eve,  on  Meillerie's  immortal  steep  ; 
Or  musing  o'er  the  Lake,  at  day's  decline, 
Mark  the  last  shadow  on  that  holy  shrine,' 
Where,  many  a  night,  the  shade  of  Tell  com- 
plains 
3f  Gallia's  triumph  and  Helvetia's  chains ; 
0,  lay  the  pencil  for  a  moment  by, 
Tui  n  from  the  canvas  that  creative  eye. 
An  J  let  its  splendor,  like  the  morning  ray 
UpoL  a  shepherd's  harp,  illume  my  lay. 


1  Lady  Donegal!,  I  had  reason  to  suppose,  was  at  this 
lime  still  in  Switzerland,  where  the  well-known  powers  of 
Mr  [encil  must  have  lieen  frequently  awakened. 

t  The  chapel  of  William  Tell  on  the  Lake  of  Lucerne. 

»  M.  Geboliii  says,  in  liis  Monde  Primitif,  "  Lorsque  t-tra- 
><)n  crut  que  Ics  anciens  theologiens  et  jioetes  pla^oient  les 
•liamps  tilysees  dans  les  isles  de  I'Ocean  Atlaiitiqiie,  il  n'en- 
mnii\t  riei)  k  leur  doctrine."    M.  Gebelin's  supposition,  I 


Yet,  Lady,  no  —  for  song  so  rude  as  mine, 
Chase  not  the  wonders  of  your  art  divine ; 
Still,  radiant  eye,  upon  the  canvas  dwell ; 
Still,  magic  finger,  weave  your  potent  spell ; 
And,  while  I  sing  the  animated  smiles 
Of  fairy  nature  in  these  suu-born  isles, 
O,  might  the  song  awake  some  bright  design. 
Inspire  a  touch,  or  prompt  one  happy  'ine, 
Proud  were  my  soul,  to  see  its  humble  thougH 
On  painting's  mirror  so  divinely  caught ; 
While  wondering  Genius,  as  he  lean'd  to  trace 
The  faint  conception  kindling  into  grace, 
Might    love  my  numbers   for  the   spark  they 

threw. 
And  bless  the  lay  that  lent  a  charm  to  you. 

Say,  have  you  ne'er,  in  nightly  vision,  stray' d 
To  those  pure  isles  of  ever-blooming  shade, 
Which  bards  of  old,  with  kindly  fancy,  plac'd 
For  happy  spirits  in  th'  Atlantic  waste  r ' 
There  listening,  while,  from  earth,  each  breexa 

that  came 
Brought  echoes  of  their  own  undying  fame, 
In  eloquence  of  eye,  and  dreams  of  song. 
They  charm' d  their  lapse   of  nightless  homi 

along :  — 
Nor  yet  in  song,  that  mortal  ear  might  suit, 
For  every  spirit  was  itself  a  lute. 
Where  Virtue  waken'd,  with  elysian  breeze, 
Pure  tones  of  thought  and  mental  harmonies. 

Beheve  me,  Lady,  when  the  zephyrs  bland 
Floated  our  bark  to  this  enchanted  land,  — 
These  leafy  isles  upon  the  ocean  thrown, 
Like  studs  of  emerald  o'er  a  silver  zone,  — 
Not  all  the  charm,  that  ethnic  fancy  gave 
To  blessed  arbors  o'er  the  western  wave. 
Could   wake  a  dream,  more   soothing  or  "V 

blime. 
Of  bowers  ethereal,  and  the  ^irit's  clime. 

Bright  rose   the  morning,   every  wave   was 
still, 
When  the  first  perfume  of  a  cedar  hill 
Sweetly  awak'd  us,  and,  with  smiling  charms. 
The  fairy  harbor  woo'd  us  to  its  arms.* 


have  no  doubt,  is  the  more  correct ;  but  that  of  Strabo  is,  in 
the  present  instance,  iiKist  to  uiy  purpose. 

*  Nothing  can  be  more  romantic  than  the  little  harbor  of 
St.  George's.  The  number  of  beautllul  islets,  the  singular 
clearness  of  the  water,  and  the  animated  play  of  the  grace- 
ful little  boats,  gliding  forever  between  the  i.'-lands,  ana 
seeming  to  sail  from  one  cedar  grove  into  another,  formed 
altogether  as  lovely  a  miniature  of  nixiire's  beaities  as  can 
well  be  imagined. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


in 


3ently  we  stole,  before  the  whispering  wind. 
Through  plaintain  shades,  that  round,  like  awn- 
ings, twin'd. 
And  kiss'd  on  either  side  the  wanton  sails. 
Breathing  our  welcome  to  these  vernal  vales ; 
While,  far  reflected  o'er  the  wave  serene. 
Each  wooded  island  shed  so  soft  a  green 
That  the  enamour'd  keel,  with  whispering  play. 
Through  liquid  herbage  seem'd  to  steal  its  way. 

Never  did  weary  bark  more  gladly  glide, 
\>v  rest  its  anchor  in  a  lovelier  tide  ! 
Along  the  margin,  many  a  shining  dome, 
White  as  the  palace  of  a  Lapland  gnome, 
Brighten'd  the  wave ;  —  in  every  myrtle  grove 
Sdcluded  bashful,  like  a  shrine  of  love. 
Some  eltin  mansion  sparkled  through  the  shade; 
And,  while  the  foliage  interposing  play'd. 
Lending  the  scene  an  ever- changing  grace. 
Fancy  would  love,  in  glimpses  vague,  to  trace 
The  flowery  capital,  the  shal't,  the  porch,' 
And  dream  of  temples,  till  her  kindling  torch 
Lighted  me  back  to  all  the  glorious  days 
Of  Attic  genius  ;  and  I  seem'd  to  gaze 
On  marble,  from  the  rich  Pentelic  mount, 
Gracing  the  umbrage  of  some  Naiad's  fount. 

Then  thought  I,  too,  of  thee,  most  sweet  of  all 
The  spirit  race  that  come  at  poet's  call, 
Delicate  Ariel  !  who,  in  brighter  hours, 
Liv'd  on  the  perfume  of  these  honeyed  bowers. 
In  velvet  buds,  at  evening,  lov'd  to  lie, 
And  win  with  music  every  rose's  sigh. 
Though  weak  the  magic  of  my  humble  strain 
To  charm  your  spirit  from  its  orb  again. 
Yet,  O,  for  her,  beneath  whose  smile  I  sing. 
For  her  (whose  pencil,  if  your  rainbow  wing 
Were  dimm'd  or  ruffled  by  a  wintry  sky. 
Could  smooth  its  feather  and  relume  its  dye,) 

t  I'h'-M  ia  an  illusion  whicli,  to  the  few  who  are  fanciful 
enough  Ic  iiidul)!e  in  it,  renders  the  scenery  of  Bermuda 
particularly  interesting.  In  the  short  but  Iteautiful  twilight 
of  their  spring  evenings,  the  white  collages,  scattered  over 
t)  <  slands,  and  but  partially  seen  through  the  trees  that 
iiir^.'ind  tlieni,  assume  aften  the  appearance  of  little  Gr«- 
eiBi  tea:^leti ;  and  a  vivid  fancy  may  embellish  the  |KH>r 
fifll  erqian's  hut  with  coluniiis  such  as  the  pencil  of  a  Claude 
E.gl  t  imitite.  I  had  one  favorite  object  of  tiiis  kind  in  my 
walks,  which  the  hospitality  of  its  owner  robbed  me  of,  by 
asking  me  to  visit  him.  He  was  a  plain  good  man,  and  re- 
ceived me  well  and  warmly,  but  I  could  never  turn  his  house 
Into  a  Grecian  temple  again. 

*  Thii  gentleman  is  attached  to  the  British  consulate  at 
Norfolk  Hi8  talents  are  wortliy  of  a  much  higher  sphere ; 
Mit  the  excellent  diapofiitions  of  the  family  with  whom  be 
reaides,  and  the  cordial  lepcme  he  enjoys  amongst  some  of 
the  kindest  hearts  in  the  world,  should  be  almoM  enough  to 
Hone  lo  bim  for  the  wont  caprices  of  fortune.  Tb0  conrnJ 
18 


Descend  a  moment  from  your  starry  sphere, 
And,  if  the  lime-tree  grove  that  once  was  dear 
The  sunny  wave,  the  bower,  the  breezy  hill. 
The  sparkling  grotto  can  delight  you  still, 
O  cull  tlieir  choicest  tinta,  their  softest  light, 
Weave   all    these    spells    into  one    dream  of 

night. 
And,  while  the  lovely  artist  sltunberlng  Ue«, 
Shed  the  warm  picture  o'er  her  mental  eyee ; 
Take  for  the  task  her  own  creative  B{>ellB, 
And  brightly  show  what  song  but  faintly  tella 


GEORGE  MORGAN,  ESQ. 

OF   MOKFOLK,   TIBOIXIA.* 
FKOM  MEMUVDA,  JA»l-ABT,  18M. 

Kiif >)  ^  Tivtiioeaoa  irat  arptntof,  oia  5'  <itXivAi|{, 
AiOvtrif  cac  fioXXuv  (iri^po/io(  iitirep  Iiriro({, 
llovTO}  cvfariipiKTai. 

Caiximacm.  Bfmm,  in  DtL  T.  11 

O,  WHAT  a  sea  of  storm  we've  paas'd !  — 

High  mountain  waves  and  foamy  sho^  en. 
And  battling  winds  whose  savage  blast 
But  ill  agrees  with  one  whose  hours 
Have  passed  in  old  Anacreon's  bower* 
Yet  think  not  poesy's  bright  charm 
Forsook  me  in  this  rude  alarm  : '  — 
When  close  they  reef  d  the  timid  sail. 

When,  every  plank  complaining  loud. 
We  labor'd  in  the  midnight  gale. 

And  ev'n  our  haughty  mainmast  bow'd* 
Even  then,  in  that  unlovely  hour. 
The  Muse  still  brought  her  foothing  power. 
And,  'midst  the  war  of  waves  and  wind, 
In  song's  Elysium  lapp'd  my  mind. 

himself.  Colonel  Hamilton,  is  one  among  the  very  few  fn- 
stances  of  a  man,  ardently  loyal  to  his  king,  and  yet  beloved 
by  the  Americans.  His  house  is  the  very  temple  of  l.osp(. 
tallty,  and  I  sincerely  pity  the  heart  of  that  straoper,  who, 
warm  from  the  welcome  of  such  a  board,  could  sit  down  U 
wnte  a  libel  on  his  host,  in  the  true  spirit  of  a  modem  pfil- 
loeophist.  See  the  Travels  of  thn  Duke  de  la  Rourbetoucaiul 
Liancourt,  vol.  it 

*  We  were  seven  days  on  nut  passage  ftoin  Norfnlk  M 
Bermuda,  during  three  of  which  we  were  forced  tc  lay-to  in 
a  gale  of  wind.  The  Driver  sloop  of  war,  in  which  I  went, 
was  built  at  Bermuda  of  cedar,  and  is  accounted  an  eic*!- 
lent  sea  boat.  She  was  tlieii  commanded  by  my  very  repet- 
ted  friend  Captain  Comptun,  who  in  July  last  was  kilM 
aboard  the  Lilly  in  an  action  with  a  Fraacb  prirateec 
Po<»r  Compton  t  he  fell  a  victim  to  the  strange  impolicy  of 
allowing  such  a  miserable  thing  as  the  Lilly  to  rwnain  is 
the  service  ;  so  small,  ixank,  and  unmanageable,  that  a  wslV 
manned  ntercbantman  was  at  an/  time  a  maicb  for  hsr 


138 


POEMS  RELATING  TO   AMERICA. 


Nay,  when  no  numbers  of  my  own 
Responded  to  her  wakening  tone, 
She  open'd,  with  her  golden  key. 

The  casket  where  my  memory  lays, 
Those  gems  of  classic  poesy, 

Which  time  has  sav'd  from  ancient  days. 

Take  one  of  these,  to  Lais  sung,  — 
t  wrote  it  while  my  hammock  swung. 
As  one  might  write  a  dissertation 
Upon  "  Suspended  Animation  !  " 

Swe^t '  is  your  kiss,  my  Lais  dear, 
But,  with  that  kiss  I  feel  a  tear 
Gush  from  your  eyelids,  such  as  start 
When  those  who've  dearly  lov'd  must  part. 
Sadly  you  lean  your  head  to  mine. 
And  mute  those  arms  around  me  twine, 
Your  hair  adown  my  bosom  spread. 
All  glittering  with  tho  tears  you  shed. 
In  vain  I've  kissed  tJiose  lids  of  snow. 
For  still,  like  ceaseless  founts  they  flow, 
Bathing  our  checks,  whene'er  they  meet. 
Why  is  it  thus  ?  do,  tell  me,  sweet ! 
Ah,  Lais  !  are  my  bodings  right  i 
Am  I  to  lose  you  r  is  to-night 

Our  last go,  false  to  heaven  and  me  ! 

Your  very  tears  are  treachery. 


Such,  -w^hile  in  air  I  floating  hung, 

Such  was  the  strain,  Morgante  mio  ' 
The  muse  and  I  together  sung. 

With  Boreas  to  make  out  the  trio. 
But,  bless  the  httle  fairy  isle  ! 

How  sweetly  alter  all  our  ills. 
We  saw  the  sunny  morning  smile 

Serenely  o'er  its  fragrant  hills  ; 

1  This  epigram  is  by  Paul  tlie  Silentiary,  and  may  be 
found  in  the  Analecta  of  Unmck,  vol.  iii.  p.  72.  Aa  the 
reading  there  is  somewhat  different  from  what  I  have  fol- 
owed  in  tl  is  translation,  I  shall  give  it  as  I  had  it  in  my 
nemory  at  the  time,  and  as  it  is  in  Ileinsius  who,  I  believe, 
itt\  produced  the  epigram.    See  his  Poemata. 

H(5ii  fisii  cart  (piXrma  to  Kai&oi-  )i6v  6c  avTO)v 

HrriiiifiToiv  iuKpv  xccii  0Xc(pap(i}i>, 
Kai  ircXv  KtxXii^owa  ooStii  tvSnarpvxov  aiyXrjv, 

'Hftercpa  Kt.(pa\r,v  'ripov epeiaafievri 
Hvp>>r>'i;v  J'  eipiXnoa   ra  6'  jj  Spoccprn  avo  jrr;yri{, 

Aaicp'.j  mffvuevwi'  irtwrc  Kara  aruparoyv 
Eiiri  i'  aveipof-tvio,  Titoi  ovvexa  SaKpva  XeiSeii  I 

/^iSia  piTj  pe  XiTTiif  earc  yap  hpKa-Karai. 
The  water  is  so  clear  around  the  island,  that  the  rocks 
tre  seen  beneath  to  a  very  great  depth  ;  and,  as  we  entered 
the  harbor,  they  appeared  to  us  so  near  the  surface  that  it 
•eemed  impossible  we  should  not  strike  on  them.  There  is 
110  necessity,  of  course,  for  heaving  the  lead  ;  and  the  negro 
pilot,  looking  down  at  tlie  rocks  from  the  bow  of  the  ship, 


And  felt  the  pure,  delicious  flow 
Of  airs,  that  round  this  Eden  blow 
Freshly  as  ev'n  the  gales  that  come 
O'er  our  own  healthy  hills  at  home 

Could  you  but  view  the  scenery  fair, 

That  now  beneath  my  window  lies, 
You'd  think,  that  nature  lavish' d  there 

Her  purest  wave,  her  softest  skies. 
To  make  a  heaven  for  love  to  sigh  m, 
For  bards  to  live  and  saints  to  die  in. 
Close  to  my  wooded  bank  below, 

In  glassy  calm  the  waters  sleep. 
And  to  the  sunbeam  proudly  show 

The  coral  rocks  they  love  to  steep.* 
The  fainting  breeze  of  morning  fails ; 

The  drowsy  boat  moves  slowly  past, 
And  I  can  almost  touch  its  sails 

As  loose  they  flap  around  the  mast. 
The  noontide  sun  a  splendor  pours 
That  lights  up  all  these  leafy  shores ; 
While    his    own    heav'n,    its    clouds    Ana 
beams, 

So  pictured  in  the  waters  lie. 
That  each  small  bark,  in  passing,  seems 

To  float  along  a  burning  sky. 

O  for  the  pinnace  lent  to  thee,' 

Blest  dreamer,  who,  in  vision  bright, 
Didst  sail  o'er  heaven's  solar  sea 

And  touch  at  all  its  isles  of  light. 
Sweet  Venus,  what  a  clime  he  found 
Within  thy  orb's  ambrosial  round  !  *  — 
There  spring  the  breezes,  rich  and  warm, 

That  sigh  around  thy  vesper  car  ; 
And  angels  dwell,  so  pure  of  form 

That  each  appears  a  living  star.* 

takes  her  through  this  difficult  navigation,  with  a  a\\]  \»A 
confidence  v/hich  seem  to  astonish  some  of  the  oldest  sa..urk. 

'  In  Kircher's  "  Ecstatic  Journey  to  Heaven,"  Cosmiei, 
the  genius  of  the  world,  gives  'I'heodidactus  a  boat  of  as 
bestos,  with  which  he  embarks  into  the  regions  of  the  gun 
"  Vides  (says  Cosmiol)  hanc  asbestinam  naviculam  t. '« 
moditati  tute  prieparatam."  —  Itinerar.  I.  Dial.  i.  cap  2 
This  work  of  Kircher  abounds  with  strange  fancies 

*  When  the  Genius  of  the  world  and  his  fellow-travoilet 
arrive  at  the  planet  Venus,  they  find  an  island  of  loveliness 
full  of  odors  and  intelligences,  where  angels  preside,  whc 
shed  the  cosmetic  influence  of  this  planet  over  tho  earth, 
such  being,  according  to  astrologers,  the  "  vis  influ:(iva  '• 
of  Venus.  When  they  are  in  this  part  of  the  heavens,  a 
casuistical  question  occurs  to  Theodidactus,  and  he  iisks 
"  Whether  baptism  may  be  performed  with  the  waters  ot 
Venus?"  —  "An  aquis  globi  Veneris  baptismus  in^titul 
possit .'  "  to  which  the  Genius  answers,  "  Certainly." 

K  This  idea  is  Father  Kircher's.  "  Tot  animaiX)S  oolet 
dixisses." —  Itinerar.  I.  Dial.  i.  cap.  5. 


POEMS  RELATDIG  TO  AMERICA. 


Ul 


These  are  ;he  sprites,  celestial  queen  ! 

Thou  sendest  nightly  to  the  bed 
Of  her  I  love,  with  touch  unseen 

Thy  planet's  brightening  tints  to  shed  ; 
To  lend  that  eye  a  light  still  clearer, 

To  g'.ve  that  cheek  one  rose  blush  more, 
And  bid  that  blushing  lip  be  dearer. 

Which  had  been  all  too  dear  before. 

B'lt,  wLithcr  means  the  muse  to  roam .' 

"I'ii  iime  to  call  the  wanderer  home. 

^^'ho  could  have  thought  the  nymph  would 

perch  her 
Up  in  the  clouds  with  Father  Kircher  i 
So,  health  and  love  to  all  your  mansion  ! 

Long  may  the  bowl  that  pleasures  bloom  ioj 
The  flow  of  heart,  the  soul's  expansion, 

Mirth  and  song,  your  board  illumine. 
At  all  your  feasts,  remember  too, 

When  cups  are  sparkling  to  the  brim. 
That  here  is  one  who  drinks  to  you, 
And,  O,  as  warmly  drink  to  him. 


LINES, 

WKITTEX   tS  A  STORM   AT  BBA. 

That  sky  of  clouds  is  not  the  sky 
To  light  a  lover  to  the  pillow 

Of  her  he  loves  — 
The  swell  of  yonder  foaming  billow 
Resembles  not  the  happy  sigh 

That  rapture  moves. 

I'et  do  I  feel  more  tranquil  {ax 
Amid  the  gloomy  wilds  of  ocean, 

In  this  dark  hour, 
That  when,  in  passion's  young  emotion 
I've  stolen,  beneath  the  evening  star. 

To  Julia's  bower. 

O,  there's  a  holy  calm  profound 

In  awe  like  this,  that  ne'er  was  given 

To  pleasure's  thrill ; 
Tis  as  a  solemn  voice  from  heaven. 
And  the  soul,  listening  to  the  80und« 

Liet)  mute  and  still. 

'Tis  true,  it  talks  of  danger  nigh. 

Of  slumbering  with  the  dead  to-morrow 

In  the  cold  deep. 
Where  pleasure's  throb  or  tears  of  sorrow 
No  more  shall  wake  the  heart  or  eye, 

But  all  must  sleeo. 


Well !  —  there  are  some,  thou  stormy  bad. 
To  whom  thy  sleep  would  be  a  treasure ; 

O,  most  to  him, 
Whose  lip  hath  drain'd  life's  cup  of  pleanurt. 
Nor  left  one  honey  drop  to  shed 

Round  sorrow's  brim. 

Yes  —  he  can  smile  serene  at  death : 

Kind  heaven,  do  thou  but  chase  the  we«piii| 

Of  friends  who  love  him ; 
Tell  them  that  he  lies  calmly  sleeping 
Where  sorrow's  sting  or  envy's  breath 

No  more  shall  move  him. 


ODES    TO    NEA; 

WKITTEN   AT   BERMl'DA. 
NEA  rvpavvtt.    EuKtrio.  Mtdia,  v.  067 

Nat,  tempt  me  not  to  love  again. 

There  was  a  time  Avhen  love  was  sweet ; 
Dear  Nea  !  had  I  known  thee  then. 

Our  souls  had  not  been  slow  to  meet. 
But,  O,  this  weary  heart  hath  run, 

So  many  a  time,  the  rounds  of  pain. 
Not  ev'n  for  thee,  thou  lovely  one, 

Would  I  endure  such  pangs  again. 

If  there  be  climes,  where  never  yet 
The  print  of  beauty's  foot  was  set, 
■Where  man  may  pass  his  loveless  nights, 
Unfever'd  by  her  false  delights, 
Thither  my  wounded  soul  would  fly, 
Where  rosy  cheek  or  radiant  eye 
Should  bring  no  more  their  bliss,  or  psia. 
Nor  fetter  me  to  earth  again. 
Dear  absent  girl !  whose  eyes  of  light. 

Though  little  priz'd  when  all  my  own. 
Now  float  before  me,  soft  and  bright 

As  when  they  first  enamouring  shone,  — 
What  hours  and  days  have  I  seen  glide. 
While  fix'd,  enchanted,  by  thy  side. 
Unmindful  of  the  fleeting  day, 
I've  let  life's  dream  dissolve  away. 
O  bloom  of  youth  profusely  shed  ! 
O  moments  !  simply,  vainly  sped, 
Yet  sweetly  too  —  for  Love  perfum'd 
The  flame  which  thus  my  life  consum'd  { 
And  brilliant  was  the  chain  uf  flowers, 
In  which  he  led  my  victim  hours. 

Say  Nea,  say,  couldst  thou,  like  bei^ 
When  warm  to  feel  and  quick  to  anw 


140    '                                    POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 

Of  loving  fond,  of  roving  fonder. 

I  trembling  rais'd  it,  and  when  you 

This  thoughtless  soul  might  -vsish  to  wander, — 

Had  kiss'd  the  shell,  I  kiss'd  it  too  — 

Couldst  thou,  like  her,  the  wish  reclaim, 

How  sweet,  how  wrong  it  seem'd ! 

Endearing  still,  reproaching  never, 

.   Till  ev'n  this  heart  should  burn  with  shame, 

0,  trust  me,  'twas  a  place,  an  hour. 

And  be  thy  own  more  fix'd  than  ever  ? 

The  worst  that  e'er  the  tempter's  power 

No  no  —  on  earth  there's  only  one 

Could  tangle  me  or  you  in  ; 

Cauld  bind  such  faithless  foUy  fast ; 

Sweet  Nea,  let  us  roam  no  more 

And  sure  on  earth  but  one  alone 

Along  that  wild  and  loneiy  shore. 

Could  make  such  virtue  false  at  last  i 

Such  walks  may  be  oixr  ruin. 

Nea,  the  heart  which  she  forsook, 

For  thee  were  but  a  worthless  shrine  — 

Go,  lovely  girl,  that  angel  look 

You  read  it  in  these  spell-bound  eyes. 

Must  thrill  a  soul  more  pure  than  mine. 

And  there  alone  should  love  be  read  ; 

0,  thou  shalt  be  all  else  to  me, 

You  hear  me  say  it  aU  in  sighs, 

That  heart  can  tell  or  tongue  can  feign  ; 

And  thus  alone  should  love  be  said. 

I'll  praise,  admire,  and  worship  thee. 

But  must  not,  dare  not,  love  again. 

Then  dread  no  more  ;  I  wiU  not  speak ; 

Although  my  heart  to  anguish  thrill. 

I'll  spare  the  burning  of  your  cheek. 

And  look  it  all  in  silence  still. 

—  Tale  iter  omne  cave. 

Propert.  lib.  iv.  eleg.  8. 

Heard  you  the  wish  I  dar'd  to  name. 

I  PRAY  you,  let  us  roam  no  more 

To  murmur  on  that  luckless  night, 

Along  that  wild  and  lonely  shore. 

When  passion  broke  the  bonds  of  shame. 

Where  late  we  thoughtless  stray'd ; 

And  love  grew  madness  in  your  sight  ? 

Twas  not  for  us,  whom  haaven  intends 

To  be  no  more  than  simple  friends, 

Divinely  through  the  graceful  dance, 

Such  Jonely  walks  were  made. 

You  seem'd  to  float  in  silent  song. 

Bending  to  earth  that  sunny  glance. 

That  little  Bay,  where  turning  in 

As  if  to  light  your  steps  along. 

From  ocean's  rude  and  angry  din, 

As  lovers  steal  to  bliss, 

0,  how  could  others  dare  to  touch 

The  billows  kiss  the  shore,  and  then 

That  hallow'd  form  with  hand  so  free 

Flow  back  into  the  deep  again, 

When  but  to  look  was  bliss  too  much. 

As  though  they  did  net  kiss. 

Too  rare  for  aU  but  Love  and  me  ! 

Remember,  o'er  its  circling  flood 

With  smiling  eyes,  that  little  thought 

In  what  a  dangerous  dream  we  stood  — 

How  fatal  were  the  beams  they  threw, 

The  silent  sea  before  us, 

My  trembling  hands  you  lightly  caught, 

Around  us,  all  the  gloom  of  grove, 

And  round  me,  like  a  spirit,  flew. 

That  ever  lent  its  shade  to  love, 

No  eye  but  heaven's  o'er  us ! 

Heedless  of  all,  but  you  alone,  — 

And  you,  at  least,  should  not  condemn. 

I  saw  you  blush,  you  felt  me  tremble. 

K,  when  such  eyes  before  me  shone. 

In  ruin  would  formal  art  dissemble 

My  soul  forgot  aU  eyes  but  thim,  — 

All  wc  then  lojfc'd  and  thought ; 

Twas  more  than  tongue  could  dare  reveal. 

I  dar'd  to  whisper  passion's  vow,  — 

'Twas  ev'ry  thing  that  young  hearts  feel. 

For  love  had  ev'n  of  thought  bereft  m*,  •  - 

By  Love  and  Nature  taught. 

Nay,  half  way  bent  to  kiss  that  brow. 

But,  with  a  bound,  you  blushing  left  vu». 

I  stoop'd  to  cull,  with  faltering  hand, 

A  shell  that,  on  the  golden  sand, 

Forget,  forget  that  night's  offence, 

Before  us  faintly  gleam' d ; 

Forgive  it,  if;  alas  !  you  can ; 

POEMS  RELATTNQ  TO   AMERICA. 


U 


Twaa  love,  'twas  passion  —  soul  and  sense  — 
'Twas  all  that's  best  and  worst  in  m«n. 

That  moment,  did  th'  asserablea  eyes 
Of  heaven  and  earth  ray  madness  vie'^, 

I  should  have  seen,  through  earth  and  skin. 
But  you  alone  —  but  only  you. 

Did  not  a  frown  from  you  reprove, 
Myrlals  of  eyes  to  me  were  none  ; 

Enough  for  me  to  win  your  love, 
And  die  upon  the  spot,  when  won. 


A   DREAM  OF  ANTIQUITY. 

I  jcsT  had  tum'd  the  classic  page, 

And  trac'd  that  happy  period  over, 
When  blest  alike  were  youth  and  a^e. 
And  love  inspired  the  ^visest  sage. 

And  wisdom  graced  the  tenderest  lov«>r. 

Before  I  laid  me  down  to  sleep, 
A  while  I  from  the  lattice  gaz'd 

Upon  that  still  and  moonlight  deep, 
With  isles  like  floating  gardens  rais'd, 

For  Ariel  there  his  sports  to  keep  ; 

While,  gliding  'tv^-ixt  their  leafy  shores 

The  lone  night  fisher  plied  his  oars 

I  felt,  —  so  strongly  fancy's  power 
Came  o'er  me  in  that  witching  hour,* — 
As  if  the  whole  bright  scenery  there 

Were  lighted  by  a  Grecian  sky, 
And  I  then  breath'd  the  blisaful  air 

That  late  had  thrill'd  to  Sappho's  sigh. 

Thus,  waking,  dreamt  I,  —  and  when  Sleep 
Came  o'er  my  sense,  the  dream  went  on ; 
Nor,  through  her  curtain  dim  and  deep, 

Hath  ever  lovelier  vision  shone. 
I  thought  that,  all  enrapt,  I  stray'd 
Through  Chat  serene,  luxurious  shade,' 
Where  Epicurus  taught  the  Loves 
To  polish  virtue's  native  brightness,  — 


^  GaMendi  thinks  that  the  garden*,  which  PBusaniaii  men- 
Aint,  in  hi.s  flmt  book,  were  thooe  of  EpiciiniB  ;  and  Stuart 
■ays,  in  hix  Aniiquitieo  of  AtlMnx,  "  Near  thin  convent  (th« 
tonvent  of  HaeioK  Asomatos)  is  the  place  called  at  present 
Kppoi,  or  the  Gardens  ;  and  Am|ieioe  Kepoa,  or  the  Vin»- 
f  ard  Garden  :  tl  ese  were  probably  the  gardens  which  Pau- 
■anias  viitited."     Vol.  i.  chap.  3. 

This  methcxl    f  polishing  pearls,  by  learin|  them  a  while 


As  pearls,  we're  told,  that  fondling  dovet 

Have  play'd  with,  wear  a  smoother  white 
ness.* 
'Twas  one  of  those  delicious  nigh*« 

So  common  in  the  climes  of  Greece, 
When  day  \^•ithdraws  but  half  its  lights. 

And  all  is  moonshine,  balm,  and  peace. 
And  thou  wert  there,  my  own  belov'd. 
And  by  thy  side  I  fondly  rov'd 
Through  many  a  temple's  reverend  gloom, 
And  many  a  bower's  seductive  bloom. 
Where  Beauty  leam'd  what  Wisdom  taught. 
And  sages  sigh'd  and  lovers  thought ; 
Where  schoolmen  conn'd  no  maxims  stem, 

But  all  was  form'd  to  soothe  or  move. 
To  make  the  dullest  love  to  learn. 

To  make  the  coldest  learn  to  love. 

And  now  the  fairy  pathway  seem'd 

To  lead  us  through  enchanted  ground. 
Where  all  that  bard  has  ever  dream' d 

Of  love  or  luxury  bloom'd  around. 
O,  'twas  a  bright,  bewildering  scene  — 
Along  the  alley's  deepening  green 
Soft  lamps,  that  hung  like  burning  flowen, 
And  scented  and  illum'd  the  bowers, 
Sccm'd,  as  to  him,  who  darkling  rovea 
Amid  the  lone  Hercynian  groves, 
Appear  those  countless  birds  of  light, 
lliat  sparkle  in  the  leaves  at  night. 
And  from  their  wings  diffuse  a  ray 
Along  the  traveller's  weary  way.* 
'Twas  light  of  that  mysterious  kind. 

Through  which  the  soul  perchance  m\j 
roam, 
WTien  it  has  left  this  world  behind. 

And  gone  to  seek  its  heavenly  home. 
And,  Nea,  thou  wert  by  my  side, 
Through  all  this  heav'nward  path  my  guid^ 

But,  lo,  as  wand'ring  thus  we  rang'd 
That  upward  path,  the  vision  chang'd  ; 
And  now,  methought,  we  stole  along 

Through  halls  of  more  volujtuous  glor^ 
Than  ever  liv'd  in  Teian  song. 

Or  wanton' d  in  Milesian  story.* 


to  be  played  with  by  dove*,  is  mentioned  by  ttie  fluidAn  Ow 
danus,  de  Renim  VarietaL  lib.  vii.  cap.  M. 

*  In  Hercynio  Germanic  saltii  iniisiinta  genera  al.tiinr 
accepimuH,  qiianiin  pliiiiiK,  ignium  modo,  colluceant  noct< 
bus. —  Plm.  lib.  x.  cap.  47. 

*  The  Milesiacs,  or  Milesian  fables,  had  their  origin  it 
Miletus,  a  luxurious  town  o(  Ionia.  Aristides  was  the  mo* 
celebrated  author  of  these  licentious  flctione.  See  /Hutartt 
tiu  Craaao).  wbo  caJU  tb*m  axtSavra  /'I'Aia 


i42 


POEMS  RELATING  TO   AMERICA- 


And  nj-raphs  were  there,  whose  very  eyes 
Seem'd  soften'd  o'er  with  breath  of  sighs  ;,' 
Whose  ev'ry  ringlet,  as  it  wreath' d, 
A  mute  appeal  to  passion  breath'd 
Some  flew,  with  amber  cups,  around, 

Pouring  the  flowery  wines  of  Crete  ;  * 
And,  as  they  pass'd  with  youthfal  bound, 

The  onyx  shone  beneath  their  feet.* 
While  others,  waving  arms  of  snow 

lutwin'd  by  snakes  of  burnish'd  gold,' 
And  showing  charms,  as  loath  to  show, 

Through  many  a  thin  Tarentian  fold,* 
Glided  among  the  festal  throng 
Bearing  rich  urns  of  flowers  along. 
Where  roses  lay,  in  languor  breathing. 
And  the  young  bee  grape,*  round  them  wreath- 
ing, 
riung  on  their  blushes  warm  and  meek, 
Like  curls  upon  a  rosy  cheek. 

O,  Nea !  why  did  morning  break 

The  spell  that  thus  divinely  bound  me  ? 

Why  did  I  wake  ?  how  could  I  wake 
W'ith  thee  my  own  and  heaven  around  me  ! 


Well  —  peace  to  thy  heart,  though  another's 

it  be, 
And  health  to  that  cheek,  though  it  bloom  not 

for  me  ! 
To-morrow  I  sail  for  those  cinnamon  groves,^ 
Where  nightly  the  ghost  of  the  Carribee  roves. 
And,  far  from  the  light  of  those  eyes,  I  may  yet 
Their   allurements  forgive   and  their  splendor 

forget.  I 

Farewell  to  Bermuda,''  and  long  may  the  bloom 
Of  the  lemon  and  myrtle  its  valleys  perfume  ; 

I  "  Some  of  the  Cretan  wines,  which  Athentens  rails 
[•iK)j  iifOiiaiitai,  from  their  fraa:r;uicy  resembling  that  of  the 
flnesi  flowers."  —  Barry  on  ffiiien,  chap.  vii. 

i  it  itppeiir.s  that  in  very  splendid  mansions,  the  floor  or 
paveiieiil  was  frequently  of  onyx.  Thus  Martial :  "  Calca- 
tiisip.e  tuo  sub  |K.'de  lucet  onyx."     Epig.  50,  lib.  xii. 

3  Urarelets  of  this  shape  were  a  favorite  ornament  among 
in  Women  of  antiqiiify.  O!  CTriKapntin  o{ieis  xat  a'l  x/jvaat 
»«e  II  H'j'.djj  KUt  Aptarayotjai  koi  Aaieioi  (fiaiifiaxa. —  Phi- 
n'tir-ju  EpisL  xl.  Lucian,  too,  tells  us  of  the  fipax'Oiai 
St^K:^l•  £j.  See  his  Atnores,  where  he  describes  tlie  dress- 
ing ^  'jn  of  a  Grecian  lady,  and  we  find  the  "  silver  vase," 
^»e  ri'Uge,  tie  tooth  powder,  and  ail  the  "  mysfic  order"  of 

modern  toilet. 

*  TapapTtvtStoii,  iiaij>avcs  evivpia,  iiivofiaancvuv  anu  rrji 
"infjavTivuii-  xpT'^'^i  f"  '■^"0';{' —  Pollux. 

*  Apiana,  mentione<l  by  Pliny,  lib.  xiv.  and  "  now  called 
the  Muscatel'  (a  inuscarum  telis),"  sava,  I'ancirollus,  book  i. 
W4   ),  ehap     7. 


May  spring  to  eternity  hallow  the  shade. 
Where   Ariel    has  warbled    and   Waller*   hta 

stray' d. 
And  thou  —  when,  at  dawn,  thou  shalt  happen 

to  roam 
Through  the  lime-cover'd  alley  that  leads  to  thy 

home, 
Where  oft,  when  the  dance  and  the  ie\el  wera 

done, 
And  the  stars  were  beginning  to  fade  in  th« 

sun, 
I  have  led  thee   along,  and  have  told  by  the 

way 
Wliat  my  heart  all  the  night  had  been  burning 

to  say  — 
O,  think  of  the  past  —  give  a  sigh  to  those  times, 
And  a  blessing  for  me  to  that  alley  of  limes. 


If  I  were  yonder  wave,  my  dear. 
And  thou  the  isle  it  clasps  around, 

I  would  not  let  a  foot  come  near 
My  land  of  bliss,  my  fairy  ground. 

If  I  were  yonder  couch  of  gold, 

And  thou  the  pearl  within  it  plac'd, 

I  would  not  let  an  eye  behold 
The  sacred  gem  my  arms  embrac'd. 

If  I  wtre  yonder  orange  tree 
And  thou  the  blossom  blooming  there, 

I  would  not  yield  a  breath  of  thee 
To  scent  the  most  imploring  air. 

O,  bend  not  o'er  the  water's  brink. 
Give  not  the  wave  that  odorous  nigh, 

Nor  let  its  burning  mirror  drink 
The  soft  reflection  of  thine  eye. 

«  I  had,  at  this  time,  some  idea  of  paying  a  .'isit  to  tin 
West  Indies. 

r  The  inhabitilhts  pronounce  the  name  as  if  it  were  written 
Herinooda.  See  the  commentators  on  fhe  words  "  still-vex'd 
Bermoothes,"  in  the  Tempest.  —  f  woider  it  did  not  /ciir  'c 
some  of  those  all-reading  gentlemen  tnat,  possibly.  :rrsdj? 
coverer  of  this  "  island  of  hogs  and  devils  "  mig  ''.  havn 
been  no  less  a  personage  than  the  great  John  Berm  idcz 
who,  about  the  same  period  (the  becinning  of  the  sixteenli 
century),  was  sent  Patriarch  of  the  Latin  church  to  Ktiiia 
pia,  and  has  left  us  most  wonderful  stories  of  the  Ama/.oiit 
and  the  Griffins  which  he  encountered.  —  Travels  of  thi 
Jesuits,  vol.  i.  1  am  afraid,  however,  it  would  take  the  Pa- 
triarch rather  too  much  out  of  Ids  way. 

8  Johnson  does  not  think  that  Waller  was  ever  at  Ber 
muda;  hut  the"  Account  of  the  European  setlleiueiits  in 
America  "  affirms  it  confidently.  (Vt>l.  ii.)  1  mention  tbi^ 
work,  however,  less  for  its  authority  than  for  the  pleasure  I 
feel  in  quoting  an  unacknowledged  production  of  the  great 
Edmund  Btirke 


POEMS  RELATING   TO   AMEIUCA. 


H3 


That  glossy  hair,  that  glow-ing  cheek. 
So  pictur'd  in  the  waters  seem, 

That  I  could  gladly  plunge  to  seek 
Thy  image  in  the  glassy  stream. 

Blest  fate  !  at  once  my  jhilly  grave 
And  nuptial  bed  that  stream  might  be ; 

I'll  wed  thee  in  its  mimic  wave, 
^nd  die  upon  the  shade  of  thee. 

Bf  hold  the  leafy  mangrove,  bending 

O'er  the  waters  blue  and  bright, 
1  ike  Nea's  silky  lashes,  lending 

Shadow  to  her  eyes  of  light. 
• 
o,  my  belov'd  !  where'er  I  turn, 

Some  trace  of  thee  enchants  mine  eyes  ; 
In  every  star  thy  glances  burn  ; 

Thy  blush  on  every  flow'ret  lies. 

Nor  find  I  in  creation  aught 
Of  bright,  or  beautiful,  or  rare. 

Sweet  to  the  sense,  or  pure  to  thought, 
But  thou  art  found  reflected  there. 


THE  SNOW  SPIRIT. 

No,  ne'er  did  the  wave  in  its  element  steep 

An  island  of  lovelier  charms  ; 
It  blooms  in  the  giant  embrace  of  the  deep, 

Like  Hebe  in  Hercules'  arms. 
T)  e  blush  of  your  bowers  is  light  to  the  eye, 

And  their  melody  balm  to  the  ear  ; 
But  the  fiery  planet  of  day  is  too  nigh. 

And  the  Snow  Spirit  never  comes  here. 

The  down  from  his  Aving  is  as  white  as  the  pearl 

That  shines  through  thy  lips  when  they  part. 
And  it  falls  on  the  green  earth  as  melting,  my  girl, 

Ah  a  murmur  of  thine  on  the  heart. 
0,  Hy  to  the  clime,  where  he  pillows  the  death, 

A  I  he  cradles  the  birth  of  the  year ; 
Bri^h*  are  your  bowers  and  balmy  their  breath. 

But  the  Snow  Spirit  cannot  come  here. 

Haw  oweet  to  behold  him,  when  borne  on  the 
gale. 

And  brightening  the  bosom  of  mom, 
He  rtings,  like  the  priest  of  Diana,  a  veil 

O'er  the  brow  of  eai-h  virginal  thorn. 

'  The  va.'ii'e  or  mangrove  grape,  a  native  of  the  Weft 
*  Tlit  '.gave     °lbU,  (  am  aware,  h  an  enoneoua  ootioa. 


Tet  think  not  the  veil  he  so  chillingly  casta 

Is  the  veil  of  a  vestal  severe  : 
No,  no,  thou  'wilt  see,  what  a  moment  it  laat% 

Should  the  Snow  Spirit  ever  come  here. 

But  fly  to  his  region  —  lay  open  thy  zone. 

And  he'll  weep  nil  his  brilliancy  dim, 
To  think  that  a  bosom,  as  white  as  his  own. 

Should  not  melt  in  the  daybeam  like  him- 
O,  lovely  the  print  of  those  delicate  feet 

O'er  his  luminous  path  will  appear  — 
Fly,  my  beloved  !  this  island  is  sweet, 

But  the  Snow  Spirit  cannot  come  here. 


KyravOa  it  KaObtpitiarai  fliitv,  gat  b,  rt  lUf  ovoii*  i 
VT,ow,  evK  •ife'  xpvan  <5'  a»  »poj  yt  tit»v  •i'«M<<(eir*  • 
Philoitkat.  /roll.  17,  lib.  ii. 

I  STOLE  along  the  flowery  bank. 
While  many  a  bending  scagrape  '  drank 
The  sprinkle  of  the  feathcrj*  oar 
That  wing'd  me  round  this  fairy  sl.ore. 

'Twas  noon  :  and  every  orange  bud 
Hung  langtiid  o'er  the  crystal  flood, 
Faint  as  the  lids  of  maiden's  eyes 
When  love  thoughts  in  her  bosom  rise 
O,  for  a  naiad's  sparry  bower. 
To  shade  me  in  that  glo>*'ing  hour  ! 

A  little  dove,  of  milky  hue. 
Before  me  from  a  plantain  flew. 
And  light  along  the  water's  brim, 
I  stecr'd  my  gentle  bark  by  him  ; 
For  f-tncy  told  me,  Love  had  sent 
This  gentle  bird  with  kind  intent 
To  lead  my  steps  where  I  slioukl  meet  — 
I  knew  not  what,  but  something  sweet. 

And  —  bless  the  little  pilot  dove ! 
He  had  indeed  been  sent  by  Lore, 
To  guide  me  to  a  scene  so  dear 
As  late  allows  but  seldom  here  ; 
One  of  those  rare  and  brilliant  hotira, 
That,  like  the  aloe's*  lingering  flowen, 
May  blossom  to  the  eye  of  man 
But  once  in  all  his  weary  ppan. 

Just  where  the  margin's  opening  shfcd^ 
A  vista  from  the  waters  made, 

but  it  iaqiiltp  tnip  enoiiKh  f"r  poetry.    Pl»i»,  I  (hirk.  allowi 
a  poet  to  be  "  three  reini-vet  ftom  tnitb  ; "  r,/it  irej  if*  rm 


Hi 


rOEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


My  bird  repos'd  his  silver  plume 

Upon  a  rich  oanana's  bloom. 

O  vision  bright !  O  spirit  fair  ! 

What  spell,  what  magic  rais'd  her  there  ? 

Twas  Nea  !  slumbering  calm  and  mild, 

And  bloomy  as  the  dimpled  child, 

Whose  spirit  in  elj'sium  keeps 

Its  playful  sabbath,  while  he  sleeps. 

The  broad  banana's  green  embrace 
Hung  shadowy  round  each  tranquil  grace ; 
One  little  beam  alone  could  win 
The  leaves  to  let  it  wander  in. 
And,  stealing  over  all  her  charms, 
From  lip  to  cheek,  from  neck  to  arms, 
New  lustre  to  each  beauty  lent,  — 
Itself  all  trembling  as  it  went ! 

Dark  lay  her  eyelid's  jetty  fringe 
Upon  that  cheek  whose  roseate  tinge 
Mix'd  with  its  shade,  like  evening's  light 
Just  touching  on  the  verge  of  night. 
Her  eyes,  though  thus  in  slumber  hid, 
Seem'd  glowing  throu^gh  the  ivory  lid, 
And,  as  I  thought,  a  lustre  threw 
Upon  her  lip's  reflecting  dew,  — 
Such  as  a  night  lamp,  left  to  shine 
Alone  on  some  secluded  shrine. 
May  shed  upon  the  votive  wreath, 
Which  pious  hands  have  hung  beneath. 

Was  ever  vision  half  so  sweet ! 
Think,  think  how  quick  my  heart  pulse  beat, 
As  o'er  the  rustling  bank  I  stole  ;  — 
O,  ye,  that  know  the  lover's  soul, 
It  is  for  you  alone  to  guess. 
That  moment's  trembling  happiness. 


A  STUDY  FROM  THE  ANTIQUE. 

Behold,  my  love,  the  curious  gem 
Within  this  simple  ring  of  gold  ; 

'Tis  hallow'd  by  the  touch  of  them 
Who  liv'd  in  classic  hours  of  old. 

Some  fair  Athenian  girl,  perhaps. 
Upon  her  hand  this  gem  display' d, 

Nor  thought  that  time's  succeeding  lapse 
Should  see  it  grace  a  lovelier  maid. 


1  Somewhat  like  the  symplegma  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  at 
Borence,  in  which  the  position  of  Psyche's  hand  is  finely 
tnd  delicately  expressive  of  affection.    See  the  Museum 


Look,  dearest,  what  a  sweet  design  ! 

The  more  we  gaze,  it  charms  the  more  \ 
Come  —  closer  bring  that  cleek  to  mine. 

And  trace  with  me  its  beauties  o'er. 

Thou  seest,  it  is  a  simple  youth 
By  some  enamour'd  nymph  embrac'd 

Look,  as  she  leans,  and  say  in  sooth 
Is  not  that  hand  most  fondly  plac'd  ? 

Upon  his  curled  head  behind 
It  seems  in  careless  play  to  lie,' 

Yet  presses  gently,  half  inclin'd 
To  bring  the  truant's  lip  more  nigt 

O  happy  maid  !  too  happy  boy  ! 

The  one  so  fond  and  little  loath. 
The  other  yielding  slow  to  joy  — 

O  rare,  indeed,  but  blissful  both. 

Imagine,  love,  that  I  am  he. 

And  just  as  warm  as  he  is  chilling , 

Imagine,  too,  that  thou  art  she. 
But  quite  as  coy  as  she  is  willing  : 

So  may  we  try  the  graceful  way 

In  which  their  gentle  arms  are  tvein'd, 

And  thus,  like  her,  my  hand  I  lay 
Upon  thy  wreathed  locks  behind  : 

And  thus  I  feel  thee  breathing  sweet, 
As  slow  to  mine  thy  head  I  move  ; 

And  thus  our  lips  together  meet, 
And  thus,  —  and  thus,  —  I  kiss  thee,  lov» 


— —  XiSavoTb)  siKaaw,  brt  ajro>At)/i£i/'v  cv(ppaiveu 
ABiaTOT.  Rhetor,  -ib.  iiL  cap  4 

There's  not  a  look,  a  word  of  thine. 

My  soul  hath  e'er  forgot ; 
Thou  ne'er  hast  bid  a  ringlet  shine. 
Nor  giv'n  thy  locks  one  graceful  twine 

Which  I  remember  not. 

There  never  yet  a  murmur  fell 

From  that  beguiling  tongue, 
WTiich  did  not,  with  a  lingering  spell, 
Upon  my  charmed  senses  dwell, 

Like  songs  from  Eden  sung. 


Florentinum,  torn.  ii.  tab.  43,  44.  There  are  few  subjects  oe 
which  poetry  could  be  more  interestingly  employed  than  u 
illustrating  some  of  these  ancient  statues  and  gems. 


FOETilS   KELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


I4i 


Ah  !  that  I  could,  at  cnce,  forget 

All,  all  that  haur  ts  me  so  — 
And  yet,  thou  witching  girl,  —  and  yet, 
To  die  were  sweeter  than  to  Jet 
The  lov'd  remembrance  gf«. 

No  ;  if  this  alighted  heart  must  see 

Its  faithful  pulse  decay, 
O  let  it  die,  remembering  thee, 
And,  like  tb  s  burnt  aroma,  be 

Consum'd  in  sweets  away. 


TO 

Jl»SEPH  ATKINSON,   ESa 

FBOM    BEKMUDA.' 

The  daylight  is  gone  —  but  before  we  depart, 
•*  One  cup  shall  go  round  to  the  Mend  of  my 

heart, 
••  ITie  kindest,  the  dearest  —  O,  judge  by  the 

tear 
**  1  now  shed  while  I  name  him,  how  kind  and 

how  dear." 

Twas  thus  in  the  shade  of  the  Calabash  Tree, 
With  a  few,  who  could  feel  and  remember  like 

me. 
The  charm  that,  to  sweeten  my  goblet,  I  threw 
Was  a  sieh  to  the  past  and  a  blessing  on  you. 


«  Ptnkerton  has  said  that  "  a  good  history  and  description 
•f  the  Bermudas  iniglit  afford  a  pleasing  addition  to  the  ge 
ogrnphlcnl  library ; "  but  there  certainly  are  not  maferialH  for 
•uch  a  work.  The  island,  since  the  time  of  its  discovery, 
has  experienced  so  very  few  vicissitudes,  the  people  have 
teen  so  indolent,  and  their  trade  so  limited,  that  there  is  but 
little  which  the  historian  could  amplify  into  importance  ; 
tnd,  with  re!!|iect  to  the  natural  productions  of  the  country, 
the  lew  wnich  the  inhabitants  can  he  induced  to  cultivate 
are  so  common  in  the  West  Indies,  that  they  have  been  de- 
Bcritied  by  every  naturalist  who  has  written  any  account  of 
tlii>e  inlands. 

It  is  oDen  asserted  by  the  transatlantic  politicians  that  this 
li!ti»  colony  deserves  more  attention  fnmi  the  mother  coun- 
try than  it  receive;,  and  it  certainly  possesses  advantages  of 
situation,  to  which  we  should  not  be  long  insensible,  if  it 
were  once  in  che  hands  of  an  enemy.  I  was  told  by  a  cele- 
brated friend  of  Washington,  at  New  York,  that  they  had 
formed  a  plan  for  its  capture  towards  the  conclusion  of  the 
American  War  ;  "  with  the  intention  (as  he  expressed  him- 
self) of  making  it  a  ne^it  of  honiets  for  the  annoyance  of 
British  trade  in  that  part  of  the  world."  And  there  is  no 
doubt  it  lies  so  conveniently  in  the  track  to  the  West  Indies, 
that  an  enemy  might  with  ease  convert  it  into  a  very  harass- 
ing impediment. 

The  plan  of  Bishop  Berkeley  for  a  college  at  Bermuda, 
where  American  savages  might  be  eoDTerted  and  educatad. 
18 


O,  say  is  it  thus,  in  the  nrirth-Sringing  hour 
\Vhen  friends  are  assembled,  when  wit,  in  fuL 

flower, 
ShTjts  forth  from  the  hp,  under  Bacchus's  dew, 
In   blossoms    of  thought,  ever  springing  and 

new — 
Do  you  sometimes  remember,  and  hallow  th< 

brim 
Of  your  cup  with  a  sigh,  as  you  crown  it  to  h  jr 
Who  is  lonely  and  sad  in  these  ralleys  so  fa-r. 
And  would  pine  in  elysium,  if  friends  were  no* 

there ! 

Last  night,  when  we  came  from  the  Calaba.<il. 

Tree, 
When  my  limbs  were  at  rest  and  my  spirit  wat 

free. 
The  glow  of  the  grape  and  the  dreams  of  the  da' 
Set  the  m/igical  springs  of  my  fancy  in  play. 
And  O,  —  such  a  vision  as  haunted  me  then 
I  would  slumber  for  ages  to  witness  again. 
The  many  I  like,  and  the  few  I  adore. 
The  friends  who  were  dear  and  beloved  before 
But  never  till  now  so  beloved  and  dear. 
At  the  call  of  my  Fancy,  surrounded  me  here  , 
And  soon,  —  O,  at  once,  did  the  light  of  theij 

smiles 
Iv  H  paradise  brighten  this  region  of  isles  • 
Mor^  lucid  the  wave,  as  tney  look'd  on  it,  flow'd, 
And  brighter    the  rose,   as  they  gather'd  it. 

glow'd. 


though  ccmcurred  in  by  the  govemmen  f  the  day,  was  9 
wild  and  useless  speculation.  Mr.  Hamiliun,  who  wai<  vnv- 
emor  of  the  island  some  years  since,  pr^iiosed,  if  I  mistake 
not,  the  establishment  of  a  marine  academy  lor  the  instruc- 
tion of  those  children  of  West  Indians,  who  might  be  intend 
ed  for  any  nautical  employment.  This  was  a  more  ratinna 
idea,  and  for  something  of  this  natur'  the  island  is  adinirj- 
bly  calculated.  But  the  plan  should  be  much  more  exteii 
sive,  and  embrace  a  general  system  of  education ;  which 
would  relieve  the  colonists  from  tbe  altern-ntive  to  which 
they  are  reduced  at  present,  of  either  sending  their  sonf  to 
England  for  instruction,  or  intnisting  them  to  colleges  in  tttt 
states  of  America,  where  ideas,  by  no  msanfc  fav  I'ble  '< 
Great  Britain,  are  very  sedulously  inculsated. 

The  women  of  Bermuda,  though  not  genenll)  hand*"!  1 
have  an  affectionate  languor  in  their  look  and  mannei 
which  is  always  interesting.  What  the  French  imply  b« 
their  epithet  atmantr  seems  very  much  the  character  I'f  th< 
young  Bermudian  girls  —  that  predisposition  to  loving,  which, 
without  being  awakened  by  any  particular  object,  diffuses 
itself  through  the  general  manner  in  a  tone  of  tendrmest 
th.tt  never  fails  to  fascinate.  The  men  of  the  island,  I  cua 
fess,  are  not  very  civilized  ;  and  the  old  phibiwtpber,  who 
imagined  that,  alUr  this  life,  men  would  be  changed  h.V 
mules,  and  women  into  turtle  doves,  would  find  the  met* 
morphoeis  in  some  degree  anticipaied  at  Bemt'ida. 


i46 


1-OEMS  RELATING   TO   AMERICA, 


N'ot  tlip  valleye  Heraeaji   (though  water'd   by 

rills 
Of  the  pearliest  flow,  from  those  pastoral  hills,' 
Whero  the  Song  of  the  Shepherd,  primeval  and 

wild, 
Was  taught  to  the  nymphs  by  their  mystical 

child,) 
C-  ul  1  boast  such  a  lustre  o'er  land  and  o'er 

wave 
A  a  the  magic  of  love  to  this  paradise  gave. 

O  -.nagic  of  love  !  unembellish'd  by  you, 
Hath  the  garden  a  bhish  or  the  landscape  a  hue  ? 
Jr  shines  there  a  vista  in  nature  or  art, 
T  ike  that  which  Love  opes  through  the  eye  to 
the  heart  ? 

Alas,  that  a  vision  so  happy  should  fade  ! 
Iliat,  when  morning  around  me  in  brilliancy 

play'd. 
The  rose  »»nd  the  stream  I  had  thought  of  at 

nigh. 
Should  still  be  before  me,  unfadingly  bright ; 
While  the  friends,  who  had  seem'd  to  hang  over 

the  stream, 
And  to  gather  the  roses,  had  fled  with  my  dream. 

But  look,  where,  all  ready,  in  sailing  array, 
f  he  bark  that's  to  carry  these  pages  away,* 
Impatiently  flutters  her  wing  to  the  wind, 
And  will  soon  leave  these  islets  of  Ariel  behind. 
What  billows,  what  gales  is  she  fated  to  prove, 
Ere  she   sleep  in  the  lee  of  the  land  that  I 

love  ! 
Yet  pleasant  the  swell  of  the  billows  would  be. 
And  the  roar  of  those  gales  would  be  music  to 

me. 
Not  the  tranquiUest  air  that  the  winds  ever 

blew, 
"Not  the  sunniest  tears  of  the  summer  eve  dew, 
'.Were  as  sweet  as  the  storm,  or  as  bright  as  the 

foam 
( )f  the  surge,  that  would  hurry  your  wanderer 

nome. 


1  Mountains  cf  Sicily,  upon  which  Daphnis,  the  first  in- 
ventor of  bucolic  poetry,  was  nursed  by  the  nymphs.  See 
1h9  H^ely  description  of  these  mountains  in  Diodorus  Sicu- 
us,  lib.  iv.  'Hpaia  yap  opy  xara  Tr\v  Si(C£Aioi/  eartv,  d 
I  let  KaXXct,  K.  T.  A. 

'  A  ship,  ready  to  sail  for  England. 

3  I  left  Bermuda  in  the  Boston  about  the  middle  of  April, 

n  company  with  the  Cambrian  and  Leander,  aboard  the 

latter  ol"  which  was  the  Admiral,  Sir  Andrew  Mitchell,  who 

-iivideshis  year  between  Halifax  and  Bermuda,  and  is  the 

-Tery  soul  o'  society  an>  good  fellowship  to  both.    We  see- 


ITIE   STEERSMAN'S   SONO, 

WRITl'EN   ABOARD    THE    BOSTON    F&IGATB 
28th  APRri,.' 

When  freshly  blows  the  northern  gale. 

And  under  courses  snug  we  fly ; 
Or  when  light  breezes  swell  the  sail. 

And  royals  proudly  sweep  the  sky  ; 
'Longside  the  wheel,  unwearied  still 

I  stand,  and,  as  my  watchful  eye 
Doth  mark  the  needle's  faithful  thrill, 

I  think  of  her  I  love,  and  cry. 

Port,  my  boy  !  porti 

When  calms  delay,  or  breezes  blow 

Right  from  the  point  we  wish  to  steer ; 
When  by  the  wind  close  haul'd  we  go. 

And  strive  in  vain  the  port  to  near ; 
I  think  'tis  thus  the  fates  defer 

My  bliss  with  one  that's  far  away. 
And  while  remembrance  springs  to  her, 

I  watch  the  sails  and  sighing  say. 

Thus,  my  boy !  tbua 

But  see  the  wind  draws  kindly  aft. 

All  hands  are  up  the  yards  to  square. 
And  now  the  floating  stu'n  sails  waft 

Our  stately  ship  through  waves  and  air. 
O,  then  I  think  that  yet  for  me 

Some  breeze  of  fortune  thus  may  spring. 
Some  breeze  to  waft  me,  love,  to  thee  — 

And  in  that  hope  I  smiling  sing, 

Steady,  boy  !  so. 


THE  FIREFLY.* 

At  morning,  when  the  earth  and  sky 
Are  glowing  with  the  light  of  spring. 

We  see  thee  not,  thou  humble  fly ! 
Nor  think  upon  thy  gleaming  wing. 


arateJ  in  a  few  days,  and  the  Boston  after  a  short  ;  riis* 
proceeded  to  New  York. 

♦  The  lively  and  varying  illumination,  with  which  thes* 
fireflies  light  up  the  woods  at  night,  gives  c^viite  an  idea  ol 
enchantment  "  Puis  ces  mouches  se  develloppant  de  I'oh- 
ecurit^  de  ces  arbres  et  s'approchant  de  nous,  nous  les  voy- 
ions  sur  les  orangers  voisins,  qu'ils  mettoient  tout  en  feu, 
nous  rendant  la  vue  de  leurs  beaux  fruits  dores  q>ie  la  nuif 
avoit  ravie,"  dec.  &c.  —  See  Vlligtoir*  des  Ji  \til  le>,  mt.^ 
chap.  4,  liv.  L 


POKMS  RELA.1ING  TO  AMERICA. 


:«. 


Out  «'\en  the  skies  liare  lost  their  hu*", 
A 'id  sunr.y  Ughts  no  longer  play, 

O  then  we  see  w\(\  oless  thoe  too 
lov  spaikJioj;  o'^r  tne  drear;  way. 

Thus  le*  me  hope,  wher  \o?i  to  nrs 
The  ligh'-s  thai  r.ov  roy  I'fe  iUume, 

Some  milder  joys  may  co'^Oj  like  tliee. 
To  cheer,  if  not  to  v  am*,  ♦he  gloom ! 


THE  LORD    »nSCOUNT  FORBES. 

FBOM   THB    CITY   OP   WASHINGTON. 

If  fonrer  times  had  never  left  a  trace 
Of  human  frailty  in  their  onward  race. 
Nor  o'er  their  pathway  written,  as  they  ran, 
One  dark  memorial  of  the  crimes  of  man ; 
If  exery  age,  in  new  unconscious  prime. 
Rose,  like  a  phoenix,  from  the  fires  of  time, 
To  wing  its  way  unguided  and  alone. 
The  future  smiling  and  the  past  unknown  ; 
Then  ardent  man  would  to  himself  be  new. 
Earth  at  his  foot  and  heaven  within  his  view : 
Well    might  the    novice   hope,   the    sanguine 

scheme 
Of  full  perfection  prompt'  his  daring  dream. 
Ere  cold  experience,  with  her  veteran  lore, 
Could  tell  him,  fools  he  1  dreamt  as  much  be- 
fore. 
But,  tracing  as  we  do,  through  age  and  clime. 
The  plans  of  virtue  'midst  the  deeds  of  crime. 
The  thinking  follies  and  the  reasoning  rage 
Of  man,  at  once  the  idiot  and  the  sage  ; 
When  still  we  see,  through  every  varying  &ame 
Of  arts  and  polity,  his  oourse  the  same, 
And  know  that  ancient  fools  but  died,  to  make 
A  space  on  earth  for  modem  fools  to  take ; 
"lis  strange,  how  quickly  we  tne  past  forget ; 
That  Wisdom's  self  should  not  be  tutor'd  yet, 
N  jt  tire  of  watching  for  the  monstrous  birth 
Of  pure  perfection  'midst  the  sons  of  earth  I 

O,   nothing  but  th»t  soul  which   God  has 
given, 
Co -did  1<  td  us  thus  to  look  on  earth  for  heaven ; 
O'er  dross  witho".t  t^  ihed  the  light  within, 
•V.nd  dream  of  viKue  vhile  we  see  but  sin. 


Even  here,  beside    the    proud  Potowm^c' 

stream. 
Might  sages  still  pursue  the  flattering  theme 
Of  days  to  come,  when  man  shall  conquer  fat& 
Rise  o'er  the  level  of  his  mortal  state, 
Belie  the  monuments  of  frailty  past. 
And  plant  perfection  in  this  world  at  last ! 
••  Here,"  might  they  say,  "  shall  power's  divi4e<J 

reign 
♦•  Evince  that  patriots  have  not  bled  in  vain. 
"  Here  godlike  liberty's  herculean  youth, 
"  Cradled  in  peace,  and  nurtur'd  up  by  truth 
"  To  full  maturity  of  nerve  and  mind, 
"  Shall  crush  the  giants  that  bestride  mankind. 
"  Here  shall  religion's  pure  and  balmy  dr&ught 
"  In  form  no  more  from  cups  of  state  be  quaff 'd^ 
"  But  flow  for  all,  through  nation,  rank,  and  sect, 
"  Free  as  that  heaven  its  tranquil  waves  reflect. 
"  Around  the  columns  of  the  public  shrine 
"  Shall  growing  arts  their  gi  adual  wreath  in- 

twine, 
"  Nor  breathe   corruption  from  the  flowering 

braid, 
•'Nor  mine  that  fabric  which  they  bloom  to 

shade. 
"  No  longer  here  shall  Justice  bound  her  view, 
'•  Or  wrong  the  many,  while  she  rights  the  ftw  ; 
"But  take   her  range  through   all  the  social 

frame, 
"  Pure  and  pervading  as  that  vital  flame 
'•  Which  warms  at  once  our  best  and  meanest 

part, 
"And  thiills  a  hair  while  it  expands  a  heart ! " 

O  golden  dream  !    what  soul  t^t  loves  tr 

scan 
The  bright  disk  rather  than  the  dark  of  man, 
That  owns  the  good,  while  smarting  with  the  ill. 
And  loves  the  world  with  all  its  frailty  still,  — 
What  ardent  bosom  does  not  spring  to  meet 
The   generous   hope,  with    all    that   heavenly 

heat. 
Which  makes  the  soul  unwilling  to  resign 
The  thoughts  of  growing,  even  on  earth,  divine ' 
Yes,  dearest  friend,  I  see  thee  glow  to  think 
The  chain  of  ages  yet  may  boast  a  link 
Of  purer  texture  than  the  world  has  known. 
And  fit  to  bind  us  to  a  Godhead's  throne. 

But,  is  it  thus?  doth  even  the  glorious  dieam 
Borrow  from  truth  that  dim,  uncertain  gieam. 


>  ThiiR  Mnn>e.  "  Here  the  sciences  and  the  arts  of  civ-  '  aided  by  all  the  impmvementa  of  fonner  afw,  ii  to  b*  «> 
tized  life  are  to  receive  (heir  highest  improvemenu :  here  erted  in  humanizing  tnajikind,  in  ex|iariding  and  wirichtai 
tivil  and  relicioiig  liberty  are  to  flourish,  unchecked  by  the  their  mind.'t  witti  religioua  and  i>)iil<jiiupi)icaJ  knnwladf*.* 
tnitl  txuid  uf  civil  o:  McleMaatical  tf '.vmy :  bere  gwiiuB,  ,  Slc  Stc  —  t.  SML 


U8 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


Which    tempts  us   still  to  give   such  fancies 

scope, 
As  shock  not  reason,  while  they  nourish  hope  ? 
Ko,  no,  believe  me,  'tis  not  so  —  ev'n  now. 
While  yet  upon  Columbia's  rising  brow 
The  showy  smile  of  young  presumption  plays. 
Her  bloom  is  poison'd  and  her  heart  decays. 
Even  now,  in  dawn  of  life,  her  sickly  breath 
B  irns   with    the   taint  of    empires   near    their 

death ; 
And,  like  the  njonphs  of  her  own  withering 

clime, 
fihe's  old  in  youth  she's  blasted  in  her  prime.' 

Already  has  the  chUd  of  Gallia's  school 
The  foul  Philosophy  that  sins  bj'  riile. 
With  all  her  train  of  reasoning,  damning  arts. 
Begot  by  brilliant  heads  on  worthless  hearts. 
Like  things  that  quicken  after  Nilus'  flood, 
The  venom'd  birth  of  sunshine  and  of  mud,  — 
Already  has  she  pour'd  her  poison  here 
O'er  every  charm  that  makes  existence  dear ; 
Already  blighted,  with  her  blackening  trace. 
The  opening  bloom  of  every  social  grace. 
And  all  those  courtesies,  that  love  to  shoot 
Round  virtue's  stem,  the  flow'rets  of  her  fruit. 

And,  were  these  errors  but  the  wanton  tide 
Of  young  luxuriance  or  unchasten'd  pride  ; 
The  fervid  follies  and  the  faults  of  such 
As  wrongly  feel,  because  they  feel  too  much  ; 
Then  might  experience  make  the  fever  less, 
Nay,  graft  a  virtue  on  each  warm  excess. 
But  no  ;  'tis  heartless,  speculative  ill, 
All  youth's  transgression  with  all  age's  chill ; 
The  apathy  of  wrong,  the  bosom's  ice, 
A  slow  and  cold  stagnation  into  vice. 

Long  has  the  love  of  gold,  that  meanest  rage. 
And  latest  folly  of  man's  sinking  age. 


1  "  What  will  be  the  old  age  of  this  government,  if  it  is 
Ihus  ewrly  decrepit ! "  Such  was  the  remark  of  Faiichet, 
th'S  French  minister  at  Philadelphia,  in  that  famous  de- 
ipatch  to  tail  government,  whicii  was  mtercepted  by  one  of 
twr  cruisers  in  the  year  1794.  This  curious  memorial  may 
be  found  in  Porcupine's  Works,  vol.  i.  p.  279.  It  remains  a 
lunkmg  monument  of  republican  intrigue  on  one  side  and 
republican  profligacy  on  the  other ;  and  1  would  recommend 
the  perusal  of  it  to  every  honest  politician,  who  may  labor 
under  a  moment's  delusion  with  respect  to  the  purity  of 
American  patriotism. 

2  "  Nous  voyons  que,  dans  les  pays  oil  I'on  n'est  aflfecti 
que  de  I'esprit  de  commerce,  on  trafique  de  toutes  les  ac- 
tions humaines  et  de  toutes  les  vertus  morales."  —  Mon- 
tesquieu, de  I'Esprit  des  Lois,  liv.  xx.  chap.  2. 

*  I  trust  1  shal  not  be  suspected  of  a  wish  to  justify  those 
arbitrary  F<eps  of   he  Bi|",ish  government  which  the  colo 


Which,  rarely  venturing  in  the  van  of  life. 
While  nobler  passions  wage  their  heated  strife 
Comes  skulking  last,  with  selfishness  and  fear, 
And  dies,  collecting  lumber  in  the  rear,  — 
Long  has  it  j^alsied  every  grasping  hand 
And  greedy  spirit  through  this  bartering  land  j 
Turn'd  life  to  traffic,  set  the  demon  gold 
So  loose  abroad  that  virtue's  self  is  sold. 
And  conscience,  truth,  and  honesty  are  mat'e 
To  rise  and  fall,  like  other  wares  of  trade.* 

Already  in  this  free,  this  virtuous  state. 
Which,  Frenchmen  tell   us,  was  ordain'd  bj 

fate. 
To  show  the  world,  what  high  perfection  spring 
From  rabble  senators,  and  merchant  kings. 
Even  here  already  patriots  learn  to  steal 
Their  private  perquisites  from  public  weal,     • 
And,  guardians  of  the  country's  sacred  fire, 
Like  Afric's  priests,  let  out  the  flame  for  hire. 
Those  vaunted  demagogues,  who  nobly  rose 
From  England's  debtors  to  be  England's  foes,' 
Who  could  their  monarch  in  their  purse  forge  .. 
And  break  allegiance,  but  to  cancel  debt,* 
Have  prov'd  at  length,  the  mineral's  tempting 

hue, 
Which  makes  a  patriot,  can  unmake  him  too.* 
O,  Freedom,  Freedom,  how  I  hate  thy  cant ! 
Not  Eastern  bombast,  not  the  savage  rant 
Of  purpled  madmen,  were  they  number'd  all. 
From  Roman  Nero  down  to  Russian  Paul, 
Could  grate  upon  my  ear  so  mean,  so  base, 
As  the  rank  jargon  of  that  factious  race. 
Who,  poor  of  heart  and  prodigal  of  words, 
Form'd  to  be  slaves,  yet  struggling  to  be  lords. 
Strut  forth,  as  patriots,  from  their  negro  marts, 
And  shout  for  rights,  with  rapine  in  their  hearts. 

Who  can,  with  patience,  for  a  moment  see 
The  medley  mass  of  pride  and  misery, 

nies  found  it  so  necessary  to  resist ;  my  only  object  here  w 
to  expose  the  selfish  motives  of  some  of  the  leading  Aa.cn 
can  demagogues. 

*  The  most  persevering  enemy  to  the  interests  of  tliiV 
country,  amongst  the  politicians  of  the  western  world,  has 
been  a  Virginian  merchant,  who,  finding  it  easier  to  settle 
his  conscience  than  his  debts,  was  one  of  the  first  to  raise 
the  standard  against  Great  Britain,  and  has  ever  sjtice  en- 
deavored to  revenge  upon  the  whole  country  the  obligation! 
which  he  lies  under  to  a  few  of  its  merchants. 

5  See  Porcupine's  account  of  the  Peimsylvan-a  Insurrec- 
tion in  1794.  In  short,  see  Porcupine's  works  throughout, 
for  ample  corroboration  of  every  sentiment  wliich  I  have 
ventured  to  express.  In  saying  thi.-i,  1  reler  less  tu  the  cum- 
ments  of  that  writer  than  to  the  occurrence^!  which  he  haj 
related  and  the  documents  which  he  has  preserved.  Opin 
'on  may  be  suspected  of  bias,  but  facts  speak  for  ttiemselrer 


Of  whips  and  charters,  manacles  and  rights, 

Of  slaving  blacks  and  democratic  whites,' 

A.nd  all  the  piebald  polity  that  reigns 

In  free  confusion  o'er  Columbia's  plains? 

To  think  that  man,  thou  just  and  gentle  God  ! 

Should  stand  before  thee  with  a  tyrant's  rod 

O'er  creatures  like  himself,  with  souls  from  thee, 

Yet  dai'e  to  boast  of  perfect  liberty ; 

Away,  away —  I'd  rather  hold  my  neck 

By  doubtful  tenure  from  a  sultan's  beck, 

In  climes,  where  liberty  has  scarce  been  nam'd, 

Nor  any  right  but  that  of  ruling  claim'd, 

I'hai.  thus  to  live,  where  bastard  Freedom  waves 

Her  fustian  flag  in  mockery  over  slaves ; 

Where  —  motley  laws  admitting  no  degree 

Betwixt  the  vilely  slav'd  and  madly  free  — 

Alike  the  bondage  and  the  license  suit 

rhe  brute  made  ruler  and  the  man  made  brute. 

But,  while  I  thus,  my  friend,  in  flowerless  song, 
BO  feebly  paint,  what  yet  I  feel  so  strong, 
The  ills,  the  vices  of  the  land,  where  first 
I^ose  rebel  fiends,  that  rack  the  world,  were 

nurs'd, 
Where  treason's  arm  by  royalty  was  nerv  d. 
And  Frenchmen  Icarn'd  to  crush  the  throne 

they  serr'd  — 
Thou,  calmly  luU'd  in  dreams  of  classic  thought. 
By  bards  illumin'd  and  by  sages  taught, 
Pant'st  to  be  all,  upon  this  mortal  scene, 
That  bard  hath  fancied  or  that  sage  hath  been. 
Why  should  I  wake  thee  ?  w'ny  severely  chase 
The  lovely  forms  of  virtue  and  of  grace, 
That  dwell  before  thee,  like  the  pictures  spread 
By  Spartan  matrons  round  the  genial  bed, 
Moulding  thy  fancy,  and  with  gradual  art 
Brightening  the  young  conceptions  of  thy  heart. 

Forgive  me,  Forbes  —  and  should  the  song 
destroy 
Une  generous  hope,  one  throb  of  boc'vA  joy, 

1  fn  Virginia  tbe  effecu  of  chia  syitem  begin  to  be  felt 
rather  seriuiiHly.  While  tbe  roaster  raven  of  liberty,  the 
tluve  cannot  but  catch  the  c<iiitai;i<>n,  and  accordingly  tliere 
leUioin  ela(Me8  a  niuiitii  without  some  alarm  of  ini<urrection 
tmonp<t  tiie  negroes.  The  acceasion  of  Louisiana,  it  la 
reare<l,  will  increa.se  thin  embarra.s8ment ;  as  the  niimeroua 
amigrationa,  which  are  expected  to  take  place,  from  the 
•oiithern  state*  to  l  lis  newly-acquired  territory,  will  con- 
■iderably  diminish  the  white  population,  and  thus  etrenRth- 
en  the  pro|iortion  of  negroes,  to  a  degree  which  must  ulti- 
mately be  ruinous. 

«  The  "  black  Aapasia  "  of  the  present  ••••••      •• 

if  the  United  States,  inter  Avemales  baud  ignotiaaima  qym- 
tiuL*  has  \nven  rise  to  much  pleasantry  among  tlie  anti- 
I  >n  ocrat  wits  in  America. 

'    '  Ud  tbe  original  location  of  the  ground  now  allotted 


One  high  pulsation  of  the  zeal  for  man. 
Which  few   can  fsel,  and  bleu  that  few  wU 

can, — 
O,  turn  to  him,  beneath  whose  kindred  eyes 
Thy  talents  open  and  thy  virtues  rise, 
Forget  where  nature  has  been  dark  or  dim. 
And  proudly  study  all  her  lights  in  him. 
Yes,  yes,  in  him  the  erring  world  forget. 
And  feel  that  man  may  reach  perfisction  jf' 


TO 

THOMAS  HUME,  ESQ.  M.  D. 

FBOIC   THE    CITY   OF   WA8HINOTOW. 

Ai>7yF)(re/iai  itriyrniara  iau)(  airiirra,  KOivioi/a  uf  wcwor$ 
•v«  ocuc  —  XBNorHONT.  Epkes.  Ephetiae.  lib.  t 

Tre  evening  now ;  beneath  the  western  star 
Soft  sighs  the  lover  through  his  sweet  cigar, 
And  fills  the  ears  of  some  consenting  she 
With  puffs  and  vows,  with  smoke  and  constancy 
The  patriot,  fresh  from  Freedom's  councils  come 
Now  pleas'd  retires  to  lash  his  slaves  at  homo ; 
Or  woo,  perhaps,  some  black  Aspa-sia's  charms, 
And  dream  of  freedom  in  his  bondmaid's  arms.' 

In  fancy  now,  beneath  the  twilight  gloom. 
Come,   let   me    lead    thee    o'er   this   "second 

Rome !  "  • 
Where  tribunes  rule,  where  dusky  Davi  bow. 
And  what  was  Goose  Creek  once  is  Tiber  now :  * — 
This  embryo 'capital,  where  Fancy  sees 
Squares  in  morasses,  obelisks  in  trees ; 
W^hich  second-sighted  seers,  ev'n  now,  adorn 
With  shrines  unbuilt  and  heroes  yet  unborn. 
Though  nought  but  woods  •  and  J n  thej 

see, 
^Vhere  streets  should  run  and  sages  otiffht  'jo  -.« 

for  the  seat  of  the  Federal  City  (aajra  Mr.  Weld)  the  Idi-nti 
cal  apot  on  which  the  capitol  now  atands  was  called  Roniei 
This  anecdote  is  related  by  many  a«  a  certain  pmgnoxiic  <•( 
the  ftitute  magnifio^nce  of  the  city,  which  is  t<i  te,  as  M 
were,  a  second  Rome."  —  WfWt  TravtU,  letter  iv. 

*  A  little  stream  nins  ibroiigh  the  city,  which,  ^'il'l  in- 
tolerable'atfectalinn,  they  have  styled  the  Titer,  .t  wii» 
originally  called  Goose  Creek. 

»  "  To  be  under  the  necessity  of  going  thr  •>«igh  a  d«^ 
wood  for  one  or  two  miles,  perhaps,  in  order  to  see  a  next 
door  neighbor,  anci  in  the  same  city,  is  a  curious  and,  I 
believe,  a  novel  circuin-'lanre." —  IVrli,  lelter  iv. 

The  Federal  City  (If  it  must  be  called  a  city)  has  not  beet 
much  increased  since  Mr.  Weld  visited  'L  .Most  of  the  p<ib 
lie  buildings,  which  were  then  in  some  derree  nf  fiTwant 
neaa,  have  been  aince  utterly  'uspended.    Tiia  bulel  ia  ai 


1«0 


POEMS   RELArxiVG  10  AMERICA. 


And  look,  how  calmly  in  yon  radiant  wave, 
ITie  dying  sun  prepares  his  golden  grave. 
0  mighty  river  !  O  ye  banjcs  of  shade  ! 
Ye  matchless  scenes,  in  nature's  morning  made, 
~While  still,  in  all  th'  exuberance  of  prime. 
She  pour'd  her  wonders,  lavishly  sublime. 
Nor  yet  had  learn'd  to  stoop,  with  humbler  care, 
From  grand  to  soft,  from  wonderful  to  fair ;  — 
wy,  were  your  towering  hills,  your  boundless 

floods, 
I'our  rich  savannas  and  majestic  woods. 
Where  bards  should  meditate  and  heroes  rove, 
And  woman  charm,  and  man  deserve  her  love,  — 
0  say,  was  world  so  bright,  but  born  to  grace 
Its  own  half-organized,  half-minded  race  ' 
Of  weak  barbarians,  swarming  o'er  its  breast, 
like  vermin  gender'd  on  the  lion's  crest  ? 
Wet'e  none  but  brutes  to  call  that  soil  their  home, 
Where  none  but  demigods  should  dare  to  roam? 
Or,   worse,  thou  wondrous  world !    O,  doubly 

worse, 
Did  heaven  design  thy  lordly  land  to  nurse 
The  motley  dregs  of  every  distant  clime. 
Each  blast  of  anarchy  and  taint  of  crime 
Which  Europe  shakes  from  her  perturbed  sphere, 
In  full  mahgnity  to  rankle  here  ? 

But  hold,  —  observe  yon  little  mount  of  pines, 
Where  the  breeze  murmurs  and  the  firefly  shines. 
There  let  thy  fancy  raise,  in  bold  relief. 
The  sculptur'd  image  of  that  veteran  chief 
Who  lost  the  rebel's  in  the  hero's  name, 
And  climb'd  o'er  prostrate  loyaltj-  to  fame ; 
Beneath  whose  sword  Columbia's  patriot  train 
Cast  ofi"  their  monarch,  that  their  mob  might 
reign. 

How  shall  we  rank  thee  upon  glory's  page  ? 
Thou  more  than  soldier  and  just  less  than  sage ! 
Of  peace  too  fond  to  act  the  conqueror's  part. 
Too  long  in  camps  to  learn  a  statesman's  art, 

ready  a  ruin ;  a  great  part  of  its  roof  has  fallen  in,  and  the 
roi'ins  are  left  to  be  occupied  gratuitously  hy  tlie  miserable 
Scutch  and  Irish  emigrants.  Tlie  President's  liouse,  a  very 
noble  structure,  is  by  no  means  suited  to  the  philosophical 
humility  of  its  present  possessor,  who  inhabits  but  a  corner 
of  the  mansicn  himself,  and  abandons  the  rest  to  a  state  of 
uncleanly  desolation,  which  those  who  are  not  philosophers 
cannot  look  at  without  regret.  This  grand  edifice  is  encir- 
cled by  a  very  nide  paling,  through  which  a  common  rustic 
Mile  introduces  the  visitors  of  the  first  man  in  America. 
With  respect  to  all  that  is  within  the  house,  1  shall  imitate 
the   prudent  forbearance  of  Herodotua,  and  say,  ra  Sc  cv 

The  private  buildings  exh  bit  the  same  characteristic  dis- 
play of  arrogant  speculation  and  premature  ruin  ;  and  the 
)       %t    rangr«  of  bouses  which  weie  begun  some  years  ago 


iVature  design' d  thee  for  a  hero's  n-ould. 
But,  ere  she  cast  thee,  let  the  stuff  grow  cold. 

While  loftier  souls  command,  nay,  make  theil 

fate, 
Thy  fate  made  thee  and  forc'd  thee  to  be  great 
Yet  Fortune,  who  so  oft,  so  blindly  sheds 
Her  brightest  halo  round  the  weakest  heads, 
Found  thee  undazzled,  tranquil  as  before, 
Proud  to  be  useful,  scorning  to  be  more  , 
Less  mov'd  by  glory's  than  by  duty's  claim. 
Renown  the  meed,  but  self-applause  the  aim ; 
All  that  thou  wert  reflects  less  fame  on  thee, 
Far  less,  than  all  thou  didst  _/brie«r  to  be. 
Nor  yet  the  patriot  of  one  land  alone,  — 
For,  thine's  a  name  all  nations  claim  their  own 
And  every  shore,  where  breath'd  the  good  and 

brave, 
Echo'd  the  plaudits  thy  own  country  gave. 

Now  look,  my  friend,  where  faint  the  mooi.- 

Hght  falls 
On  yonder  dome,  and,  in  those  princely  halls,  — 
If  thou  canst  hate,  as  sure  that  soul  must  hate. 
Which    loves    the   virtuous,    and   reveres    th« 

great,  — 
If  thou  canst  loathe  and  execrate  with  me 
The  poisonous  drug  of  French  philosophy. 
That  nauseous  slaver  of  these  frantic  times, 
With  which  false  liberty  dilutes  her  crimes,  — 
If  thou  hast  got,  within  thy  free-born  breast. 
One  pulse  that  beats  more  proudly  than  the  rest, 
With  honest  scorn  for  that  inglorious  soul. 
Which  creeps  and  winds  beneath  a  mob's  con- 

tr6l. 
Which  courts  the  rabble's  smile,  the  rabble's  nod.. 
And  makes,  like  Eg}-pt,  every  beast  its  god, 
There,   in  those    walls  —  but,  burning  tongut, 

forbear  ! 
Rank  must  be  reverenc'd,  even  the  rank  that  a 

thei* : 

have  remained  so  long  waste  and  unfinished  that  th«)i  in 
now  for  the  most  part  dilapidated. 

1  The  picture  which  BufTon  and  De  Pauw  av«>  diawn  el 
the  American  Indian,  though  very  humiliating,  is,  as  far  u 
I  ran  judge,  much  more  correct  than  the  flattering  repre- 
sentations which  Mr.  Jefl'erson  has  given  us.  See  the  Notes 
on  Virginia,  where  this  gentleman  endeavors  to  disprove  iD 
general  the  opinion  maintained  so  strongly  by  s>ome  philo- 
sophers that  nature  (as  Mr.  Jnflierson  expresses  it)  belittle* 
her  productions  in  the  western  world.  M.  de  Pauw  attrib- 
utes the  imperfection  of  animal  life  in  America  to  the  rava 
ges  of  a  very  recent  deluge,  from  whose  efTects  upon  its  soil 
and  atmosphere  it  has  not  yet  sufficiently  recovered.  —  H» 
eherches  sur  Us  ^mirirahM,  part  i.  torn.  i.  p.  102. 

i)  On  a  small  hill  near  the  capitui  there  is  to  be  u^  eqjee 
trian  statue  of  General  Washington. 


POEMS   RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


I'i. 


80   here  I  pause  —  and  now,  dear  Hume,  we 

part : 
But  oft  again,  in  frank  exchange  of  heart. 
Thus  let  us  meet,  and  mingle  converse  dear, 
By  Thames  at  Lome,  or  by  Potowmac  here. 
O'er  lake  and  marsh,  through  fevers  and  through 

fogs, 
Midst  bears  and  yankees,  democrats  and  frogs, 
f  hy  foot  shall  follow  me,  thy  heart  and  eyes 
ft'^ith  me  shall  wonder,  and  with  me  despise.' 
vV}:ile  I,  as  oft,  in  fancy's  dream  shall  rove. 
With  thee    conversing,   through    that  land  I 

love, 
»Vhere,  like  the  air  that  fans  her  fields  of  green, 
Her  freedom  spreads,  unfever'd  and  serene  ; 
And  sovereign  man  can  condescend  to  see 
rhe  throne  and  laws  more  sovereign  still  than  he. 


LINES 

TnUTTBir   ON   LEAVINO   PHUADBLFHIA. 

——TiiyS*  '•1)1'  iroA«i'  ^iAu( 
E<Tut^  tiraita  yao. 

SorHocL.  CEdip.  OoUm.  T.  7S6. 

Alone  by  the  Schuylkill  a  wanderer  rov'd, 
And  bright  were  its  flowery  banks  to  his  eye ; 

But  far,  very  far  were  the  friends  that  he  lov'd. 
And  he  gaz'd  on  its  flowery  banks  with  a  sigh. 

O  Nature,  though  blessed  and  bright  are  thy 
rays. 
O'er  the  brow  of  creation  enchantingly  thrown. 
Yet  faint  are  they  all  to  the  lustre  that  plays 
In  a  smile  from  the  heart  that  is  fondly  our 
own. 

Kor  long  did  the  soul  of  the  stranger  remain 
Unblest  by  the  smile  he  had  languish'd  to 
meet ;  • 

lliough  scarce  did  he  hope  it  would  soothe  him 
again. 
Till  the  threshold  of  home  had  been  press'd 
by  his  feet. 

i  In  ihe  ferment  whuh  the  French  revolution  excited 
Biaong  the  deinocrata  of  America,  and  the  licentious  lym- 
patl.y  with  wtilch  they  shared  in  ttie  wildest  ezccases  of 
lacubinism,  we  may  find  one  source  of  that  vulgarity  of 
vice,  that  hostility  to  all  the  graces  of  life,  which  distin- 
guishes the  present  deaagogues  of  tlie  United  States,  and 
has  becoi  \e  indeed  tixj  generally  the  characteristic  of  their 
tountrj'men.  But  there  is  another  cause  of  the  corruption 
•f  private  inoraU.  which,  encouraged  as  it  is  by  the  goveni- 
inen  ,  and  ideniiSed  with  the  interests  of  the  community, 
wems  t'     .naton  the  decay  of  all  honest  princi|le  in  Amer- 


But  the  lays  of  his  boyhood  had  stol'n  to  theii 
«ar. 
And  they  lov'd  what  they  knew  of  ao  humbl* 
a  name  ; 
And  they  told  him,  with  flattery  welcome  and 
dear. 
That  they  found  in  his  heart  something  tetw 
than  fame. 

Nor  did  woman  —  O  woman  !  whose  form  and 
whose  soul 
Are  the  spell  and  the  light  of  each  path  w« 
pursue ; 
■Whether  sunn'd  in  the  tropics  or  chill'd  at  th» 
pole, 
If  woman  be  there,  there  is  happiness  too  :  - 

Nor  did  she  her  enamouring  magic  deny,  — 
That  magic  his  heart   had   relinquish'd  10 
long,  — 

Like  eyes  he  had  lov'd  was  her  eloquent  eye, 
Like  them  did  it  soften  and  weep  at  his  song. 

O,  blest  be  the  tear,  and  in  memory  oft 
May  its  sparkle  be  shed  o'er  the  wanderer's 
dream ; 

Thrice  blest  bo  that  eye,  and  may  passion  as  soft 
As  free  from  a  pang,  ever  mellow  its  beam  I 

The  stranger  is  gone  —  but  he  will  not  forget. 
When  at  home  he  shall  talk  of  the  toils  he 
has  known. 
To  tell,  with  a  sigh,  what  endearments  he  met. 
As  he  stray'd  by  the  wave  of  the  ochuylkill 
alone. 


LINES 

WBITTEN     AT     THE     C0U08,    OR     FALLS     OF     THI 
MOUAWK  arvEU.* 

Gia  era  in  loco  ove  a'  udia  '1  rirabonibo 

Dell'  acqua  .  DiioTa 

Fbom  rise  of  mom  till  set  of  sun 
I've  seen  the  mighty  Mohawk  run ; 

ica.  I  allude  to  those  fraudulent  violations  of  neutrality  t 
which  they  are  Indebcod  for  the  most  lucrative  pan  oi  thait 
commerce,  and  by  which  they  have  so  long  infrinced  amt 
counteracted  the  maritime  rights  and  advantages  of  (lii« 
countr>'.  I'his  uiiwarrauiable  trade  is  necessarily  abell«a 
by  such  a  vystem  of  collusion,  imposture,  and  peijury,  as 
cannot  fail  to  spread  rapid  contamination  amiiiid  it. 

*  There  is  a  dreary  and  savage  ch.tracter  in  Ihe  eoiiuuy 
mmediately  about  these  Falls,  which  is  much  more  in  har 
roony  w  ith  tiie  wildness  of  such  a  scene  ih'n  the  culiivBisf 
lands  it  the  neighborhood  of  Niagara.    Bm  the  drewtac  t* 


i62 


POEMS  RELATING  TO   AMERICA. 


And  as  I  mark'd  the  woods  of  pine 
Along  his  mirror  darkly  shine, 
Like  tall  and  gloomy  forms  that  pass 
Before  the  wizard's  midnight  glass  ; 
And  as  I  view'd  the  hurrying  pace 
With  which  he  ran  his  turbid  race, 
Rushing,  alike  untir'd  and  wild, 
ITirough  shades  that  frown'd  and  flowers 

that  smil'd, 
Flying  by  every  green  recess 
That  woo'd  him  to  its  calm  caress, 
STet  sometimes  turning  with  the  wind 
As  if  to  leave  one  look  behind,  — 
Oft  have  I  thought,  and  thinking  sigh'd, 
Ho'v  like  to  thee,  thou  restless  tide, 
May  be  the  lot,  the  life  of  him 
Who  roams  along  thy  water's  brim ; 
Through  what  alternate  wastes  of  woe 
And  flowers  of  joy  my  path  may  go ; 
How  many  a  shelter'd,  calm  retreat 
May  woo  the  while  my  weary  feet. 
While  still  pursuing,  still  unblest, 
I  wander  on,  nor  dare  to  rest ; 
But,  urgent  as  the  doom  that  calls 
Thy  water  to  its  destin'd  falls, 
I  feel  the  world's  bewildering  force 
Hurry  my  heart's  devoted  course 
From  lapse  to  lapse,  till  life  be  done. 
And  the  spent  current  cease  to  run. 

One  only  prayer  I  dare  to  make, 
As  onward  thus  my  course  1  take  ;  — 
O,  be  my  falls  as  bright  as  thine  ! 
May  heaven's  relenting  rainbow  shine 
Upon  the  mist  that  circles  me. 
As  soft  as  now  it  hangs  o'er  thee  ! 


Uiein  in  Mr.  Weld's  bt>ok.  -According  to  him,  the  perpen- 
iicL  lar  height  of  the  Cohos  Fall  is  fifty  feet ;  but  the  Mar- 
lUiH  de  Chastellux  makes  it  seventy-six. 

The  fine  rainbow,  which  is  continually  forming  and  dis- 
mlving  ss  the  spray  rises  into  the  light  of  the  sun,  is  per- 
adps  tie  most  interesting  beauty  which  these  wonderful 
;atAracis  exhibit. 

1  The  idea  of  this  poem  occurred  to  me  in  passing  through 
a»e  vory  dreary  wilderness  between  Batavia.  a  new  settle- 
jient  in  the  midst  of  tlie  woods,  and  the  little  village  of 
Buffalo  upon  Lake  Erie.  This  is  the  most  fatigu  Ag  part 
•f  the  route,  in  travelling  through  the  Genesee  country  to 
Niagara. 

a  "  The  Five  Confederated  Natit  us  (of  Indians)  ^©re  set- 
tled along  the  banks  of  the  Susquehannah  ana  the  adjacent 
M>untr}-,  unti'  the  year  1779,  whei  General  Sullivan,  with 


SONG    OF    THE    EVIL  SPIRIT  OF    IH* 
WOODS.' 

Q,ua  via  difficilis,  quaque  est  via  nulla. 

Otid.  JUetam.  lib.  UL  T  997 

Now  the  vapor,  hot  and  damp. 
Shed  by  day's  expiring  lamp, 
Through  the  misty  ether  spreads 
Every  ill  the  white  man  dreads ; 
Fiery  fever's  thirsty  thrill, 
Fitful  ague's  shivering  chill  I 

Hark  !  I  hear  the  traveller  s  song, 
As  he  winds  the  woods  along ;  — 
Christian,  'tis  the  song  of  fear  ; 
Wolves  are  round  thee,  night  is  near. 
And  the  wild  thou  dar'st  to  roam  — 
Think,  'twas  once  the  Indian's  home ! 

Hither,  sprites,  who  love  to  harm, 
Wheresoe'er  you  work  your  charm. 
By  the  creeks,  or  by  the  brakes, 
Where  the  pale  witch  feeds  her  snakca. 
And  the  cayman  '  loves  to  creep, 
Torpid,  to  his  wintry  sleep  : 
Where  the  bird  of  carrion  flits. 
And  the  shuddering  murderer  sits,* 
Lone  beneath  a  roof  of  blood ; 
While  upon  his  poison'd  food, 
From  the  corpse  of  him  he  slew 
Drops  the  chill  and  gory  dew. 

Hither  bend  ye,  turn  ye  hither, 
Eyes  that  blast  and  wings  that  wither  I 
Cross  the  wandering  Christian's  way. 
Lead  him,  ere  the  glimpse  of  day. 
Many  a  mile  of  madd'ning  error 
Through  the  maze  of  night  and  terrori 
Till  the  mom  behold  him  lying 
On  the  damp  earth,  pale  and  dying. 


an  army  of  4000  men,  drove  them  from  their  country  to  N 
agara,  where,  being  obliged  to  live  on  salted  provisions,  ta 
which  they  were  unaccustomed,  great  nuu^rs  of  then 
died.  Two  hundred  of  them,  it  is  said,  were  buried  m  uiti 
grave,  where  they  had  encamped." -- .Vo'^e'*  Iniericun 
Oeography. 

3  The  alligator,  who  is  supposed  to  lie  iii  a  fjiid  state  all 
the  winter,  in  the  bank  of  some  creek  or  pond,  having  pre- 
viously swallowed  a  large  number  of  pine  knots,  which  are 
his  only  sustenance  during  the  time. 

*  This  was  the  mode  of  punishment  for  murder  (as  Char- 
levoix tells  us)  among  the  Uurons.  "They  laid  the  dead 
body  upon  poles  at  the  top  of  a  cabin,  and  the  murderer  wa« 
obliged  to  remain  several  days  togethjr,  and  to  receive  ah 
that  dropped  from  tiie  ci^rcass,  not  only  on  hinself  but  (iv 
his  food."  ' 


lOEMS  RELAITNG  TO  AMERICA. 


1(4 


Mock  him,  when  his  eager  sight 
Seeks  the  cordial  cottage  light ; 
Gleam  then,  like  the  lightning  bug. 
Tempt  him  to  the  den  that's  dug 
For  the  foul  and  famish'd  brood 
Of  the  she  wolf,  gaunt  for  blood ; 
Or,  unto  the  dangerous  pass 
( >'er  the  deep  and  dark  morass, 
Where  the  trembling  Indian  brings 
Belts  of  porcelain,  pipes,  and  rings. 
Tributes  to  be  hung  in  air. 
To  the  Fiend  presiding  there  !  * 

Then,  when  night's  long  labor  past, 
Wilder'd  faint,  he  falls  at  last. 
Sinking  where  the  causeway's  edge 
Moulders  in  the  slimy  sedge. 
There  let  every  noxious  thing 
Trail  its  filth  and  &x  its  sting ; 
Let  the  bull  toad  taint  him  over. 
Round  him  let  musquitoes  hover, 
In  his  ears  and  eyeballs  tingling. 
With  his  blood  their  poison  mingling, 
Till,  beneath  the  solar  lires, 
Rankling  all,  the  Htetch  expires  ! 


THE  HONORABLE   W.   R.   SPENCER. 

FUOM   BUFFALO,    UPON    LAKE    EIUE. 

Nec  venit  ad  duros  musa  vocata  Getas. 

Otid.  et  Panto,  lib.  I,  ep.  5. 

I  Hor  oft  hast  told  me  of  the  happy  hours 
Enjcy'd  by  thee  in  fair  Italia's  bowers, 
Wb«re,  lingering  yet,  the  ghost  of  ancient  wit 
'Midst  modem  monks  profanely  dares  to  flit, 
A.i>d  pagan  spirits,  by  the  Pope  unlaid. 
Haunt  every  stream  and  sing  through  every 

shade ; 
'fliere  still  the  bard  who  (if  his  numbers  be 
Hu  'x)ngue'8  light  echo)  must  have  talk'd  like 

thee,  — 

1  <  VV«  Had  also  coUars  of  porcelain,  tobacco,  ears  of 
maiw,  ikins,  lie  by  the  lide  of  difficult  and  dangeroua 
waya,  on  rocks,  or  by  the  side  of  the  falls ;  and  these  are 
«o  many  offerings  made  to  the  spirits  which  preside  in  theae 
piaces."  —  See  CkarUvoiz't  Letter  on  the  Traditioni  and  UU 
Religion  of  Vu  Savages  qf  Canada, 

Father  Hennepin  too  mentions  this  ceremony  ;  he  also 
<ayg,  "  We  took  notice  of  one  barbarian,  who  made  a  kind 
01  sacrifice  upon  an  oak  at  the  Caacade  of  Sv  Antony  of 
Padua,  upon  the  river  Misgissippi.**— See  JSEm^pm'*  Ftftgt 
imto  ICtrtk  Smeriea. 

20 


The  courtly  bard,  from  whom  thy  mind  hm 

caught 
Those  playful,  simahine  holy  days  of  thoa^.4 
In  which  the  spirit  baskingly  reclines, 
Bright  without  effort,  resting  while  it  ahinM,  - 
There  still  he  roves,  and  laughing  love*  to  bee 
How  modem  priests  with  ancient  rakes  agree  ; 
How,  'neath  the  cowl,  the  festal  garland  shinei 
And  Love  still  finds  a  niche  in  Christian  snrinna 

There  still,  too,  roam  those  other  Moula  » 

song. 
With  whom  thy  spirit  hath  commun'd  so  long. 
That,  quick  &9 light,  their  rarest  gcu;s  of  thoughti 
By  Memory's  magic  to  thy  lip  are  brought. 
But  here,  alas  !  by  Erie's  stormy  lake, 
Ajs,  far  &om  such  bright  haunts  my  counte  I 

take. 
No  proud  remembrance  o'er  the  fancy  piayt, 
No  classic  dream,  no  star  of  other  days 
Hath  left  that  visionary  light  behind. 
That  lingering  radiance  of  immortal  mind. 
Which  gilds  and  hallows  even  the  rudest  scene, 
The  humblest  shed,  where  Qeniua  once  haa 

been! 

AH  that  creation's  varying  man  ar.omes 
Of  grand  or  lovely,  here  aspires  and  t  looms , 
Bold  rise  the  mountains,  rich  the  gaidens  glow, 
Bright  lakes  expand,  and   conquering*  rivers 

flow ; 
But  mind,  immortal  mind,  without  whose  ray. 
This  world's  a  wilderness  and  man  but  clay. 
Mind,  mind  alone,  in  barren,  still  repose. 
Nor  blooms,  nor  rises,  nor  expands,  nor  flows. 
Take  Christians,  Mohawks,  democrats,  and  all 
From  the  rude  wigwam  to  the  congress  hall. 
From  man  the  savage,  whether  slav'd  or  free. 
To  man  the  civiliz'd,  less  tame  than  he,  — 
'Tis  one  dull  chaos,  one  unfertile  strife 
Betwixt  half-polish'd  and  half>barbaroiu  life  ; 
Where  every  Ul  the  ancient  world  could  brew 
Is  mix'd  with  every  grossncss  of  the  new ; 
Where  all  corrupts,  though  Uttle  can  entice. 
And  nought  is  known  of  luxury^  but  i^  vice  ! 

*  This  epithet  was  eugfaetad  by  CbarlevoU  a  striking  de 
scription  of  the  confluence  of  the  Missouri  with  lh«  Miwia 
sippL  "  I  believe  this  is  the  tlnest  confluence  in  Iba  worfd 
The  two  rivers  are  much  of  liM  aama  bcMdlh,  each  aboui 
hair  a  league ;  but  the  Miaaouri  ia  by  ihr  Iba  noal  rapid,  an4 
seems  to  enter  the  Miaeiaippi  lika  a  eoaquWDT,  thiuufk 
which  it  cames  its  white  waves  to  tba  oppoaita  abora,  Willi 
out  mixing  them :  afterwarda  ft  givaa  ita  coloc  to  tba  Miaab 
sippi,  which  it  never  loaaa  again,  but  eaniaa  ^iMa  di/wa  m 
the  sea."  —  LetlM  xzvii. 


la  this  the  region  then,  is  this  the  clime 
For  soaring  fancies  ?  for  those  dreams  subUme, 
VVhich  all  their  miracles  of  light  reveal 
To  heads  that  meditite  and  hearts  that  feel  ? 
A.Ia8  !  not  so  —  the  Muse  of  Nature  lights 
Her   glories   round;    she  scales  the  mountain 

he'ghts, 
A.nd  roams  the  forests  ;  every  wondrous  spot 
Burns  with  her  step,  yet  man  regards  it  not. 
"ihe  w  hisuers  round,  her  words  are  in  the  air, 
But  lost,  unheard,  they  linger  freezing  there,' 
Wit.hovit  ore  breath  of  soul,  divinely  strong, 
One  ray  of  mind  to  thaw  them  into  song. 

Yet,  yet  forgive  m6,  0  ye  sacred  few, 
Whom  late  by  Delaware's  green  banks  I  knew ; 
Whom,  known  and  lov'd  through  many  a  social 

eve. 
Twas  bliss  to  live  with,  and  'twas  pain  to  leave.* 
Not  with  more  joy  the  lonely  exile  scann'd 
The  writing  trac'd  upon  the  desert's  sand. 
Where  his  lone  heart  but  little  hop'd  to  find 
One  trace  of  life,  one  stamp  of  humankind. 
Than  did  I  hail  the  pure,  th'  enlighten' d  zeal. 
The  strength  to  reason  and  the  warmth  to  feel, 
The  manly  polish  and  the  illumin'd  taste. 
Which,  —  'mid  the  melancholy,  heartless  waste 
My  foot  has  travers'd,  —  O  you  sacred  few  ! 
I  found  by  Delaware's  green  banks  with  you. 

Long  may  you  loathe  the  Gallic  dross  that 

runs 
Through  your  fair  country  and  corrupts  its  sons ; 
Long  love  the  arts,  the  glories  which  adorn 
Those  fields  of  freedom,  where  your  sires  were 

born. 
0,  if  America  can  yet  be  great, 
If  neither  chain'd   by  choice,  nor  doom'd  by 

fate 
To  the  mob  mania  which  imbrutes  her  now. 
She  yet  can  raise  the  crown'd,  yet  civic  brow 
Of  single  majesty,  —  can  add  the  grace 
Of  Rank's  rich  capital  to  Freedom's  base. 
Nor  fear  the  mighty  shaft  will  feebler  prove 
For  the  fair  ornament  that  flowers  above  ;  — 
If  yet  leleas'd  from  all  that  pedant  throng, 
So  rai  ~.  of  error  and  so  pledg'd  to  wrong, 


1  Alludir.g  to  th«  bnciful  notion  of  "  words  congealed  in 
Rortheni  air." 

f  In  the  society  of  Mr.  Dennie  and  his  friends,  at  P^la- 
delphia,  I  passed  the  few  agreeable  moments  which  my  tour 
through  the  states  afforded  me.  Mr.  Dennie  has  succeeded 
•n  diffusing  through  this  cultivated  little  circle  tliat  love  for 
|ood  literature  and  sound  politics,  which  he  feels  so  zeal- 
»u»lv  Itimself,  and  which  is  so  very  rarely  the  characteriatic 


Who  hourly  teach  her,  like  themselves,  to  hidi 
Weakness  in  vaunt,  and  barrenness  m  pride. 
She  yet  can  rise,  can  wreathe  the  Attic  cliarms 
Of  soft  refinement  round  the  pomp  of  arms, 
And  see  her  poets  flash  the  fires  of  song. 
To  light  her  warriors'  thunderbolts  along     ~ 
It  is  to  you,  to  souls  that  favoring  heaven 
Has  made  like  yours,  the  glorious  task  is  giren  ■ 
O,  but  for  siwh,  Columbia's  days  were  doiie  ; 
Hank  without  ripeness,  quicken'd  without  sur. 
Crude  at  the  surface,  rotten  at  the  core. 
Her  fruits  would  faU,  before  her  spring  were 
o'er. 

Believe  me,  Spencer,  while  I  wing'd  the  hours 
Where  Schuylkill  winds  his  way  through  banks 

of  flowers, 
Though  few  the  days,  the  happy  evenings  few, 
So  warm  with  heart,  so  rich  with  mind  they  flew, 
That  my  charm'd  soul  forgot  its  wish  to  roam 
And  rested  there,  as  in  a  dream  of  home. 
And  looks  I  met,  like  looks  I'd  lov'd  before, 
And  voices  too,  which,  as  they  trembled  o'er 
The  chord  of  memory,  found  full  many  a  tone 
Of  kindness  there  in  concord  with  their  own. 
Yes,  —  we  had  nights  of  that  commvmior.  free. 
That  flow  of  heart,  which  I  have  kno-wn  witb 

thee 
So  oft,  80  warmly  ;  nights  of  mirth  and  mind. 
Of  whims  that  taught,  and  follies  that  refin'd. 
When  shall  we  both  renew  them  ?  when,  restor'd 
To  the  gay  feast  and  intellectual  board. 
Shall  I  once  more  enjoy  with  thee  and  thine 
Those  whims  that  teach,  those  follies  that  re- 
fine? 
Even  now,  as,  wandering  upon  Erie's  shore, 
I  hear  Niagara's  distant  cataract  roar, 
I  sigh  for  home,  —  alas  !  these  weary  feet 
Have  many  a  mile  to  journey,  ere  we  meet. 

a  HATPii;,  ax  sor  kapta  nyn  mneian  Exa. 

Euripides. 


BALLAD   STANZAS. 

I  KNEW  by  the  smoke,  that  so  gracefully  curl' a 
Above  the  green  elms,  that  a  cottage  was  neai, 


of  his  countrymen.  They  will  not,  I  trust,  accuse  me  of 
illiberality  for  the  picture  which  I  have  given  of  the  igna 
ranee  and  corruption  that  surround  them.  If  I  did  not  tjate 
as  I  ought,  the  rabble  to  which  they  are  opposed,  I  coukl  nc< 
value,  as  I  do,  the  spirit  with  which  they  de'V  it ;  and  in 
learning  from  them  what  Americans  can  be,  I  but  see  witl 
the  more  indignation  what  Americans  art 


kni  1  said,  "  If  there's  peace  to  be  found  in  the 
world, 
**  A  hcurt  that  was  humble  might  hope  for 
it  here !  " 

t  was  noon,  and  on  flowers  that  languish'd 
around 
In  silence  re})08'd  the  voluptuous  bee ; 
E  'ery  leal'  was  at  rest,  and  I  heard  not  a  sound 
But  the  woodpecker  tapping  the  hollow  beech 
tree. 

Ai.  .,  "  Here   in  this  lone  little  wood,"  I  ex- 
claim'd, 
"  With  a  maid  who  was  lovely  to  soul  and  to 
eye, 
••  \\'ho  would  blush  when  I  prais'd  her,  and 
weep  if  I  blam'd, 
"  How  blest  could  I  live,  and  how  calm  could 
Idle! 

"  By  the  shade  of  yon  sumach,  whose  red  berry 
dips 
"  In  the  gush  of  the  fbtintain,  how  sweet  to 
recline, 
*•  And  to  know  that  I  sigh'd  upon  innocent  lips, 
"  Which  had  never  been  sigh'd  on  by  any  but 
mine  !  " 

A  CANADIAN  BOAT  SONG. 

WBTTTKN    ON    THE    KTVEB   ST.    LAWUENCE,' 

£t  reniigem  cantiu  horutur. 

QcnmuAR. 

Kaintlt  as  tolls  the  evening  chime 

Our  voices  keep  tune  and  our  oars  keep  time. 

1  I  WDte  ttiesie  word?  to  an  air  which  our  boatmen  sung 
lo  ug  froiuently.  Tlie  wind  wag  so  unfavorable  that  tliey 
were  obli|!ed  tu  row  all  the  way,  and  we  were  five  days  in 
4e!«endinK  the  river  from  Kingston  to  Montreal,  ex|io8ed  to 
an  intense  8un  diirin);  the  day,  and  at  night  forced  to  take 
fhelter  from  the  dew8  in  any  niisemble  lint  ajxin  the  banks 
tbit  woii.d  rec«>ive  UK.  But  the  magnificent  scenery  of  the 
Bt  Lawrence  repay*  all  such  difficulties. 

>^:  t^agen,!  had  good  voices,  and  sung  perfectly  in  tuna 
t  jgethei  T.ie  original  words  of  the  air,  to  which  1  adapted 
ttieM  stanzas,  appeared  to  be  a  lung,  incoherent  story,  of 
Which  I  could  understand  but  little,  from  the  barbaroua  pro- 
kunciation  of  the  Canadians.     It  begins 

Dans  mon  chemin  J'ai  renconlr6 
Deux  cavaliers  tre»-bien  montte ; 

And  th«  refrain  to  ever)'  verse  was, 

A  I'onibre  d'un  boisje  m'en  vais  Jouer, 
A  i'ombre  d'un  boisje  m'en  vaia  danaar. 

1  ventured  to  harmonize  this  air,  and  have  published  It. 
WHSout  that  charm  which  aasociation  givw  to  every  iittls 


Soon  as  the  woods  on  shore  look  dim. 
We'll  sing  at  St.  Ann's  our  parting  hymn.* 
llow,  brothers,  row,  the  stream  runs  foot. 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  daylight's  paM. 

Why  should  we  yet  our  sail  urJ'url  ? 
There  is  not  a  breath  the  blue  wave  to  curL 
But,  when  the  wind  blows  off  the  shore, 
O,  sweetly  we'll  rest  our  weary  oar. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow,  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  daylight's  past. 

Utawas'  tide  !  this  trembling  moon 
Shall  see  us  float  o'er  thy  surges  soon. 
Saint  of  this  green  isle  !  hear  our  prayers, 
O,  grant  us  cool  heavens  and  favoring  aus. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow,  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  R»/ids  are  near  and  the  daylight's  pas' 


TO   THB 

LADY   CHARLOTTE  RAWDON. 

FBOM   THB   BANKS   Of  TUB   ST.    LAWUENCB 

Not  many  months   have   now   been   drcam'd 

away 
Since  yonder  sun,  beneath  whose  evening  ray 
Our  boat    glides    swilYly  past   these  wooded 

shores. 
Saw  me  where  Trent  his  mazy  current  potirs. 
And  Donington's  old  oaks,  to  every  breeze. 
Whisper  the  tale  of  by-gone  centuries  ;  — 
Those  oaks,  to  me  as  sacred  as  the  groves, 
Beneath  whose  shade  the  pious  Persian  roves, 

memorial  of  scenes  or  feelings  that  are  past,  the  melody  may 
perhaps,  be  thought  common  and  trifling ;  hut  I  reniembei 
when  we  have  entered,  at  sunset,  upon  one  of  those  beauti- 
ful lakes,  into  which  tlie  Sl  Latvrence  so  grandly  and  unex- 
pectedly o|)ens,  I  have  heard  this  simple  air  witli  a  pleasura 
which  the  Ihiest  compositions  of  the  flr^t  masters  hav«  iievat 
given  me  ;  and  now  Uiere  is  not  a  note  of  it  which  iloe*  oaf 
recall  to  my  memory  the  dip  of  our  oars  in  the  8t  Lav- 
rence,  the  flight  of  our  boat  down  t.'ie  Rapids,  and  ail  iboai 
new  and  fanciful  impressions  to  which  my  heart  was  allva 
during  the  whole  of  this  very  interesting  voyage 

The  above  stanzas  are  supposed  to  be  sung  by  those  Jttf- 
Mgtmrt  who  go  to  tlie  Grand  Portage  by  the  Uuwas  Eivar. 
For  an  account  of  tliis  wonderful  underuking,  see  Sir  Al«i- 
ander  Mackenzie's  General  History  of  the  Fur  Trade,  pi*- 
fixed  to  his  Journal. 

»  "  At  the  Rapid  of  St  Ann  they  are  obliged  to  take  out 
part,  if  not  the  whole,  of  tlieir  lading.  It  is  fmni  this  spot 
the  Canadians  consider  they  take  their  departure,  as  it  pas 
sesses  the  last  church  on  the  island,  which  is  dedkraud  ic 
the  tutelar  saint  of  voyagers."— Jfaak«»««,  Omurml  i 
if  tluFmr  Trmdt 


Ajid  hears  the  spirit  voice  of  sire,  or  chief, 

Or  loved  mistress,  sigh  in  every  leaf.' 

There,  oft,  dear  Lady,  while  thy  lip  hath  sung 

My  own  unpoliih'd  lays,  how  proud  I've  hung 

On  every  tuneful  accent !  proud  to  feel 

That  notes  like  mine  should  have  the  fate  to 

steal. 
As  o'er  thy  hallowing  lip  they  sigh'd  along, 
Such  breath  of  passion  and  such  soul  of  song. 
Yes,  —  I  have  wondered,  like  some  peasant  boy 
Who  sings,  on  Sabbath  eve,  his  strains  of  joy. 
And  when  he  hears  the  wild,  untutor'd  note 
Back  to  his  ear  on  softening  echoes  float. 
Believes  it  still  some  answering  spirit's  tone, 
And  thinks  it  "all  too  sweet  to  be  his  own  ! 

I  dreamt  not  then  that,  ere  the  rolling  year 
Had  fill'd  its  circle,  I  should  wander  here 
In  musing  awe ;    should  tread  this  wondrous 

world, 
See  all  its  store  of  inland  waters  hurl'd 
In  one  vast  volume  down  Niagara's  steep, 
Or  calm  behold  them,  in  transparent  sleep, 
Where  the  blue  hills  of  old  Toronto  shed 
Their  evening  shadows  o'er  Ontario's  bed ; 
Should  trace  the  grand  Cadaraqui,  and  glide 
Down  the  white  rapids  of  his  lordly  tide 
Through  massy  woods,  'mid  islets  flowering  fair. 
And  blooming  glades,  where  the  first  sinful  pair 
For  consolation  might  have  weeping  trod. 
When  banish' d  from  the  garden  of  tueir  God. 
0,  Lady !  these  are  miracles,  which  man, 
Cag'd  in  the  bounds  of  Europe's  pygmy  span. 
Can  scarcely  dream  of,  —  which  his  eye  must 

see 
To  know  how  wonderful  this  world  can  be  ! 

But  lo,  —  the  last  tints  of  the  west  decline, 
And  night  falls  dewy  o'er  these  banks  of  pine. 


1  "  Avendo  essi  per  eostume  di  avere  in  venerazione  gli 
llbeii  grand!  et  antichi,  quasi  clie  siano  spesso  ricettacculi 
ii  aniine  beate."  —  Pietro  delta  Valle,  part,  second.,  lettera  16 
lit    giardini  di  Sclraz. 

.\nburey,  in  b  3  Travels,  has  noticed  this  shooting  il- 
un:ration  which  porpoises  diffuse  at  night  through  the 
t  wr  St  Lawrence.  —  Vol.  i.  p.  29. 

I  Thf  ^Is8s  snake  is  brittle  and  transparent 

*  *  Tiie  departed  spirit  goes  into  the  Country  of  Souls, 
ivtae^-e,  according  to  some,  it  is  transformed  into  a  dove."  — 
Charlevoix,  upon  the  Traditions  and  the  Religion  of  the  Sav- 
»ges  of  Canada.  See  the  curious  fable  of  the  American 
Orpheus  in  Lafitau,  torn.  i.  p.  402. 

*  "  The  mountains  appeared  to  be  sprinkled  with  white 
itones,  which  glistened  in  the  sun,  and  were  called  by  the 
Indians  manetoe  aseniah,  or  spirit  stones."  —  JUackeniie't 
foumcU, 

*  Tbese  lines  were  suggested  by  Carve>''«  description  oi 


Among  the  reeds,  in  which  our  idle  boat 
Is  rock'd  to  rest,  the  wind's  complaining  note 
Dies  like  a  half-brcath'd  whispering  of  flutes } 
Along  the  wave  the  gleaming  porpoise  shoots. 
And  I  can  trace  him,  like  a  watery  star,* 
Down  the  steep  current,  till  he  fades  afar 
Amid  the  foaming  breakers'  silvery  light. 
Where  yon  rough  rapids  sparkle  through  tha 

night. 
Here,  as  along  this  shadowy  bank  I  stray. 
And  the  smooth  glass  snake,'  gliding  o'er  raj 

way. 
Shows  the  dim  moonlight  through  his  scaly 

form. 
Fancy,  with  all  the  scene's  enchantment  warm. 
Hears  in  the  murmur  of  the  nightly  breeze 
Some  Indian  Spirit  warble  words  like  these :  -  - 

From  the  land  beyond  the  sea, 
Whither  happy  spirits  flee ; 
Where,  transforra'd  to  sacred  doves,* 
Many  a  blessed  Indian  roves 
Through  the  air  on  wing,  as  white 
As  those  wondrous  stones  of  light," 
Which  the  eye  of  morning  counts 
On  the  Apallachian  mounts,  — 
Hither  oft  my  flight  I  take 
Over  Huron's  lucid  lake. 
Where  the  wave,  as  clear  as  dew, 
Sleeps  beneath  the  light  canoe. 
Which,  reflected,  floating  there, 
Looks  as  if  it  hung  in  air.* 

Then,  when  I  have  stray'd  a  while 
Through  the  Manataulin  isle,' 
Breathing  all  its  holy  bloom, 
Swift  I  mount  me  on  the  plume 
Of  my  Wakon  Bird,*  and  fly 
Where,  beneath  a  burning  sky, 


one  of  the  American  lakes.  "  When  it  was  calm,"  h» 
says,  "  and  the  sun  shone  bright,  I  could  sit  in  my  canoe, 
where  the  depth  was  upwards  of  six  fathoms,  and  plainly 
see  huge  piles  of  stone  at  the  bottom,  of  different  sha{>e8, 
some  of  which  appeared  as  if  they  had  been  hewn  ;  tiie 
water  was  at  this  time  as  pure  and  transparent  as  air,  and 
my  canoe  seemed  as  if  it  hung  suspended  in  thav  element. 
It  was  impossible  to  look  attentively  through  this  limpid 
medium,  at  the  rocks  below,  without  finding,  before  many 
minutes  were  elapsed,  your  head  swim  and  your  eyes  no 
longer  able  to  behold  the  dazzling  scene." 

'  AprAs  avoir  traverse  plusieurs  isles  peu  considerables, 
nous  en  trouvtoes  le  quatri^me  jour  une  fameuse  nommes 
I'lale  de  Manitoualin. —  Voyages  du  Baron  de  Lahuntan 
tom.  i.  let  15.  Manataulin  signifies  a  Place  of  f^pirits,  and 
this  island  in  Lake  Huron  is  held  sacred  by  the  Indians. 

8  "  The  Wakon  Bird,  which  probably  is  of  the  same  spe- 
cies witn  :Se  bird  o.  "zradise,  "oceives  is  nami.  from  the 


POEMS  RELATINO  TO  AMERICA. 


in 


O'er  the  bed  of  Erie's  lake 
Slumbers  many  a  water  snake, 
Wrapp'd  within  the  web  of  leaves, 
WTiich  the  water  lily  weaves.' 
Next  I  chas'd  the  flow'ret  king 
Through  his  rosy  realm  of  spring  ; 
See  him  now,  while  diamond  hues 
Soft  his  neck  and  wings  suffuse. 
In  the  leafy  chalice  sink. 
Thirsting  for  his  balmy  drink  ; 
Now  behold  him  all  on  fire. 
Lovely  in  his  looks  of  ire, 
Breaking  every  infant  stem, 
Scattering  every  velvet  gem. 
Where  his  little  tjTant  lip 
Had  not  found  enough  to  sip. 

Tlien  my  playful  hand  I  steep 
"Where  the  gold  thread  *  loves  to  creep, 
C«ll  from  thence  a  tangled  wreath. 
Words  of  magic  round  it  breathe. 
And  the  sunny  chaplet  spread 
O'er  the  sleeping  flybird's  head,' 
Till,  with  dreams  of  honey  blest, 
Haunted,  in  his  downy  nest. 
By  the  garden's  fairest  spells. 
Dewy  buds  and  fragrant  bells. 
Fancy  all  his  soul  embowers 
In  the  flybird's  heaven  of  flowers. 

Oft,  when  hoar  and  silvery  flakes 
Melt  along  the  ruffled  lakes, 
"When  the  gray  moose  shed  his  horns, 
When  the  track,  at  evening,  warns 
Weary  hunters  of  the  way 
To  the  wigwam's  cheering  ray. 
Then,  aloft,  through  freezing  air, 
With  the  snow  bird  ••  soft  and  fair 
As  the  fleece  that  heaven  flings 
O'er  his  little  pearly  wings. 
Light  above  the  rocks  I  play. 
Where  Niagara's  starry  spray, 

%Srar  the  Indians  have  of  its  superior  excellence  ;  the  Wa- 
ter. Bir<l  beiiii!,  in  tlieir  language,  the  Bird  of  the  Great 
■pirit"  — Morse. 

t  The  ii<land8  of  L.ike  Erie  are  fiiirrounded  to  a  consider- 
able distance  by  the  large  pond  lily,  whose  leaves  spread 
Ikirk  ly  over  the  surface  of  the  lake,  and  form  ■  kind  of  bed 
ibr  tlie  water  i^ake*  in  summer. 

*  "Tiie  gold  tliread  in  of  the  vine  kind,  and  grows  in 
iwninps.  The  nmu  spread  themxelves  just  under  the  sur- 
feicc  of  thn  moraiutes,  and  are  easily  drawn  out  by  handfula. 
They  resemble  a  larie  entangled  skein  of  silk,  and  are  uf 
t  blight  yellow."  —  Morse. 

*  "  I/oiseaii  moiiche,  gro«  conime  un  hanneton,  est  d« 
•oute.o  C4)ulr.urs,  vives  et  chnngeantes :  il  tire  sa  subeiiitenca 
<M  He  I  >  comraes  lex  abeilles ;  son  nid  e«t  fait  d\in  cotton 


Frozen  on  the  cliff,  appeals 
Like  a  giant's  starting  tears. 
There,  amid  the  island  sedge, 
Just  upon  the  cataract's  edge. 
Where  the  foot  of  li^'ing  man 
Never  trod  since  time  began. 
Lone  I  sit,  at  close  of  day, 
\Vhile,  beneath  the  golden  ray, 
Icy  columns  gleam  below, 
Feather'd  round  with  falling  nnv. 
And  an  arch  of  glory  springs. 
Sparkling  as  the  chain  of  rings 
Round  the  neck  of  virgins  hung,  — 
Virgins,*  who  have  waiider'd  young 
O'er  the  waters  of  the  west 
To  the  land  where  spirits  rest ! 

Thus  have  I  charm'd,  M-ith  risionary  lay, 
The  lonely  moments  of  the  night  away ; 
And  now,  fresh  daylight  o'er  the  water  beaiu  I 
Once     more,    embark' d    upon    the     glitterinf 

streams. 
Our  boat  flies  light  along  the  leafy  shore, 
Shooting  the  falls,  without  a  dip  of  oar 
Or  breath  of  zephyr,  like  the  mystic  bark 
The  poet  saw,  in  dreams  divinely  dark. 
Borne,  without  sails,  along  the  dusky  flood,' 
While  on  its  deck  a  pilot  angel  stood, 
And,  with  his  wings  of  living  light  unfurl' d. 
Coasted  the  dim  shores  of  another  world  I 

Yet,  O,  believe  me,  'mid  this  mingled  maze 
Of  nature's  beauties,  where  the  fancy  strays 
From  charm  to  charm,  where  every  flow'rtt'* 

hue 
Hath  something  strange,  and  every  leaf  is  new. 
I  never  feel  a  joy  so  pure  and  still. 
So  inly  felt,  as  when  some  brook  or  hill, 
Or  veteran  oak,  like  those  rcmember'd  well, 
Some  mountain  echo  or  some  wild-flower's  8m«!L 
(For,  who  can  say  by  what  small  fairy  ties 
The  mem'ry  clings  to  pleasure  af  it  flies  r) 

tris-fin  suspendu  li  une  branche  d'arbre."  —  Foyi/at  iw 
Indet  OecidtntaUi,  par  M.  BouUj  Mconde  part,  lett.  U. 

*  Emberixa  hyemalis. — See  Imlaf'§  Kentuekf,  p.  9S0. 

t  Lafitau  supposes  that  there  wax  an  order  uf  TfctatoMliib 
lished  among  the  Iroquois  Indians.  —  Mmift  Ua  Sawrsy* 
Jtmtrkain*,  Ifc  lom.  I.  p  ITSL 

•  Vedi  ebe  sdefna  gli  argomenti  ..maai ; 
Bi  che  remo  non  vuol,  ne  nliro  veto, 
Cbe  1'  ale  sue  rra  iiti  kI  Ionian! 

Vedi  coma  I*  ba  dritte  vetso  1  cMo 
Trattando  I'  sere  con  I'  eteme  penn* ; 
Che  non  si  routan,  come  mortal  pela 

DAirrs.  fwrgtltr.  caM  f. 


t53 


POEMS  KELATING  TO   AMERICA. 


Reminds  my  heart  of  many  a  sy  van  dream 
I  cnce  indulg'd  by  Trent's  inspiring  stream ; 
Of  all  my  sunny  morns  and  moonlight  nights 
On  Di-mington's  green  lawns  and  breezy  heights. 

Wliether  1  trace  the  tranquil  moments  o'er 
Wliff :  I  have  seen  thee  cull  the  fruits  of  lore^ 
With  him,  the  polish'd  warrior,  by  thy  side, 
A  «ist(ir's  idol  and  a  nation's  pride  ! 
When  thou  hast  read  of  heroes,  trophied  high 
.'.n  anoient  fame,  and  I  have  seen  thine  eye 
Turn  to  the  living  hero,  while  it  read, 
For   pure   and   brightening   comments  on  the 

dead ;  — 
Or  whether  memory  to  my  mind  recalls 
The  festal  grandeur  of  those  lordly  halls. 
When  guests  have   met  around  the  sparkling 

board. 
And   welcome   warni'd  the    cup   that  luxury 

pour'd ; 
When  the  bright  future  Star  of  England's  throne, 
With  magic  smile,  hath  o'er  the  banquet  shone, 
Winning  respect,  nor  claiming  what  he  won, 
But  tempering  greatness,  like  an  evening  sun 
Whose  light  the  eye  can  tranquilly  admire, 
Radiant,  but  mild,  all  softness,  yet  all  fire  ;  — 
VV^hatever  hue  my  recollections  take. 
Even  the  regret,  the  very  pain  they  wake 
Is  mix'd  with  happiness ;  —  but,  ah  !  no  more  — 
Lady  !  adieu  —  my  heart  has  linger'd  o'er 
Those  vanish'd  times,  till  all  that  round  me  lies, 
Stream,  banks,  and  bowers  have  faded  on  my 

eyes  ! 


IMPROMPTU 

AFTER   A  VISIT  TO   MK8.    ,    OP   MOHTKEAL. 

Tw\8   but  for   a  moment  —  and  yet  in   that 
lime 
She   crowded   th'   impressions   of   many  an 
hour  : 
H  T  eye  had  a  glow,  like  the  sun  of  her  clime, 
V>  hicli  wak'd  every  feeling  at  once  into  flower. 

<j  50'ili  ^\e  have  borrow' d  from  Time  but  a  day, 
Vi  r^new  such  impressions  again  and  again, 


The  things  we  should  look  and  imagine  and  saj 
Would  be  worth  all  the  life  we  had  wasted 
till  then. 

What  we  had  not  the  leisure  or  language  to  speak, 
We  should  find  some  more  spiritual  mode  of 
revealing. 
And,  between  w  should  feel  just  as  much  in 
week 
As  others  would  take  a  milleimium  in  feeliai 


WRITTEX 

ON  PASSING  DEADMAN'S  ISLANP.' 

Iir  THB 

GULF    OF   ST.    LAWRENCE, 

LATI  IK  THB  EVENINO,  SEPTEMBER,  lAOt. 

See  you,  beneath  yon  cloud  so  dark. 

Fast  gliding  along  a  gloomy  bark  ? 

Her  sails  are  full,  —  though  the  wind  is  still, 

And  there  blows  not  a  breath  her  sails  to  fill ! 

Say,  what  doth  that  vessel  of  darkness  bear  ? 
The  silent  calm  of  the  grave  is  there. 
Save  now  and  again  a  death  l«iell  rung. 
And  the  flap  of  the  sails  with  night  fog  huny. 

There  lieth  a  wreck  on  the  dismal  shore 

Of  cold  and  pitiless  Labrador  ; 

W^here,  under  the  mcfon,  upon  mounts  of  fr>>'.^ 

Full  many  a  mariner's  bones  are  toss'd. 

Yon  shadowy  bark  hath  been  to  that  wreck, 
And  the  dim  blue  fire,  that  lights  her  deck. 
Doth  play  on  as  pale  and  livid  a  crew 
As  ever  yet  drank  the  churchyard  dew. 

To  Deadman's  Isle,  in  the  eye  of  the  bla<»t, 
To  Deadman's  Isle,  she  speeds  her  fast ; 
By  skeleton  shapes  her  sails  are  furl'd. 
And  the  hand  that  steers  is  not  of  this  worl*  ; 

O,  hurry  thee  on  —  0,  hurry  thee  on. 
Thou  terrible  bark,  ere  the  night  be  gone. 
Nor  let  morning  look  on  so  foul  a  sight 
As  would  blanch  forever  her  rosy  light ! 


J"hi»  is  one  of  the  Magdalen  Islands,  and,  singularly  I  pitality  of  my  friends  of  the  Phaeton  ano  BoKton,  that  i  v  si 


inough,  is  the  property  of  Sir  Isaac  Cotlin.  The  above  lines 
Aere  suggested  hy  a  superstitimi  very  common  among  sail- 
ors, who  call  this  ghost  ship,  I  think,  "  tlie  flying  Diitch- 
aiaii.'' 

We  wpre  tiiirteen  days  on  our  passage  from  Quebec  to 
Halifax,  and  X  had  been  «   spoiled  by  the  truly  splendid  hos- 


but  ill  prepared  for  the  miseries  of  a  Can^uliaii  vessel.  1  h« 
weather,  however,  was  pleasant,  and  tne  scenery  along  th* 
river  delightful.  Our  passage  throujzli  the  (j'ut  of  C.in'NO, 
with  a  bright  sky  and  a  fair  wir'l,  was  particularly  str)k''i» 
and  roinautic. 


POEMS  RELATING  TO  AMERICA. 


.SS 


TO  THE  BOSTON   FRIGATE,' 
ov  LEAvnca   Halifax  for  England, 

OCTOBIB,  1804. 

NoffT  >v  irpotpaatf  yKvxepov. 

PinoAB.  Pftk.  4. 

With  triumph  this  morning,  O  Boston  !  I  hail 
riiC  Btir  of  thy  deck  and  the  spread  of  thy  sail, 
For  they  tell  me  I  soon  shall  be  wafted,  in  thee, 
To  the  flourishing  isle  of  the  brave  and  the  free. 
And  that  chill  Nova  Scotia's  unpromising  strand* 
Is  the  last  I  shall  tread  of  American  land. 
Well  —  peace  to  the  land  !  may  her  sons  know, 

at  length, 
rhat  in  high-minded  honor  lies  liberty's  strength. 
That  though  man  be  as  free  as  the  fetterless  wind, 
As  the  wantonest  air  that  the  north  can  unbind, 
Yet,  if  health  do  not  temper  and  sweeten  the 

blast, 
If  no  harvest  of  mind  ever  spning  where  it 

pass'd. 
Then  unblest  is  such  freedom,  and  baleful  its 

might,  — 
Fr«e  only  to  ruin,  and  strong  but  to  blight ! 

Farewell  to  the  few  I  have  left  with  regret ; 
May  they  sometimes  recall,  what  I  cannot  forget, 
The  delight  of  those  evenings,  —  too  brief  a  de- 
light ! 
\Vhen  in  converse  and  song  we  have  stol'n  on 

the  night ; 
When  they've  asked  me  the  manners,  the  mind, 

or  the  mien 
Of  some  bard  I  had  known  or  some  chief  I  had 

seen, 
Whose   glory,  though   distant,   they  long  had 

ador'd. 
Whose  name  had  oft  hallow'd  the  wine  cup  they 

pour'd, 
And  still  as,  with  sympathy  humble  but  true, 
£  have  told  of  each  bright  son  of  fame  all  I  knew, 
rb.y  have  listen'd,  and  sigh'd  that  the  powerful 

stream 
Of  ^  mcrica's  empire,  shoiild  pass,  like  a  dream, 


1  Commanded  by  Captain  J.  E.  Duiiglan,  with  whom  I 
Mturned  U>  England,  and  to  whum  1  am  indebted  for  many, 
many  kinilne^seo.  In  trutli,  1  stxiuld  but  otfend  the  deii- 
•M  y  (>f  ray  friend  Douglas,  and,  at  the  same  time,  do  injus- 
tic)  to  my  own  feehngs  of  gratitude,  did  I  aneinpt  to  say 
bow  much  I  owe  to  him. 

Sir  Jolin  Wentworth,  the  Oovenior  of  Nova  Scotia,  very 
«'imII\  ali<  wcil  me  to  acct/m|>any  hiin  on  hiit  visit  tu  the 
Vik-ue    nhich  itiov   have  lately  e.-itabliahed  at  Windsor. 


Without  leaving  one  relic  of  genius,  to  say 
How  sublime  was  the  tide  which  had  vanlsh'a 

away! 
Farewell  to  the  few — though  we  ne»cr  may  meet 
On  this  planet  again,  it  is  soothing  and  sweet 
To  think  that,  whenever  my  song  or  my  niune 
Shall  recur  to  their  ear,  they'll  recall  me  *>!» 

same 
I  have  been  to  them  now,  young,  tmtliough^  I 

and  blest. 
Ere  hope  had  deceived  me  or  sorrow  depress  i 

But,  Douglas  !  while  thus  I  recall  to  my  nund 
The  elect  of  the  land  we  shall  soon  leave  behind 
I  can  read  in  the  weather-wise  glance  of  tliine  eye, 
As  it  follows  the  rack  flitting  over  the  sky, 
That  the  faint  coming  breeze  will  be  fair  for  out 

flight, 
And  shall  steal  us  away,  ere  the  falling  of  night. 
Dear  Douglas  !  thou  knowcst,  with  thee  by  m ' 

side. 
With  thy  friendship  to  soothe  me,  thy  courage 

to  gmde. 
There  is  not  a  bleak  isle  in  those  summerless  seas, 
Where  the  day  comes  in  darkness,  or  shines  but 

to  freeze. 
Not  a  tract  of  the  line,  not  a  barbarous  shore. 
That  I  could  not  with  patience,  with  pleasure 

explore ! 
O  think  then  how  gladly  I  follow  thee  now, 
When  Hope  smooths  the  billowy  path  of  cui 

prow. 
And  each  prosperous  sigh  of  the  west-springing 

wind 
Takes  me  nearer  the  home  where  my  heart  ir 

enshrin'd ; 
Where  the  smile  of  a  father  shall  meet  me  again. 
And  the  tears  of  a  mother  turn  bliss  into  pain  ; 
Where  the  kind  voice  of  sbters  shall  steal  U 

my  heart, 
And  ask  it,  in  sighs,  how  we  ever  could  part  ?  — 

But  see  !  —  the  bent  topsails   are  ready  U 
swell  — 
To  the  boat  —  I  am  with  thee— Coin uil it, 
farewell  I 


abmit  forty  miles  from  Halinuc,  and  I  wan  indeed  mort  pleas- 
antly surprised  by  the  tieauty  and  fertility  of  tlie  coiintr) 
which  opened  ii|Kin  uit  nHer  tJie  bleak  and  rtirky  wildcniMr 
by  which  Halifax  is  vurroiinded,  —  I  WiiK  told  that,  in  trav 
elling  onward.",  we  should  find  the  soil  and  ilie  weiiMf 
improve,  and  it  gave  me  much  pleai>urc  to  kii«n  tliat  the 
Worthy  Governor  has  by  no  meaiiH  Mich  an  "  inaujjHIs 
regnum  "  as  1  was.  at  flrvt  siitbt,  iciclined  to  believ*. 


CORRUPTION.    AND    INTOLERANCE. 


TWO    POEMS. 


IDDREESED   TO   AN   ENGLISHMAN   BY   AN   IRISHMAN. 


PREFACE 

TO  THE  THIRD  VOLUME. 

The  tl.ree  satirical  Poems  with  which  this 
Volume  commences,  were  published  originally 
without  the  author's  name ;  "  Corruption " 
and  "  IntoWanee  "  in  the  year  1808,  and  "  The 
Sceptic  "  in  the  year  following.  The  political 
opinions  adopted  in  the  first  of  these  Satires  — 
the  poem  on  Corruption  —  was  chiefly  caught 
up,  as  is  intimated  in  the  original  Preface,  from 
tke  writings  of  Bolingbroke,  Sir  William 
Wyndham,  and  other  statesmen  of  that  factious 
period,  when  the  same  sort  of  alUance  took 
place  between  Toryism  and  what  is  now  called 
Kadicalism,  which  is  always  likely  to  ensue  on 
the  ejection  of  the  Tory  party  from  power.' 
In  this  somewhat  rash  eff'usion,  it  will  be  seen 
that  neither  of  the  two  great  English  parties  is 
handled  with  much  respect ;  and  I  remember 
being  taken  to  task,  by  one  of  the  few  of  my 
Whig  acquaintances  that  ever  looked  into  the 
poem,  for  the  following  allusion  to  the  silencing 
effects  of  official  station  on  certain  orators  :  — 

As  bees,  on  flowers  alighting,  cease  their  hum. 
So,  settling  upon  places,  Whigs  grow  dumb. 

But  these  attempts  of  mine  in  the  stately  Ju- 
venalian  style  of  satire,  met  with  but  little  suc- 
cess, —  never  having  attained,  I  believe,  even 
the  honors  of  a  second  edition ;  and  I  found 
that  lighter  form  of  weapon,  to  which  I  after- 
wards betook  myself,  not  only  more  easy  to 
wield,  but,  from  its  very  lightness,  perhaps, 
more  sure  to  reach  its  mark. 

It  would  almost  seem,  too,  as  if  the  same  un- 
imbi'itered  spirit,  the  same  freedom  from  all 
real  malice  with  which,  in  most  instances,  this 
lort  of  squib  warfare  has  been  waged  by  me, 
wi\s  felt,  in  some  degree,  even  by  those  who 
Wtjrs  themselves  the  objects  of  it ;  —  so  gener- 
ously forgiving  have  I,  in  most  instances,  found 


1  I  'olinpbroKe  himself  acknowledges  that  "  both  parties 
wen  boecnie  ractioiis.  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word." 


them.  Even  the  high  Personage  against  -w^oit 
the  earliest  and  perhaps  most  successful  of  mj 
lighter  missiles  were  launched,  could  refer  to 
and  quote  them,  as  I  learn  from  an  inciden'- 
mentioned  in  the  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,"  with 
a  degree  of  good  humor  and  playfulness  which 
was  creditable  alike  to  his  temper  and  good 
sense.  At  a  memorable  dinner  given  by  the 
Regent  to  Sir  Walter  in  the  year  1815,  Scott, 
among  other  stories  with  which  his  royal  host 
was  much  amused,  told  of  a  sentence  passed  by 
an  old  friend  of  his,  the  Lord  Justice  Clerk 
Braxfield,  attended  by  circumstances  in  which 
the  cruelty  of  this  waggish  judge  was  even 
more  conspicuous  than  his  humor.  "  The  Re- 
gent laughed  heartily,"  says  the  biographer, 
"  at  this  specimen  of  Braxfield's  brutal  humor  ; 
and  •  I'  faith,  Walter,'  said  he,  '  this  old  big 
wig  seems  to  have  taken  things  as  coolly  as  my 
tj'rannical  selt  Don't  you  remember  Tom 
Moore's  description  of  me  at  breakfast  ?  — 

'  The  table  spread  with  tea  and  toast, 
Death  warrants,  and  the  Morning  Post' " 

In  reference  to  this,  and  other  less  exalted  in- 
stances, of  the  good-humored  spirit  in  which 
my  •'  innocui  sales  "  have  in  generalljeen  taken, 
I  shall  venture  to  cite  here  a  few  flattering  sen- 
tences which,  coming  as  they  did  from  a  politi 
cal  adversary  and  a  stranger,  touched  me  fai 
more  by  their  generosity  than  even  by  their 
praise.  In  speaking  of  the  pension  which  had 
just  then  been  conferred  upon  me,  and  expressing, 
in  warm  terms,  his  approval  of  the  grant,  the 
editor  of  a  leading  Tory  journal '  thus  liberally 
expresses  himself:  —  "  We  know  that  some  will 
blame  us  for  our  prejudice  —  if  it  be  prejudice, 
in  favor  of  Mr.  Moore  ;  but  we  cannot  help  u. 
As  he  tells  us  himse^^ 

•  Wit  a  diamond  brings 
That  cuts  its  bright  way  through ' 

the  most  obdurate  political  antipathies.  *  *  • 
We  do  not  believe  that  any  one  was  ever  hurl 


«  Vol.  iii.  D.  342. 

>  The  Standard.  AuEust  24.  laBfib 


CORRUPTION,  AND  INTOLERANCR 


101 


oy  libels  80  witty  as  those  of  Mr.  Moors :  — 
great  privilege  of  wit,  which  renders  it  impossi- 
ble even  for  those  whose  enemies  wits  are,  to 
hata  thcra  !  " 

To  return  to  the  period  of  the  Regency :  — 
In  the  numerous  attacks  from  the  government 
jnrcss,  which  my  volleys  of  small  shot  against  the 
Court  used  to  draw  down  upon  me,  it  was  con- 
•t>»ntly  alleged,  as  an  aggravation  of  my  mis- 
deeds, that  I  had  been  indebted  to  the  Royal 
personage  thus  assailed  by  me  for  many  kind 
and  substantial  services.  Luckily,  the  list  of 
the  benefits  showered  \ipon  me  from  that  high 
quarter  may  be  despatched  in  a  few  sentences. 
At  the  request  of  Lord  Moira,  one  of  my  earli- 
est and  best  friends,  his  Royal  Highness  gra- 
ciously permitted  me  to  dedicate  to  him  my 
Translation  of  the  Odes  of  Anacreon.  I  was 
twice,  I  think,  admitted  to  the  honor  of  dining 
at  Carlton  House  ;  and  when  the  Prince,  on 
his  being  made  Regent  in  1811,  gave  his  mem- 
orable f6te,  I  was  one  of  the  crowd  —  about 
1600,  I  believe,  in  number  —  who  enjoyed  the 
privilege  of  being  his  guests  on  the  occasion. 

'Inhere  occur  some  allusions,  indeed,  in  the 
Twopenny  Post  Bag.  to  the  absurd  taste  displayed 
in  the  ornaments  of  the  Royal  supper  table  at 
Jiat  ffite  ; '  and  this  violation  —  for  such,  to  a 
certain  extent,  I  allow  it  to  have  been  —  of  the 
reverence  due  to  the  rites  of  the  Hospitable 
Jove,*  which,  whether  administered  by  prince 
or  peasant,  ought  to  be  sacred  from  such  ex- 
posure. I  am  by  no  means  disposed  to  defend. 
But,  whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  taste  or 
prudence  of  some  of  these  satires,  there  exists 
no  longer,  I  apprehend,  much  difference  of 
opinion  respecting  the  character  of  the  Royal 
personage  against  whom  they  were  aimed.  Al- 
t^dy,  indeed,  has  the  stem  verdict  which  the 
T"'.ce  of  History  cannot  but  pronounce  upon 

>  The  same  fautemU  and  0rendoles  — 
Th«  lame  gold  asses,  pretty  souls, 
That,  in  this  rich  and  classic  dome, 
Appear  so  perfectly  at  home ; 
The  same  bright  river,  'moni;  the  dishea, 
But  not  —  ah  !  not  the  same  dear  fishes. 
Late  hours  and  claret  kill'd  the  old  ones  ;  — 
So,  stead  of  silver  and  of  gold  ones, 
(It  being  rather  hard  to  raise 
Fish  of  that  tpteie  nowadays) 
Some  sprats  have  been,  by  Y — rm — h's  wish,        . 
Promoted  into  silver  flsh, 
And  gudgeons  (so  V — ns— tt — t  told 
The  Reg — t)  are  as  good  as  gold. 

T^iypenny  Put  Bag,  p.  137. 


I  Acta  forea  itabat  Jovis  Hoepitis  ara. 
SI 


Otid. 


him,  been  bi  some  degree  antic  pat  .-d,*  in  a 
sketch  of  th*  domestic  events  of  his  r  jign,  sup- 
posed to  have  proceeded  from  the  n*n  of  one  who 
was  himself  an  actor  in  some  of  itA  .nost  painful 
scenes,  and  w  ho,  from  his  professional  poaitioii. 
commanded  a  near  insight  into  the  character  '-t 
that  exalted  individual,  both  as  husband  and 
father.  To  the  same  high  authority  I  must  sa- 
fer for  an  account  of  the  mysterious  "  Hook,' ' 
to  which  allusion  is  more  than  once  made  ir 
the  following  pages. 

One  of  the  first  and  most  successful  ol  the 
numerous  trifles  I  wrote  at  that  period,  wa«  the 
Vsufty  on  the  Regent's  celebrated  Letter,  an- 
nouncing to  the  world  that  he  "  had  no  predi- 
lections," &c.  This  very  opportune  squib  was, 
at  first,  circulated  privately;  my  friend.  Mi. 
Perry,  having  for  some  time  hesitated  to  publish 
it.  He  got  some  copies  of  it,  however,  printed 
off  for  me,  which  I  sent  round  to  several  raeit 
bers  of  the  Whig  party;  and,  having  to  meet  .• 
number  of  them  at  dinner  immediately  vAXet, 
found  it  no  easy  matter  to  keep  my  counte- 
nance while  they  were  discussing  among  them 
the  merits  of  the  Parody.  One  of  the  party,  I 
recollect,  having  quoted  to  me  the  following 
descrption  of  the  state  of  both  King  and  Re- 
gent, at  that  moment,  — 

"  A  straight  waistcoat  on  Aim.  and  restrictions  on  ««, 
A  more  limited  monarchy  could  not  well  be," 

grew  rather  provoked  with  me  for  not  enjoying 
the  fun  of  the  parody  as  much  as  himself. 

While  thus  the  excitement  of  party  feeling 
lent  to  the  political  trifles  contained  in  this  vol- 
urie  a  relish  and  pungency  not  their  own,  an 
effect  has  been  attributed  to  twr  si^uibs,  wholly 
unconnected  with  politics  —  the  LeCters  from 
the  Dowager  Countess  of  Cork,  and  from  Messrs. 
Lackington  and  Co.*  —  of  which  I  myseW  hod 

»  Edinburgh  Beview,  No.  cxxxv.,  Oeorge  the  Fofrti  ani 
Queen  Curoline.  —  "  When  the  Prince  entered  upon  ptib.'H 
life  he  was  found  to  have  exhausted  the  remnircex  of  »  fta 
recr  of  plr<i.sure  ;  to  have  gained  follo'ven  witlim.i  makift* 
friends ;  \o  have  acquired  much  envy  and  some  admir-lKW 
among  the  unthinking  multitude  of  piil<<<lied  sorii-iy  ;  b'^t 
not  to  comirand  in  any  quarter  either  respect  or  e<e«m. 
•  •  •  The  portrait  which  we  have  painieil  o  :.jn  ■ 
undoubtedly  one  of  the  darkest  shade,  and  ni<«i  repulsive 
form." 

*  "  There  i«  no  doubt  whatever  that  Tke  Book,  writtaa 
by  Mr.  Perceval,  and  privately  printed  at  his  bone*,  uh4M 
Lord  Eldon's  superintendence  and  his  own,  was  prepared 
la  concert  with  the  King,  and  was  intended  to  sniind  tl»e 
alarm  against  Carlton  House  and  the  Whig*" — KM,  M*' 
vitm,  ib. 

•  T^opetu^  P-t  B*g,  p  t9R     I  avail  mrsaU  ori»    tttr 


162 


CORRUPTION,   AND   INTOLERANCE. 


lot  the  aligl.test  notion  till  I  found  it  thus  al- 
luded to  in  Mr.  Lockhart's  Life  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott.  In  speaking  of  the  causes  which  were 
Bupposod  to  have  contributed  to  the  comparative 
failuie  of  the  Poem  of  "  Rokeby,"  the  biogra- 
pher says,  "  It  is  fair  to  add  that,  among  the 
London  circles,  at  least,  some  sarcastic  flings,  in 
Ml  Moore's  Twopenny  Post  Bag,  must  have  had 
an  unfavorable  influence  on  this  occasion."  ' 

Among  the  translations  that  have  appeared  on 
the  Continent,  of  the  greater  part  of  my  poeti- 
cal works,  there  has  been  no  attempt,  as  far  as  I 
can  learn,  to  give  a  version  of  any  of  my  satiri- 
cal writings,  —  with  the  single  exception  of  a 
squib  contained  in  this  volume,  entitled  "  Little 
Man  and  Little  Soul,"  *  of  which  there  is  a 
translation  into  German  verse,  by  the  late  dis- 
tinguished oriental  scholar,  Professor  von  Boh- 
len.*  Though  unskilled,  myself,  in  German,  I 
can  yet  perceive  —  sufficiently  to  marvel  at  it  — 
the  dexterity  and  ease  with  which  the  Old  Bal- 
lad metre  of  the  original  is  adopted  and  managed 
in  the  translation.  As  this  trifle  may  be  con- 
sidered curious,  not  only  in  itself,  but  still  more 
as  connected  with  so  learned  a  name^  I  shall 
here  j^resent  it  to  my  readers,  premising  that  the 
Bame  eminent  Professor  has  loft  a  version  also 
of  one  of  my  very  eaxly  facetioB,  •'  The  Rabbinical 
'Origin  of  Woman." 

"TEIERE   WAS    A    LITTLE    MAN." 
(  Translated  by  Professor  von  Bohlca.) 

Cs  war  ein  kleiner  Mann 

Uiid  (Icr  liau  'ti  kleincn  Geist 
ITnd  or  spracli :  kleiner  Geist  sehn  wir  zu,  zii,  zu, 

Ol)  iiiis  rii8;;licli  wolil  wird  seyn 

."■u  eiii  kleiiieM  Re delein 
Das  wir  lialten,  kleiner  icli  und  kleiner  du,  du,  du, 

Das  vrir  lialten,  kleiner  icIi  und  kleiner  du. 

Und  der  kleine  Geist,  der  brach 

Aks  iletn  Liirhe  nun  iind  sprach  : 
fell  beliaiipte,  kleiner  Mann,  du  bist  keck,  keck,  keck, 


lion  here  of  this  latter  squib,  to  recant  a  correction  which  I 
too  hastily  made  in  the  two  foliuvviiig  lines  of  it :  — 

And,  though  statesmen  may  glory  in  being  unbought. 
In  an  author,  we  think,  sir,  that's  rather  a  fault. 
Forpettiii^-  'hat  Pope's  ear  was  satisfied  with  the  sort  of 
rhyme  here  used,  I  foolishly  altered  (and  spoiled)  the  whole 
touplet  to  get  rid  ot  it. 

1  "  f3ee,  for  instance,"  says  Mr  Lockhart,  "  the  Epistle 
<tX  Lady  Cork  ;  or  tliat  of  Messrs.  Lackington,  booksellers, 
V>  one  of  their  dandy  authors :  — 

'  Should  you  feel  any  touch  oi poetical  glow, 
R'e've  a  scheme  to  suggest :  —  Mr.  Sc— tt,  you  must  know, 
Wb     we're  sorry  to  say  it,  now  works  for  the  Row,*) 

•  I'atemoDter  Bow. 


Nimm  nicht  Ubel  meine  Zweifel, 

Aber  sage  mir,  zum  T(!Hfel, 
Hat  die  kleine  kleine  Red'  einen  zweck,  zweck,  zweck, 

Hat  die  kluine  hleiiie  Red'  einen  zweck  .' 

Der  kleine  Mann  darauf 

Bliess  die  Backen  m'lchtig  auf, 
Und  er  sprach  :   klener  Geist  sey  gescheut,  scheut,  sehent 

Kleiner  ich  und  kleiner  du 

Sind  berufen  ja  dazu 
Zu  verdammen  und  liekehren  alle  Lent',  Leut'  Leut' 

Zu  verdammen  und  bekehren  alle  LeuV 

Und  sie  fingen  beide  an 

Der  kleine  Geist  und  kleine  Mann, 
Paukten  ab  ihre  Rede  so  klein,  klein,  klein  : 

Und  die  ganze  Welt  f  iir  wahr 

Meint,  das  aufgeblas'ne  Paar 
Musst  ein  winziges  Pfaffelein  nur  seyn,  .seyn,  seyn, 

Musst  ein  winziges  Pfaffelein,  nur  seyn. 

Having  thus  brought  together,  as  well  from 
the  records  of  other,  as  from  my  own  recollec- 
tion, -whatever  incidental  lights  could  be  thrown 
from  those  sources,  on  some  of  the  satirical  ef- 
fusions contained  in  these  pages,  I  shall  now 
reserve  all  such  reminiscences  and  notices  as  re- 
late to  the  Irish  Melodies   for  our  next  volume. 

It  is  right  my  readers  should  here  be  apprised, 
that  the  plan  of  classing  my  poetical  Avorks  ac- 
cording to  the  order  of  their  first  publication,  is 
pursued  no  further  than  the  Second  Volume  of 
this  Collection ;  and  that,  therefore,  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  contents  of  the  succeeduig 
Volumes,  though  not,  in  a  general  way,  depart- 
ing much  from  this  rule,  is  not  to  be  depended 
upon  as  observing  it. 


PREFACh 

The  practice  which  has  been  lately  introduced 
into  literature,  of  writing  verj'  long  notes  upon 
very  indifferent  verses,  appears  to  me  rather  a 
happy  invention ;  as  it  supplies  us  w  ith  a  mode 


Having  quitted  the  Borders,  to  seek  new  renowp 

Is  coming,  by  long  duarto  stages,  to  Town  ; 

And  beginning  with  Rokeby  ithe  job's  sure  to  p*  v; 

Means  to  do  all  the  Gentlemen's  Seats  on  the  way. 

Now.  the  scheme  is  (though  none  of  our  hacku»yf  can  *it 

him) 
To  start  a  fresh  Poet  through  Ilighgate  to  meet  Him  ; 
Who,  by  means  of  qu  ick  proofs  —  no  revises  —  long  coaches  — 
May  do  a  few  villas,  before  Sc — tt  approaches 
Indeed,  if  our  Pegasus  be  not  curst  shabby. 
He'll  reach,  without  found'ring,  at  least  Woburn  Abfvy    " 

2  Alluding  to  a  speech  delivered  in  the  year  1813  b)  th« 
Right  Hon.  Charles  Atbot  (then  Speaker)  against  Mr.  Grat 
tan's  motion  for  a  C'lminittee  on  the  claims  of  L*ie  Catholic* 

*  Author  of  "  The  .Ancient  Indian." 


CORRUPTION,  AND  INTOLERANCE. 


182 


of  turning  dull  poetry  to  account ;  aad  as  horses 
too  heavy  for  the  saddle  may  yet  serve  well 
enoujjh  to  draw  lumber,  so  Poems  of  this  kind 
Biakc  excellent  beasts  of  burden,  and  will  bear 
notes,  though  they  may  not  bear  reading.  Be- 
tides, the  comments  in  such  cases  are  so  little 
under  the  necessity  of  paying  any  servile  defer- 
ence to  the  text,  that  they  may  even  adopt  that 
•rcrntic  dogma,  "  Quod  supra  nos  nihil  ad  noB." 
In  the  first  of  the  two  following  Poems,  I 
hd've  i-entured  tc  speak  of  the  Uevolrtion  of 
13£5.  in  language  which  has  sometimes  been 
.employed  by  Tory  writers,  and  which  is  there- 
fore neither  verj*  new  nor  popular.  But  how- 
ever an  Englishman  might  be  reproached  with 
ingratitude,  for  depreciating  the  merits  and 
results  of  a  measure,  which  he  is  taught  to  re- 
gard as  the  source  of  his  liberties  —  however 
ungrateful  it  might  appear  in  Alderman  B — rch 
to  question  for  a  moment  the  purity  of  that 
glorious  era,  to  which  he  is  indebted  for  the 
seasoning  of  so  many  orations  —  yet  an  Irish- 
man, who  has  none  of  these  obligations  to  ac- 
knowledge ;  to  whose  country  the  Revolution 
brought  nothing  but  injury  and  insult,  and  who 
recollects  that  the  book  of  Molyneux  was  burned, 
by  order  of  William's  Whig  Parliament,  for 
daring  to  extend  to  unfortunate  Ireland  those 
principles  on  which  the  Revolution  was  profess- 
edly founded  —  an  Irishman  may  be  allowed 
to  criticize  freely  the  measures  of  that  period, 
without  exposing  himself  either  to  the  imputa- 
tion of  ingratitude,  or  to  the  suspicion  of  being 
Influenced  by  any  Popish  remains  of  Jacobitism. 
No  nation,  it  is  true,  was  ever  blessed  with  a 
more  golden  opportunity  of  establishing  and 
securing  its  liberties  forever  than  the  conjunc- 
ture of  Eighty-eight  presented  to  the  people  of 
Great  Britain.  But  the  disgraceful  reigns  of 
Charles  and  James  had  weakened  and  degraded 
th«  national  character.  The  bold  notions  of 
popular  right,  which  had  arisen  out  of  the  strug- 
gles between  Charles  the  First  and  his  Parlia- 
«ent,  were  gradually  supplanted  by  those  slav- 
Uq  doctrines  for  which  Lord  H — kesb — ry 
«\iljgizes  the  churchmen  of  that  period ;  and 
B8  thi  Reform  ition  had  happened  too  soon  for 
the  purity  of  religion,  so  the  Revolution  came 
too  late  for  the  sj'irit  of  liberty.  Its  advan- 
tages accordjiigly  were  for  the  most  part  specious 
and  transitory,  while  the  evils  whijh  it  entailed 
are  still  felt  and  still  increasing.  By  rendering 
Unnecessary  the  frequent  exorcise  of  Preroga- 
tive, —  that  unwieldy  power  which  cannot 
!noT9  «  step  jntliouC  alarm, — it  diminished  the 


only  interference  of  the  Crown,  which  is  ainflj 
and  independently  exi)osed  before  the  people 
and  whose  abuses  therefore  are  obvious  to  theii 
senses  and  capacities.  Like  the  mjntle  over  n 
celebrated  statue  in  Minerva's  temple  at  Athens, 
it  skilfully  veiled  from  the  public  eye  the  only 
obtrusive  feature  of  royalty.  At  the  same  time, 
however,  that  the  Revolution  abridged  this  uu- 
popular  attribute,  it  amply  compensate*!  by  ti.t 
substitution  of  a  new  power,  as  much  morf 
potent  in  its  effect  as  it  is  more  secret  in  iti> 
operations.  In  the  disposal  of  an  immenM 
revenue  and 'the  extensive  patronage  annexed 
to  it,  the  first  foundations  of  this  power  of  the 
Crown  were  laid ;  the  innovation  of  a  standing 
army  at  once  increased  and  strengthened  it,  and 
the  few  slight  barriers  which  the  Act  of  Settle- 
ment opposed  to  its  progress  have  all  been  grad- 
ually removed  during  the  whiggish  reigns  that 
succeeded  ;  till  at  length  this  spirit  of  influence 
has  become  the  vital  jirinciple  of  the  state,  - 
an  agency,  subtle  and  unseen,  which  pervadea 
every  part  of  the  Constitution,  lurks  under  all 
its  forms  and  regulates  all  its  movements,  and, 
like  the  in\'isible  sylph  or  grace  which  presided 
over  the  motions  of  beauty, 

"  Illam,  qiiicquid  agir,  qiinqim  veattgia  flectit 
Cuniponit  fiirtiin  wibReqiiituniuei'' 
The  cause  of  Liberty  and  the  Revolution*  are  sr 
habitually  associated  in  the  minds  of  English 
men,  that  probably  in  objecting  to  the  latter  I 
may  be  thought  hostile  or  indifferent  to  the 
former.  But  assuredly  nothing  could  be  more 
unjust  than  such  a  suspicion.  The  very  object, 
indeed,  which  my  humble  animadversions  would 
attain  is,  that  in  the  crisis  to  which  I  think 
England  is  now  hastening,  and  between  which 
and  foreign  subjugation  she  may  soon  be  com- 
pelled to  choose,  the  errors  and  omissions  of 
1 688  should  be  remedied ;  and,  as  it  was  then 
her  fate  to  experience  a  Revolution  without 
Reform,  so  she  may  now  endeavor  to  accomplish 
a  Reform  without  Revolution. 

In  speaking  of  the  parties  which  have  po  long 
agitated  England,  it  will  be  observed  thnt  I  lean 
as  little  to  the  Whigs  as  to  their  advergf.rie* 
Both  factions  have  been  equally  cruel  to  Ire- 
land, and  perhaps  equally  insincere  in  theii 
efforts  for  the  liberties  of  England.  There  i« 
one  name,  indeed,  connected  with  whiggism, 
of  which  I  can  never  think  but  with  veneration 
and  tendenicas.  As  justly,  however,  might  the 
light  of  the  sun  be  claimed  by  any  particuiai 
nation,  a^  the  sanction  of  that  name  be  moiiop- 
oliaev^  Vy  auy  party  whatMever.    Mr.  JPos  b^ 


Il5i 


CORRUPTION,  A  POETIC  EPISTLE. 


longed  to  mankind,  and  they  have  lost  in  him 
their  ablest  friend. 

With  respect  to  the  few  lines  upon  Intoler- 
»nce,  which  I  have  subjoined,  they  are  but  the 
inperfect  beginning  of  a  long  series  of  Essays, 
with  which  I  here  menace  my  readers,  upon 
the  same  important  subject.  I  shall  look  to  no 
higher  merit  in  the  task,  than  that  of  giving 
a  new  form  to  claims  and  remonstrances, 
whirh  have  often  been  much  more  eloquently 
urged,  and  which  would  long  ere  now  have 
produced  their  effect,  but  that  the  minds  of 
Bome  of  our  statesmen,  like  the*  pupil  of  the 
human  eye,  contract  themselves  the  more,  the 
stronger  light  there  is  shed  upon  them. 


CORRUPTION, 

AN   EPISTLE, 

Svv  S*  airavS'  imrep  tf  ayopaf  smcirparai  ravra'  avrct- 
triKTai  ie  avTi  rovruv,  v<p'  o)v  avo'XcoXi  Kai  vevoonxev  !i 
EAXaj.  Tawra  S^  tan  ti;  ^(jXos,  £i  ti;  ct^n'l'C  rf  yeXw; 
av  b/ioXoyri'  avyyvoj/tri  rots  eXcyxoitevotf  itiaoi,  av  tovtois 
fij  snirina'  raWa  jravra,  baa  ck  tov  iwpoioKtiv  riprriTai. 
DEMOiTM.  Philipp.  iii. 

Boast  on,  my  friend  —  though  stripp'd  of  all 

•  beside, 
Thy  struggling  nation  still  retains  her  pride  : ' 
That  pride,  which  once  in  genuine  glory  •woke 
When   Marlbi^rough  fought,  and  brilliant   St. 

John  spoke ; 
That  pride  which  still,  by  time  and  shame  un- 

stung. 
Outlives  even  Wh — tel — cke's  sword  and  H — 

wk — sb'ry's  tongue  ! 

1  Angli  suos  ac  sua  omnia  impense  mirantur ;  caeteras  na- 
tiones  despectui  habent.  —  Barclay  (as  quoted  in  one  of  Dry- 
den's  prefaces). 

8  England  began  very  early  to  feel  the  effects  of  cmelty 
towards  her  dependencies.  "  The  severity  of  her  govern- 
ment (says  Macpherson)  contributed  more  to  deprive  her  of 
{he  continental  dominions  of  the  family  of  Plantagenet  than 
iie  anns  of  France."—  See  his  History,  vol.  i. 

»  '■  By  the  total  reduction  of  the  kingdom  of  Ireland  in 
1t)91  says  Burke),  the  ruin  of  the  native  Irish,  and  in  a 
great  measure,  too,  of  the  first  races,  of  the  English,  was 
tomplefely  accomplished.  The  new  EngUsh  interest  was 
settled  with  as  solid  a  stability  as  any  thing  in  human  af- 
fairs can  look  for.  All  the  penal  laws  of  that  unparalleled 
rode  of  oppression,  which  were  made  after  the  last  event, 
were  manifestly  the  effects  of  national  hatred  and  scorn 
towards  a  conquered  people,  wnom  the  victors  delighted  tc 
trample  upon,  and  were  not  at  all  afraid  to  provoke."  Yet 
this  is  the  era  tp  which  the  wise  Common  Council  of  Dublin 
jefer  us  for  "  invaluable  blessings,"  &c. 

*  I:  never  leens   ~  occur  to  those  orators  and  addressers 


Boast  on,  my  friend,  while  in  this  humbled  is'e 
Where  Honor   mourns   and  Freedom   fears  to 

smile. 
Where  the  bright  light  of  England's  fame  ii 

known 
But  by  the  shadow  o'er  our  fortunes  thrown  ; 
Where  doom'd  ourselves  to  nougnt  but  wrong* 

and  slights,* 
We  hear  you  boast  of  Britain's  glorious  rights. 
As  wretched  slaves,  that  under  hatches  lie. 
Hear  those  on  deck  extol  the  sun  ana  sky  ! 
Boast  on,  while  wandering  through  my  native 

haunts, 
I  coldly  listen  to  thy  patriot  vdunts ; 
And  feel,  though  close  oui    <yedded  countries 

twine, 
More  sorrow  for  my  own  than  pride  from  thine. 

Yet  pause  a  moment  —  and  if  truths  severe 
Can  find  an  inlet  to  that  courtly  ear, 
WTiich  hears  no  news  but  W — rd's  gazetted  lies, 
And  loves  no  politics  in  rhyme  but  Pye's,-T- 
If  aught  can  please  thee  but  the  good  old  saws 
Of    "  Church    and     State,"     and    "  William's 

matchless  laws," 
And   "  Acts   and   Rights   of   glorious  Eighty- 
eight,"  — 
Things,  which  though  noAv  a  century  out  of  date, 
Still  serve  to  ballast,  with  convenient  words, 
A  few  crank  arguments  for  speeching  lords, ' — 
Tiu-n,  while  I  tell  how  England's  freedom  found, 
AVhere  most  she  look'd  for  life,  her  deadliest 

wound ; 
How  brave  she  struggled,  while  her  foe  was  seen, 
How  faint  since  Influence  lent  that  foe  a  screen  ; 
How  strong  o'er  James  and  Popery  »he  prevail'd, 
How  weakly  fell,  when  Whigs  and  gold  assail' d.' 

who  round  off  so  many  sentences  and  paragraphs  with  the 
Bill  of  Rights,  the  Act  of  Settlement,  fee,  th.it  most  of  the 
provisions  which  these  Acts  contained  for  the  preservation 
of  parliamentary  independence  have  been  long  laid  aside 
as  romantic  and  troublesome.  I  never  meet,  I  confess, 
with  a  iK)litician  who  quotes  seriously  the  Declaration  of 
Rights,  &c.,  to  prove  the  actual  existence  of  English  liber- 
ty, that  I  do  not  think  of  that  marquis,  whom  Montesquieu 
mentions,*  who  set  about  looking  for  mines  in  the  Pyre- 
nees, on  the  strength  of  authorities  which  he  had  read  in 
some  ancient  authors.  The  poor  marquis  toiled  and  searched 
in  vain.  He  quoted  his  authorities  to  the  last,  but  found  nt 
mines  after  all. 

6  The  chief,  perhaps  the  only  advantage  which  has  re 
suited  from  the  system  of  influence,  is  that  tranquil  course 
of  uninterrupted  action  which  it  has  given  to  the  adininis 
tration  of  government.  If  kings  must  be  paramouat  in  th» 
state  (and  their  ministers  for  the  time  being  al\r«ys  think 
so),  the  counlrj-  is  indebted  to  the  Revolution  for  enablini 

*  Llv.  TxL  cluii.  2. 


While  kings  were  poor,  and  all  those  schemes 
unknown 
Wliich  drain  the  people,  to  enrich  the  throne  ; 
fcie  yet  a  yielding  Commons  had  supplied 
'hose  chains  of  gold  by  which  themselves  are 

tied; 
Then  proud  Prerogative,  untaught  to  creep 
With  bribery's  silent  foot  on  Freedom's  sleep, 
Frankly  avow'd  his  bold  enslaving  plan, 
A  nd  claim'd  a  right  from  God  to  trample  man  ! 
3u*,  Luther's  schism  had  too  much  rous'd  man- 
kind 
For  Hampden's  truths  to  linger  long  behind ; 
Nor  then,  when  king-like  popes  had  fallen  so  low, 
Could   pope-like  kings '   escape  the    levelling 

blow, 
That  ponderous  sceptre  (in  whose  place  we  bow 
To  the  light  talisman  of  influence  now), 
Too  gross,  too  visible,  to  work  the  spell 
Which  modem  power  performs,  in  fragments  fell ; 
In  fragments  lay,  till,  patch'd  and  painted  o'er 
With  tieura-de-lis,  it  shone  and  scourged  once 
more. 

'Twas  then,  my  fiiend,  thy  kneeling  nation 
quaiTd 
fiOng,  long  and  deep,  the  churchman's  opiate 
draught 


Oiem  to  liecome  to  quietly,  and  for  removing  skilfully  the 
danger  of  those  shocks  and  colli.slons  wiiich  the  alarming 
effurtu  of  prerogative  never  failed  to  produce. 

Instead  of  vain  and  disturbing  •fforts  to  establish  that 
fpeculalivc  balance  of  the  constitution,  which,  perhaps,  hag 
never  existed  but  in  the  pages  of  Montesquieu  and  De 
Lulnie,  a  preponderance  is  now  silently  yielded  to  one  of 
the  three  estates,  which  carries  the  other  two  alino:Jt  insen- 
iibly,  but  still  etTcctually,  along  with  it ;  and  even  tliough 
!lie  path  may  lead  eventually  to  destniction,yel  its  specious 
and  gilded  smoothness  almost  atones  for  the  danger;  and, 
ke  Milton's  bridge  over  Chaos,  it  may  be  said  to  lead, 

"  Smooth,  easy,  inoffensive,  down  to ." 

1  The  drivelling  correspondence  between  James  1.  and 
yis  '  dog  Steenie  "  (the  Duke  of  Buckingham),  which  we 
Ind  iimong  the  Hardwicke  Papers,  siirticiently  shows,  if 
»e  wanted  any  such  illustration,  into  what  doting,  idiotic 
jt«Mis  the  plan  of  arbitrar>'  power  may  enter. 

3  Tacitus  has  e.xprft-<sed  his  opinion,  in  a  pasMge  very 
fre-|uciitly  quoted,  that  such  a  distribution  of  power  as  the 
theory  of  tie  British  constitution  exhibits  is  merely  a  sub- 
lect  of  bright  speculation,  "  a  systeni  more  easily  praised 
than  practised,  and  which,  even  could  it  happen  to  exist, 
would  certainly  not  prove  pennancnt;"  and,  in  tnith,  a 
wlcw  of  Engltnd's  annals  would  dispone  us  to  agree  with 
tie  great  historian's  remark.  For  we  find  that  at  no  period 
arhatever  has  this  balance  of  the  three  estates  existed  ;  that 
(be  nobles  predominated  till  the  policy  of  Henry  VII.  and 
•  is  successor  reduced  their  weight  by  breaking  up  the  feudal 
-/stKD  ol  propeny  ;  tliat  llie  power  of  the  Cn>wn  became 


Of  passive,  prone  obedience  —  then  talk  flight 
All  sense  of  man's  true  dignity  and  right ; 
And  Britons  slept  so  sluggish  in  their  chain. 
That  Freedom's  watch  voice   call'd  almost  ir 

vain. 
O   England !    England  !    what  a  chance  wm 

thine, 
When  the  last  tyrant  of  that  ill-starr'd  line 
Fled  from  his  sullied  crown,  and  left  thee  &«t 
To  found  thy  own  eternal  liberty  ! 
How  nobly  high,  in  that  propitious  hour, 
Might   patriot   hands   have    rais'd    the    trlplt 

tower* 
Of  British  freedom,  on  a  rock  divine 
Which  neither  force  could  storm  nor  treachery 

mine  ! 
But  no  —  the  luminous,  the  lofty  plan. 
Like  mighty  Babel,  seem'd  too  bold  for  man  ; 
The  curse  of  jarring  tongues  again  was  given 
To  thwart  a  work  which  raised  men  nearer 

heaven. 
While  Tories  marr'd  what  Whigs  had  scarce 

begun. 
While  Whigs  undid  what  Whigs  themselrwi 

had  done,* 
The  hour  was  lost,  and  William,  with  a  smile. 
Saw    Freedom    weeping    o'er    the    ui\fini»>»''' 

pile ! 


then  supreme  and  absolute,  till  the  bold  encroachments  ol 
the  Commons  subverted  the  fabric  altogether  ;  that  the  al- 
ternate ascendency  of  prerogative  and  privilege  distracted 
tlie  |)criod  which  foIlowe<l  the  Restoration  ;  and  that,  lastly, 
the  Acts  of  1688,  by  laying  the  foundation  of  an  unbounded 
court  inliuence,  have  secured  a  preponderance  to  the  Throne, 
which  every  succeeding  year  increase*.  So  that  the  vaunted 
British  constitution  has  never  perhaps  existed  but  in  men 
theory. 

»  The  monarrhs  of  Great  Britain  can  never  be  stilDriently 
grateful  for  that  accommodating  spirit  which  led  the  Revo- 
lutionary Vyhigs  to  Kive  away  the  crown,  witJiout  imiMwinr 
any  of  tliose  restraints  or  stipulations  which  other  men  might 
have  taken  advantage  of  so  favorable  a  moment  U.  enfiirre, 
and  in  the  framing  of  which  they  had  so  itikkI  a  nwidel  to 
fi)llow  as  the  limitations  pni|«Med  by  the  I»rd»  E»ex  and 
Halifax,  in  the  debate  upon  the  Exclusion  BilL  TU<Tr  v^ 
only  condescended,  however,  Ui  accept  of  pUrof,  hut  b  * 
care  that  these  dignities  hhculd  be  no  inii>cdim»nt  fo  th?ll 
"voice  potential"  in  ntfain"  of  legislation  ;  and  .ilih<ni«l  »c 
Art  was  after  many  years  suffered  to  |»a»»,  whirli  by  out  ol 
its  .irticles  disqualified  placemen  from  wr\ing  *i  member! 
of  the  Mouse  of  Commons,  it  was  yet  n<4  allowed  to  lidw 
fere  with  the  influence  of  the  reicning  mtinarrh,  n«>r  will 
that  of  his  successor  Anne.  The  purifying  clause,  indw^, 
was  not  to  take  effect  till  after  the  ileres-e  of  tJir  laltrr  m.» 
eivign,  and  she  very  mn-ideraiely  n-(i«i'led  l(  aliogeih« 
Bo  that,  as  repres«ntati..n  has  •ntinued  ever  since,  it  thi 
king  were  simple  enough  to  seno  to  fi>reign  omrts  ajnhai'^ 
dors  who  were  m«i»t  of  them  in  tlie  pay  of  ih'^  r,m/f.  ht 
would  be  Just  as  booertly  and  (aiihiully  reiMMiiieJ  »»  •»• 


(66 


CORRUPTION,   A  POETIC   EPISTLE. 


Hence  all  the  ills  you  suffer,  —  hence  remain 
Such  galling  fragments  of  that  feudal  chain,' 
Whose  links  around  you  by  the  Norman  flung. 
Though  loosed  and  broke   so   often,  still  have 

clung. 
Hence  sly  Prerogative,  like  Jove  of  old. 
Has  tunf'd  his  thunder  into  showers  of  gold, 


a/s  people.  It  would  be  endless  to  enumerate  all  the  favors 
which  were  conferred  upon  William  by  those  "  apostate 
Whigs."  They  complimented  him  wilh  the  first  sus|)ension 
of  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act  which  had  been  hazarded  since 
llie  confirmation  of  that  privilege  ;  and  this  example  of  our 
Deliverer's  reign  has  not  been  lost  upon  any  of  his  successors. 
They  promoted  the  establishment  of  a  standing  army,  and 
circulated  in  its  defence  the  celebrated  "  Balancing  Letter," 
in  which  it  is  insmuated  that  England,  even  then,  in  her 
boasted  hour  of  regeneration,  was  arrived  at  such  a  pitch  of 
faction  and  corruption,  that  nothing  could  keep  her  in  order 
but  a  Whig  ministry  and  a  standing  army.  They  refused, 
as  long  as  they  could,  to  shorten  the  duration  of  parliaments ; 
and  tiiough,  in  the  DecUratiiui  of  Rights,  the  necessity  of 
such  a  reform  was  acknowledged,  they  were  able,  by  arts 
ntit  unknown  to  modem  ministers,  to  brand  those  as  traitors 
and  republicans  who  urged  it.*  But  the  grand  and  distin- 
guishing trait  of  their  measures  was  the  power  they  be- 
stowed on  the  Crown  of  almost  annihilating  the  freedom  of 
elections,  — of  turning  from  its  course,  and  forever  defiling 
ihat  great  stream  of  Representation,  which  had,  even  in  the 
most  agitated  periods,  reflected  some  features  of  the  people, 
but  which,  from  thenceforth,  become  the  Pactolus,  the  "  au- 
rifer  aninis,"  of  the  court,  and  served  as  a  mirror  of  the  na- 
tional will  and  popular  feeling  no  longer.  We  need  but 
consult  the  writings  of  that  time,  to  understand  the  aston- 
vshment  then  excited  by  measures,  wliich  the  practice  of  a 
eiitury  has  rendered  not  only  familiar  but  necessary.  See 
a  pamphlet  called  "  The  Danger  of  mercenary  Parliaments," 
1098  ;  State  Tracts,  Will.  III.  vol  ii. :  see  also  "  Some  Para- 
doxes presented  as  a  New  Year's  Gift."  (State  Poeitis,  vol. 
iii.) 

1  The  last  great  wound  given  to  the  feudal  system  was 
tlie  Act  of  the  12tli  of  Charles  11.,  wliich  aliolished  the  ten- 
ure of  knight's  service  in  capUe,  and  wliich  Blackstone  com- 
pares, for  its  salutary  intiuence  upon  property,  to  the  boasted 
provisions  of  Magna  Charta  itself.  Yet  even  in  this  Act  we 
see  the  eflfects  of  that  counteracting  spirit  which  has  con- 
trived to  weaken  every  etfort  of  the  English  nation  towards 
liberty.  The  exclusion  of  copyholders  from  their  share  of 
slective  rights  was  (leiniitled  to  remain  as  a  brand  of  feudal 
lervitude,  and  as  an  obstacle  to  the  rise  of  that  strong  coun- 
erbalance  which  an  equal  representation  of  property  would 
i|.>p<-se  to  tlie  weight  of  the  Crown.  If  the  managers  of  the 
R(  volution  had  been  sincere  in  their  wishes  for  reform,  they 
would  njt  only  have  taken  this  fetter  otf  the  rights  of  elec- 
tion but  would  have  renewed  the  mode  adopted  in  Crom- 
well's time  of  increasing  the  number  of  knights  of  the  shire, 
to  tlie  exclusion  of  those  rotten  insignificant  boroughs,  which 
bave  tainted  the  whole  mass  of  the  constitution.  Lord  Clar- 
<ndon  calls  this  measure  of  Cromwell's  "  an  alteration  fit 

*  8ec  a  pamphlet  published  in  IBSW,  upon  the  King's  refusing  to 
iga  tlie  Tritnuial  Bill,  called  "  A  Uiseourse  between  a  Yeoman  of 
Ki'iit  and  a  Kuight  of  a  Shire."  —  "  lleieuiwii  (says  the  Yeoman) 
tie  jfiutieman  ^rew  angry,  and  said  tlial  talked  like  a  '>aie  com- 
«ou«-weuJtn  m«   ." 


Whose  silent  courtship  \rins  securer  joys,* 
Taints  by  degrees,  and  ruins  withcut  noise. 
While  parliaments,  no  more  those  sacred  thing* 
Wliich  make  and  rule  the  destiny  of  kings, 
Like  loaded  dice  by  ministers  are  thrown. 
And    each    new    set    of    sharpers    cog    thtm 
own. 


to  be  more  warrantable  made,  and  in  a  better  time." 
formed  part  of  Mr.  Pitt's  plan  in  1783  ;  but  Pitt's  plar.  of  ta- 
forin  was  a  kind  of  announced  dramatic  piece,  about  as  like- 
ly to  be  ever  acted  as  Mr.  Sheridan's  "  Foresters." 

fore  enim  tuturn  iter  et  patetis 

Converse  in  pretiuin  Deo. 
Aurum  per  inedios  ire  satellites,  &c. 

Horat 

It  would  be  a  task  not  uninstructive  to  trace  the  history 
of  Prerogative  from  the  date  of  its  strength  under  the  Tudof 
princes,  when  Henry  VII.  and  his  successors  "  taught  the 
people  (as  Nathaniel  Bacon  says)  *  to  dance  to  the  tune  of 
Allegiance,"  to  the  period  of  the  Revolution,  when  the 
Throne,  in  its  attacks  uiion  liberty,  began  to  exchange  the 
noisy  explosions  of  Prerogative  for  the  silent  and  eflfectiial 
air  gun  of  Inrtuence.  In  following  its  course,  too,  since  that 
memorable  era,  we  shall  find  that,  while  the  royal  [Kiwei 
has  been  abridged  in  branches  where  it  might  be  made 
conducive  to  the  interests  of  the  i)eople,  it  has  been  left  in 
full  and  unshackled  vigor  against  almost  every  point  where 
the  integrity  of  the  constitution  is  vulnerable.  For  instance, 
the  power  of  chartering  boroughs,  to  whose  capricious  abuse 
in  the  hands  of  the  Stuarts  we  are  indebted  for  most  o(  the 
present  anomalies  of  representation,  might,  if  sutTored  to 
remain,  have  in  some  degree  atoned  for  its  mischief,  by 
restoring  the  old  unchartered  boroughs  to  their  rights,  and 
widening  more  equally  the  basis  of  the  legislature.  But, 
by  the  Act  of  Union  with  Scotland,  this  part  of  the  preroga 
tive  was  removed,  lest  Freedom  should  have  a  chance  of 
being  healed,  even  by  the  rust  of  the  spear  which  had  for- 
merly Wounded  her.  The  dangerous  power,  however,  of 
creating  peers,  which  has  been  so  often  exercised  fur  the 
government  againat  the  constitution,  is  still  left  in  free  and 
unqualified  activity  ;  iiotwillistanding  the  example  of  tliat 
celebrated  Bill  fc.rthe  limitation  of  tliis  ever-budding  branch 
of  prerogative,  which  was  proposed  in  the  reign  of  George  L 
under  the  peculiar  sanctitm  and  recommendation  of  the 
Crown,  but  which  the  Whigs  thought  right  to  reject,  with 
all  that  characteristic  delicacy,  which,  in  general,  prevent* 
tiieiii  when  enjoying  the  sweets  of  office  themselves,  fri"* 
taking  any  uncourlly  advantage  of  the  Thnme.  ft  w-'l  '. 
recollected,  however,  that  the  creation  of  tlie  twelv  petrt 
by  the  Tories  in  Anne's  reign  (a  measure  which  Swirt,  \'\% 
a  true  party  man,  defends)  gave  these  upright  Whigy  a« 
possible  alarm  for  tJieir  liberties. 

With  regard  tt)  the  generoi.s  fit  about  his  prerogative  whith 
seized  so  unroyally  the  good  king  Georgr  I.,  historiajis  have 
hinted  that  the  paroxysm  originated  farmoic  n  natred  to  hi* 
son  than  in  love  to  the  coiisiitution.t  This  of  course,  how- 
ever, is  a  calumny ;  no  loyal  person,  acquainted  with  the 
annals  of  the  three  Georges,  could  possibly  suspect  any  om 
of  those  gracious  monarchs  either  of  ill  will  to  bis  heir,  or 
inditference  for  the  constitution. 

"  Historic,  ami  Politic.  Discourse,  &c.  part  il  p.  114. 
t  Coze  says  that  this  BiU  was  projected  by  BonderUluL 


CORRUPTION,  A  P/>ETIC  EPISTLE. 


IK' 


Henct!  the  rich  oil,  that  from  the  Treasury  steals,  ' 
Drips  smooth  o'er  all  the  Constitution's  wheels,  j 
Giving  the  old  machine  such  pliant  play,'  I 

That  Court  and  Commons  jog  one  joltless  way. 
While  Wisdom  trembles  for  the  crazy  car, 
""  ^  nilt,  so  rotten,  carrying  fools  so  far ; 
Ai       ''"■  duped  people,  hourly  doom'd  to  pay 
The  sum*  ^at  bribe  their  Uberties  away,*  — 
Like  a  young  eugle,  who  has  lent  his  plume 
V>t   fledge  the  shaft  by  which   he  meets  his 

doom,  — 
•»oe  their  own  feathers  nluck'd  to  wing  the  dart 
WTiich  rank  corruption  destines  for  their  heart ! 
But  soft !  methinks  I  hear  thee  proudly  say, 
'•  What !  shall  I  listen  to  the  impious  lay, 
••  That  dares,  with  Tory  licence,  to  profane 
"The  bright    bequests   of   William's  glorious 

reign  ? 
•'  Shall  the  great  wisdom  of  our  patriot  sires, 
♦*  Whom    II — wks — b — y    quotes    and    savory 

B — rch  admires, 


1  "  They  drove  so  fast  (says  Welwood  of  the  ministera 
of  Charles  I.),  thnt  it  was  no  tvnntirr  that  the  wheels  and 
rhariiit  br(i>e."  (JHemoirt,  \t.  35.)  —  But  this  faUiI  accident, 
S  we  may  judge  from  experience,  is  to  be  imputed  far  leas 
to  the  folly  and  impetuosity  uf  the  drivers,  tiian  to  the  want 
of  that  suppling  oil  from  tlie  Treasury  which  has  been 
found  so  necessary  to  make  a  government  like  that  of 
England  run  smoothly.  Had  Charles  been  as  well  provided 
with  this  article  as  his  successors  have  been  since  the  happy 
ftevolution,  his  Commons  would  never  have  merited  from 
lilm  the  harsh  appellation  of  "  seditious  vipers,"  but  would 
have  been  (as  they  now  are,  and  I  trust  always  will  be) 

'  dutiful  Commons,"  "loyal  Commons,"  &.c.  &.C.,  and 
would  have  given  him  ship  money,  or  any  other  sort  of 
money  ho  ini^lit  have  fancied. 

2  Aniline  those  auxiliaries  which  the  Revolution  of  1C88 
marshalled  im  the  side  of  the  Throne,  tlie  bugtiear  of  Popery 
bas  not  been  the  least  convenient  and  serviceable.  Those 
unskdfiil  tyranw,  Charles  and  James,  instead  of  profiting 
by  that  useful  subserviency  which  has  always  distinguished 
the  ministers  of  our  religious  establisliment,  were  so  infatua- 
ted as  to  plan  the  ruin  of  tliis  best  bulwark  of  their  power, 
and,  moreover,  connected  their  designs  upon  the  Church  so 
undisjuisedly  with  their  attacks  upon  the  Constitution,  that 
thev  identlfieu  m  the  minds  of  the  people  the  interests  of 
ti.fiT  religion  and  their  liberties.  During  those  times,  tl|pr»- 
'ore,  "  No  Po|>ery  "  was  the  watch«-ord  of  freedom,  and 
M»  ved  to  keep  the  public  spirit  awake  against  the  invasions 
1 1  uifotry  and  prenigative.  The  Revolution,  however,  by 
ttmoving  this  object  of  jealousy,  has  produced  a  reliance  on 

lie  orthodoxy  of  the  Thnme,  of  which  the  Thnme  has  not 
failed  .to  lake  ailvantage  ;  and  the  cry  of  "  No  Poix-ry  " 
bavins  thus  lost  its  power  of  alarming  the  people  against  the 
inroada  of  the  Crown,  has  served  ever  since  the  very  difTer- 
i>nt  iHirisiiie  of  strengthening  the  Crown  against  the  preten- 
•ionsand  struggles  of  the  people.  The  danger  of  the  Church 
irom  Papists  and  Pretenders  was  the  chief  pretext  for  the 
»epeal  of  the  Triennial  Bill,  for  the  adoption  of  a  standing 
«rmy,  for  the  numerous  suspensions  of  the  Habeas  Corpus 
Xct,  and   in  sfr  r   (or  all  tliose  spirited   infractions  of  tha 


"  Be  slander'd  thus  ?  shall  honest  8t — le  agree 
"  With  virtuous  R — se  to  call  tis  ptire  and  free, 
"  Yet  fail  to  prove  it  ?    Shall  our  patent  pair 
•'  Of  wise  state  poets  wat>tc  their  words  in  air, 
"And  P — e  unheeded  breathe  his  prosperoui 

strain, 
"And    C — nn — ng    take    the   people' $  uetue   in 

vain  ? "  ■ 

The    people  !  —  ah,    that    Freedom's    fom. 

should  stay 
WTiere  Freedom's  spirit  long  hath  pass'd  away ' 
That  a  false  smile  should  play  around  the  dehd. 
And  flush  the  features  when  the  soul  hath  fled  !  ♦ 
When  Rome  had  lost  her  virtue  with  her  rights. 
When  her  foul  tyrant  sat  on  Caprcae's  heights  • 
Amid  his  ruffian  spies,  and  doom'd  to  death 
Each    noble    name    they    blasted    with    their 

breath, — 
Even  then,  (in  mockery  of  that  golden  time, 
W^hen  the  Republic  rose  revered,  sublime. 


constitution  by  which  the  reigiw  of  tb*  last  century  were  n 
eminently  distinguished.  We  have  seen  very  lately,  too^ 
how  the  Throne  has  been  enabled,  by  theaanM  scarecrow  «<>it 
of  alarm,  to  select  its  ministers  fVoiu  among  men,  wlinve  irv 
vllily  is  their  only  claim  to  elevation,  luid  who  are  pledged 
(if  such  an  alteniative  could  arise)  to  lake  part  with  the 
scruples  of  the  King  against  the  salvation  of  the  en  pire. 

*  Somebody  has  said,  "  Quand  tous  les  pontes,  seraictit 
noyis,  ce  ne  serait  pas  grand  domraage ; "  but  1  am  awara 
that  this  is  not  fit  language  to  be  held  at  a  time  when  oiii 
birth-day  odes  and  state  papers  are  written  by  such  pretty 
poets  as  Mr.  P — e  and  Mr.  C — un — ng.  All  1  wish  is,  tha, 
tlie  latter  gentleman  would  change  places  witli  his  brothel 
p — e,  by  which  means  we  should  have  soinewhat  letM  pros* 
in  our  odes,  and  certainly  less  poetry  in  our  politics. 

♦  "  It  is  a  scandal  (said  Sir  Chsries  Sedley  in  William  ■ 
reign)  that  a  government  so  sick  at  heart  as  ours  is  should 
liMik  so  well  in  the  face  ; "  and  Edmund  Iturke  has  said,  is 
the  present  reign,  "  \\'hen  tlie  people  conceive  tliat  laws  and 
tribunals,  and  even  popular  assemblies,  are  perverted  from 
the  ends  of  their  institution,  they  find  in  tbesa  name*  uf 
degenerated  establishments  only  new  motives  to  discoiileut 
Those  bodies  which,  when  full  of  lilb  and  beauty,  lay  is 
their  arms  and  were  their  joy  and  comfort,  wlien  dead  and 
putrid  l>ecoine  more  loathsome  from  rctiienilirance  of  forinef 
endcannents." —  ThaughU  on  tht  pretent  Duainieatji,  177<X 

Tutor  haberi 

Principis,  Augusts  Caprearum  in  ru|»e  se<leiiti> 
Cum  grege  Chaldso.  Jeeenal  8aL  x.  r.  A 

The  senate  still  continued,  during  the  reign  of  Tiber'-»» 
to  nian."ige  all  the  business  of  the  public  ;  the  money  waj 
then  and  long  after  coined  by  their  autliority,  and  every  iHhM 
public  affair  received  their  sanction. 

We  are  told  by  Tacitus  of  a  certain  rare  of  men,  whe 
made  themselves  particiilariy  u»eliil  to  the  Roman  emp»*ft>r^ 
and  were  therefore  called  "  InstnimenU  regni,"  or  **  coall 

tools."    F'oin  tills,  it  appears  that  my  I/ords  M ,  < ' 

Stc  tec  ai.     V  no  meana  ttiingi  of  modem  inventkw 


t6S 


CORRUPTION,  A  POETIC  EPISTLE. 


A.nd  her   proud  sons,  diffused   from  zone  to 

zone, 
Uavo  kings  to  every  nation  bu*.  their  own,) 
Evp.n  then  the  senate  and  the  tribunes  stood, 
[noulting  marks,  to  show  how  high  the  flood 
01  I  ?eedom  flow'd,  in  glory's  by-gone  day, 
ir-'  how  it  ebb'd  —  forever  ebb'd  away  ! ' 

Vao'i  but   around  —  though   yet  a  tyrant's 

sword 
or  liauLts  our  sleep  nor  glitters  o'er  our  board. 
Chough  blood  be   better   drawn,   by  modern 

quacks, 
With    Treasury  leeches    than  with  sword  or 

axe; 
Yet  say,  could  even  a  prostrate  tribune's  power, 
Or  a  mock  senate,  in  Rome's  servile  hour. 
Insult  so  much  the  claims,  the  rights  of  man, 
As  doth  that  fetter'd  mob,  that  free  divan, 
Of  noble  tools  and  honorable  knaves. 
Of  pension'd  patriots  and  privileged  slaves ;  — 
That   party-colored   mass,    which  nought    can 

warm 
But  rank  corruption's  heat  —  whose  quicken'd 

swarm 
Spread  their  light  wings  in  Bribery's  golden 

sky. 
Buzz  for  a  period,  lay  their  eggs,  and  die  ;  — 
That   greedy  vampire,  which  from  Freedom's 

tomb 
Comes  forth,  with  all  the  mimicry  of  bloom 
Upon  its  lifeless  cheek,  and  sucks  and  drains 
\  people's  blood  to  feed  its  putrid  veins  ! 

Thou  start'st,  my  friend,  at  picture  drawn  so 
dark  — 

•'Is  there  no  light?"  thou  ask'st — "no  lin- 
gering spark 

"  Of  ancient  fire  to  warm  us  i   Lives  there  none. 

"  To  act  a  MarveU's  pait  t  "  *  —  alas  !  not  one. 

I  There  is  something  very  touching  in  what  Tacitus  tells 
us  of  the  hopes  that  revived  in  a  few  patriot  bosoms,  when 
the  death  of  Augustus  was  near  approaching,  and  the  fund 
trpectation  with  which  they  already  began  "  bona  libertatis 
Uicassum  disserere." 

Acc>.»ding  to  Ferguson,  Caesar's  interference  with  the 
flights  ot  election  "made  the  subversion  of  the  republic 
m-.ire  felt  than  any  of  the  former  acts  of  his  power."  —  Ro- 
man Kfvu'llic,  bdok  V.  chap.  i. 

i  Andrew  Marvell,  the  honest  opposer  of  the  court  during 
the  rei-in  of  Charles  the  Second,  and  the  last  member  of 
(Liilintnent  who,  according  to  the  ancient  mode,  took  wages 
from  hi*  ronstituent.s.  The  Commons  have,  since  tlien, 
Btnch  charged  their  paymasters.  —  See  the  State  Poems  (or 
»ome  rude  but  spirited  effusions  of  Andrew  Marvell. 

'  The  following  artless  speech  of  Sir  Francis  Wilmington, 
■  the  reigii  of  Charles  the  Second,  will  amuse  those  who 


To  place  and  power  all  public  spirit  tends, 
In  place  and  power  ail  public  spirit  ends  ;  * 
Like  hardy  plants,  that  love  the  air  and  sky, 
When  out,  'twill  thrive  —  but  taken  in,  'twill  die 

Not  bolder  truths  of  sacred  Freedom  hung 
From  Sidney's  pen  or  burn'd  on  Fox's  tongue 
Than  upstart  Whigs  produce  each  market  nigUl 
While  yet  their  conscience,  as  their  purse,  ii 

light ; 
While  debts  at  home  excite  iheir  care  for  thos» 
Which,  dire  to  tell,  thek  ^luch-lov'd  country 

owes, 
And  loud  and  upright,  tiY  their  prize  be  known, 
They  thwart  the  King's  supplies  to  raise  theii 

own. 
But  bees,  on  flowers  alighting,  cease  their  hum — 
So,  settling  upon  places,  "Vv  nigs  grow  dumb. 
And,  though  most  base  is  he,  who,  'neath  the 

shade 
Of  Freedom's  ensign  plies  corruption's  trade, 
And  makes  the  sacred  flag  he  dares  to  show 
His  passport  to  the  market  of  her  foe. 
Yet,  yet,  I  own  so  venerably  dear 
Are  Freedom's  grave  old  anthems  to  my  ear. 
That  I  enjoy  them,  though  by  traitors  sung, 
And    reverence    Scripture    even  from   Satan's 

tongue. 
Nay,  when  the  constitution  has  expired, 
I'll  have  such  men,  like  Irish  wakers,  hired 
To  chant  old  "  Habeas  Corpus  "  by  its  side, 
And  ask,  in  purchas'd  ditties,  why  it  died  ? 

See  yon  smooth  lord,  whom  nature's  plastio 

pains 
Woiild  seem  to've  fashioned  for  those  Eastern 

reigns 
When   eunuchs  flourish' d,  and  such  nerveless 

things 
As  men  rejected  were  the  chosen  of  kings ;  *  — 

are  fully  aware  of  the  {  erfection  we  iiave  since  attained  iu 
that  system  of  government  whose  humble  beginnings  w; 
mu(^  astonished  the  worthy  baronet  "  I  did  nb.<<T\  e  sayj. 
he)  that  all  tiiose  who  had  pensions,  and  most  ol  ./lose  wfM 
had  offices,  voted  all  of  a  side,  as  they  were  directed  3j 
some  great  officer,  exactly  as  if  their  business  in  tins  Houm 
had  been  to  preserve  their  pensions  and  offices,  and  not  Vu 
make  laws  for  the  good  of  them  who  sent  tliem  here."  — 
He  alludes  to  that  parliament  which  was  called,  par  excA- 
leiice,  the  Pensionary  Parliament. 

*  According  to  Xenophon,  the  chief  circumstance  whiclj 
recommended  these  creatures  to  the  service  of  Eastern 
princes  was  the  ignominious  station  thev  held  in  society, 
and  the  probability  of  their  being,  upon  this  account,  mor« 
devoted  to  tlie  will  and  caprice  of  a  master,  from  whose  no- 
tice alone  they  derived  consideration,  and  ir  whose  favol 
they  might  seek  refuge  from  tlie  general  contempt  ol  mui 


INTOLERANCE,  A  SATIRE. 


16t 


Even  he,  forsooth,  (O  fraud,  of  all  the  worst !) 
Dared  to  assume  the  patriot's  name  at  first  — 
Thus  Pitt  began,  and  thus  hegin  his  apes ; 
Thus  devils,  when  ^rst  rallied,  take  pleasing 

shapes. 
But  O,  poor  Ireland  !  if  revenge  be  sweet 
For  centuries  of  wrong,  for  dark  deceit 
And  withering  insult  —  for  the  Union  thrown 
Into  thy  bitter  cup,'  when  that  alone 
Of  slaver}  s  draught  was  wanting  *  —  if  for 

this 
Kevenge  be  sweet,  thou  hast  that  demon's  bliss ; 
For  sure,  'tis  more  than  hell's  revenge  to  see 
That  England  trusts  the  men  who've  ruin'd 

thee  ;  — 
That,  in  these  awful  days,  when  every  hour 
Creates  some  new  or  blasts  some  ancient  power, 
When    proud    Napoleon,    like    th'    enchanted 

shield  * 
Whose  light  compell'd  each  wondering  foe  to 

yield, 
With  baleful  lustre  blinds  the  brave  and  free. 
And  dazzles  Europe  into  slavery,  — 
That,  in  this  ho\ir,  when  patriot  zeal  should 

guide, 
When  Mind  should  rule,  and —  Fox  should  not 

have  died, 
All  that  devoted  Ehgland  can  oppose 
To  enemies  made  fiends  and  friends  made  foes, 

kind.  — A^d^oi  ovTt{  ol  cwavxoi  itapa  roi(  aXXoi;  av9o(i>- 
rott  xai  ita  tovt»  6t<nroTov  tviKOtipov  irfjoaf ccvrai.— Bat 
I  doubt  whether  even  an  Eastern  prince  would  have  cboMn 
tn  entile  administration  upon  this  principle. 
1         "  And  in  the  cup  a  Union  shall  be  thrown." 

*  Among  the  many  measures,  which,  since  the  Revolu- 
tion, have  contributed  to  increase  the  influence  of  the 
Throne,  and  to  feed  up  this  "  Aaron's  serpent"  of  the  con- 
stitution to  its  present  healthy  and  res|>ectnble  magnitude, 
there  have  been  few  more  nutritive  tlian  tlio  Scotch  and 
(ris  I  Unions.  Sir  Jolm  Paclcer  xaid,  in  a  debate  uiwn  the 
iimwr  question,  that  "  he  would  submit  it  to  the  House, 
whether  men  «  h<  had  basely  betrayed  their  trust,  by  giving 
ap  thsir  independent  constitution,  were  fit  to  l>e  admitted 
into  ths  English  House  ol  Commons."  But  Sir  John  would 
lave  known,  if  he  had  not  been  out  of  place  at  the  time, 
iux  tlie  pliancy  of  such  materials  was  not  among  the  least 
,t  their  recommendations.  Indeed,  the  prftmotets  of  the 
Initch  Union  were  by  no  means  disappointed  in  the  lead- 
ing object  of  their  measure,  for  the  triumphant  majoritiea 
01  the  cairt  party  in  parliament  may  be  dated  from  tlie  ad- 
mission of  the  45  and  the  IC.  Once  or  twice,  upon  tlie  al- 
teration of  their  law  of  treason  and  the  itnimsition  of  the 
malt  tax  (measures  which  were  in  direct  violation  of  the 
Act  of  Union),  these  worthy  North  Britons  arrayed  thero- 
lelves  in  opposition  to  the  court;  but  finding  this  eflfort  for 
Uieir  country  unavailing,  tliey  prudently  determined  to 
Jiink  thenceforward  of  themselves,  and  few  men  have  ever 
f«pt  to  a  laudable  resolution  more  finnly.  The  effect  of 
22 


Is  the  rank  refuse,  the  despj&ed  remains 

Of  that   xinpitying  power,   whoM   whips  and 

chauis 
Drove  Ireland  first  to  turn,  with  harlot  glance, 
Towards  other  shores,  and  wco  th'  embraos  o> 

France ; — 
Those  hack'd  and  tainted  tools,  so  fotilly  ftt 
For  the  grand  artisan  of  mischief^  P — tt. 
So  useless  ever  but  in  vile  employ, 
So  weak  to  save,  so  vigorous  to  destroy  — 
Such  are  the  men  that  guard  thy  threntw.  d 

shore, 
O  England  I  sinking  England  !  *  boast  no  more 


INTOLERANCE. 


"  This  clamor,  which  pretends  to  be  raised  for  the  safety 
of  religion,  has  almost  worn  out  the  very  appearance  of  it, 
and  rendered  us  not  only  the  most  divided  but  tlie  most  im- 
moral people  upon  the  fiu:e  of  tlie  oarth." 

AoDison,  FrtA»Utr,  Na  S7 

Stabt  not,  my  Mend,  nor  think  the  Miue  irill 

stain 
Her  classic  fingers  with  the  dust  profane 

Irish  representation  on  the  liberties  of  England  will  be  M 
lees  perceptible  and  periiianent 

^—  Ovi'  bye  Tavf>ov 
Attitcrai  avTtWovrts.* 
The  infusion  of  such  cheap  and  useful  ingredients  as  my 
Lord  L.,  Mr.  D.  B  ,  Sec.  &.C.  into  the  legislature,  cannot  but 
act  as  a  powerful  alterative  on  the  constitution,  and  clear  it 
by  degress  of  all  troublesome  humors  of  honesty 
*  The  magician's  shield  in  Ariosto :  — 


E  tolto  per  vertii  dello  splendore 
La  libertate  a  lora 


CSaiit.9L 


We  are  told  that  Cesar's  code  of  morality  was  contained 
in  the  following  lines  of  Euripides,  which  that  great  mu 
frequently  repeated :  — 

Eiirc^  yap  aStKCiv  xfil  rvpayvtSof  irtpt 
KaXXiarof  aiiKtttr  r"  aAXn  6'  fvaiSctr  Xi  f^f 

This  is  also,  as  it  appears,  the  moral  code  of  Napoleon. 

4  The  fdllowing  prophetic  remarks  occur  in  a  letter  %  ritteo 
by  Sir  Robert  Talbot,  who  attended  the  Duke  of  Ilfdibid  M 
Paris  in  17G2.  Talking  of  states  which  have  grown  pow 
erful  in  commerce,  he  says,  "  According  to  (he  n.tture  and 
common  course  of  things,  there  is  a  coafedeiaey  againsr 
them,  and  consequently  in  the  same  proportion  as  they  in 
crease  in  riches,  they  approach  to  destructior     The  address 


•  from  Aratut  (t.  TU)  >  poet  who  wrote  npod 
though,  as  Cicero  assurei  ui,  he  knew  nothinc  vbatrrsr  SMol  At 
■uloect:ju(tutlie  (treat  Hurey  wrote,  *•  Dt  Ococrsiloos^'*  fteagk 
he  had  as  little  ta do  with  the  matter  as  E(y  Lord  VIsoMnt  OL 


170 


INTOLERANCE,   A   SATIRE. 


Of  Bulls,  Decrees,   and  all  those  thundering 

scrolls, 
Which   took   such  freedom    once   with    royal 

souls,' 
When  heaven  was  yet  the  pope's  exclusive  trade. 
And  kings  were  damn'd  as  fast  as  now  they're 

mad".. 
N  J,  no  —  let  1) — gen — n  search  the  papal  chair  ' 
F  01  fragrant  treasures  long  forgotten  there  ; 
-Vnd  as  the  witch  of  sunless  Lapland  thinks 
riiat  little  swarthy  gnomes  delight  in  stinks, 
Let  sallow  P — re — v — 1  snufF  up  the  gale 
Which  wizard  D — gen — n's  gather'd  sweets  ex- 
hale. 
Enough  for  me,  whose  heart  has  learn'd  to  scorn 
Bigots  alike  in  Rome  or  England  born, 
Who  toathe  the  venom,  whencesoe'er  it  springs, 
From  popes  or  lawyers,'  pastry  cooks  or  kings, 
Enough  for  me  to  laugh  and  weep  by  turns, 
As  mirth  provokes,  or  indignation  burns, 


of  our  King  William,  In  making  all  Europe  take  the  alarm 
at  France,  has  brought  tliat  country  before  us  near  tliat  inev- 
itable period.  We  must  necessarily  have  our  turn,  and 
Great  Britain  will  attain  it  as  soon  as  France  shall  have  a 
declainicr  with  organs  as  proper  for  that  political  purpose  as 

were  those  of  our  William  the  Third 

Without  doubt,  my  Lord,  Great  Britain  must  lower  hor  flight. 
Buro|)e  will  remind  us  of  the  balance  of  commerce,  as  she 
has  reminded  France  of  the  balance  of  power.  The  address 
of  our  statosiiien  will  immortalize  them  by  contriving  for  us 
a  descent  which  shall  not  be  a  fall,  by  making  us  rather 
resemble  Holland  than  Carthage  and  Venice  "  —  Letters  on 
the  French  JVation. 

1  I'he  king-depusing  doctrine,  notwithstanding  its  many 
mischievous  absurdities,  was  of  no  little  service  to  thocau.se 
of  political  liberty,  by  inculcating  the  right  of  resi.-'tance  to 
tyrants,  and  asserting  the  will  of  the  people  to  be  the  only 
true  fountain  of  power.  Bellarmine,  the  most  violent  of 
the  advocates  for  papal  authority,  was  one  of  the  first  to 
maintain  (I)e  I'ontif.  lib.  i.  cap.  7),  "that  kings  have  not 
their  authority  or  office  immediately  from  God  nor  his  law, 
but  only  from  the  law  of  nations ; "  and  in  King  James's 
'  Defence  of  tiie  iUghts  of  Kings  against  Cardinal  Perron," 
we  find  liis  Majesty  expressing  strong  indignation  against 
the  Cardinal  for  having  asserted  "  that  to  the  deposing  of  a 
king  the  consent  of  the  peoi)le  must  be  obtained"  —  "for 
<i>  these  words  (says  James)  the  people  are  e.xalted  above 
(he  king,  and  made  the  judges  of  the  king's  deposing,"  p. 
tft.  —  Even  in  Mariana's  celebrated  book,  where  the  non- 
•rnse  of  bigotry  does  not  interfere,  there  may  be  found  many 
lil>-?ral  and  enlightened  views  of  the  principles  of  govern- 
lajBt,  of  the  restraints  which  should  be  imposed  upon  royal 
power,  of  (he  subordination  of  the  Throne  to  tlie  interests 
of  the  people.  Sec.  &c.  (De  Rege  et  Regis  Institutions  See 
oarticiilarly  lib.  i.  cap.  6,  8,  and  9.)  —  It  is  rather  remarkable, 
too,  that  England  should  be  indebted  to  another  Jesuit  for 
the  earliest  defence  of  that  principle  upon  which  the  Revo- 
lution was  founded,  namely,  the  right  of  the  people  to  change 
the  sHcces.si  ■'D.  —  (See  Doleman's  "  Conferences,"  written  iu 
lupport  of  the  title  of  the  Infanta  of  Spain  against  that  of 
lames  I.)  —  When  Englishmen,  therofore,  say  that  Popery 


As  C — nn — ng  vapors,  or  a-?  France  succeeds, 
As  H — wk — ob'ry  proses,  or  as  Ireland  bleeds  ! 

And  thou,  my  friend,  if  in  these  headlong 

days, 
When  bigot  Zeal  her  drunken  antics  plays 
So  near  a  precipice,  that  men  the  while 
Look  breathless   on   and   shudder  Tvhile   they 

smile  — 
If,  in  such  fearful  days,  thou'lt  dare  to  look 
To  hapless  Ireland,  to  this  rankling  nook 
Which  Heaven  hath  freed  from  poisonous  thingi 

in  vain, 
While  G — ff — rd's  tongue  and  M — sgr — ve's  pen 

remain  — 
If  thou  hast  yet  no  golden  blinkers  got 
To  shade  thine  eyes  from  this  devoted  spot, 
Whose  wrongs,  though  blazon' d  o'er  the  world 

they  be, 
Placemen  alone  aro  privileged  not  to  see  — 


is  the  religion  of  slavery,  they  should  not  only  recollect  thai 
their  own  boasted  constitution  is  the  work  and  bequest  of 
Popish  ancestors  ;  they  should  not  only  ren>ember  the  lawi 
of  Edward  III.,  "  under  whom  (says  Bnlingbroke)  the  con- 
stitution of  our  parliaments,  and  the  whole  fonn  of  our  gov- 
ernment, became  reduced  into  better  form  ;  "  but  they  should 
know  that  even  the  errors  charged  on  Popery  have  leaned 
to  the  cause  of  liberty,  and  that  Papists  were  the  first  pKv 
mulgators  of  the  doctrines  which  led  to  the  Revolution.  — 
In  general,  however,  the  political  principles  of  the  Romac 
Catholics  have  been  described  as  happened  to  suit  the  tenp- 
porary  convenience  of  their  oppressors,  and  have  been  rep» 
resented  alternately  as  slavish  or  refractory,  according  as  a 
pretext  for  tormenting  them  was  wanting.  The  same  incon- 
sistency has  marked  every  other  imputation  against  them. 
They  are  charged  with  laxity  in  the  observance  of  oaths, 
though  an  oath  has  been  found  sutiicient  to  shut  them  out 
from  all  worldly  advantages.  If  they  reject  certain  decisioni 
of  their  c/nirch,  they  are  said  to  be  sceptics  and  bad  Chris- 
tians ;  if  they  admit  those  very  decisions,  they  are  branded 
as  bigots  and  bad  subjects.  We  are  told  that  confidence  and 
kindness  will  make  them  enemies  to  the  government,  though 
we  know  that  exclusion  and  injuries  have  hardly  prevented 
them  from  being  its  friends.  In  shoit,  notliing  can  better 
illustrate  tlie  misery  of  those  shilts  and  evasions  b^  ivhicb 
a  long  course  of  cowardly  injustice  must  be  supportjJ,  than 
the  whole  history  of  Great  Britain's  conduct  towards  the 
Catholic  part  of  her  empire. 

s  The  "Sella  Stercvraria"  of  the  popes. ^ The  high. 
Honorable  and  learned  Doctor  will  find  an  engraving  of 
this  chair  in  Spanheim's  "  Disquisitio  Historica  de  Pa|>i 
Fflemin^  "  (p.  118) ;  and  I  recommend  it  as  a  model  for  the 
fashion  of  that  seat  which  the  Doctor  is  atout  to  take  in  the 
privy  council  of  Ireland. 

s  When  Innocent  X.  was  entreated  to  decide  the  conm> 
versy  between  the  Jesuits  and  the  Jansenists,  he  answered 
that  "  he  had  been  bred  a  lawyer,  and  had  therefore  noliiin| 
to  do  with  divinity."  —  It  were  to  be  wished  that  some  of 
our  English  pettifoggers  knew  tlieir  own  fit  eleiient  ss  wal 
as  Pope  Innocent  X. 


INTOLERANCE,   A   SATIRE. 


171 


D,  turn    a  vrhAe,  and,   though  the  shamrock 

wreathes 
My  liomely  haq),  yet  sh.iU  the  song  it  breathes 
Of  Ireland's  slavery,  and  of  Ireland's  woes. 
Live,  when  the  men.ory  of  her  tyrant  foes 
Shall  but  exist,  all  future  knaves  to  warn, 
Embaluid  in  hate  and  canonized  by  scorn. 
Whtn  C— stl— r— gh,  in  sleep  still  more  pro- 
found 
I'hftn  his  own  opiate  tongue  now  deals  around, 
Rhall  wait  th'  impeachment  of  that  awful  day 
Which  even  his  practised  hand  can't  bribe  away. 

Yes,  my  dear  friend,  wert  thou  but  near  me 

now, 
To  see  how  Spring  lights  up  on  Erin's  brow 
Smiles  that  shine  out,  unconquerably  fair. 
Even  through  the  blood  marks  left  by  C— m- 

d — n  '  there,  — 


1  Not  the  C— md — n  who  speaks  tniis  of  Ireland :  — 

"  To  wind  ii(>  all,  wlielher  we  regard  the  frnitfulii««i  of 
the  soil,  the  advantu^e  of  the  sea,  with  so  many  coinmodl- 
oim  havens,  or  the  natives  themnelves,  who  are  warlike,  in- 
penloiiR,  handsome,  and  well  complexioned,  soft  skinned  and 
very  nimble,  b"  reason  of  the  pliantneiis  of  their  miisclea, 
this  Uland  in  In  mar-  reiipecta  no  happy,  that  Giraldiis  tniRht 
very  well  say,  •  Nature  had  regarded  with  more  favorable 
fyes  than  ordinary  this  Kingdom  of  Zephyr.'  " 

»  The  example  of  folenition,  which  Bonapane  has  held 
Sirth,  will,  I  fear,  prodiii-c  no  other  effect  than  that  of  deter- 
mining the  lirilinh  govornraentto  persist,  from  the  very  spirit 
uf  opposition,  in  their  own  old  system  of  intolerance  and  in- 
justice ;  just  as  the  Siamese  hlarken  their  teeth,  "  because," 
M  they  say,  "  the  devil  has  white  ones."  • 

»  One  of  the  unhappy  results  of  the  controversy  between 
Protestants  and  Catholics,  is  the  mutual  exposure  which 
liieir  criminations  and  recriminations  have  pn.dured.  In 
vain  do  the  Protestants  charge  the  Papists  with  closing  the 
door  of  salvation  njMtn  others,  while  many  of  their  own 
writings  and  articles  breathe  the  same  uncharitable  spirit. 
No  canon  of  i:;on,stauce  or  Lateran  ever  damned  heretic* 
nor»  elTectually  than  the  eighth  of  the  Thirty-nine  Articles 
consigns  to  perdition  every  single  member  of  the  Greek 
church  ;  and  I  doubt  whether  a  more  sweeping  clause  of 
iaranation  was  ever  pro|Kwed  in  the  most  hiuoted  council, 
(bail  that  which  the  (."alvinistic  theory  of  predostination  in 
'^3  Mvonteeiilh  "f  these  Articles  exhibits.  It  is  true  that 
t«  liberal  Protestant  avows  such  exclusive  opinions  ;  that 
•very  honest  clerg>'man  must  feel  a  pang  while  he  subscribeti 
10  tikera  ;  that  some  even  awert  the  Athanasian  Creed  to  be 
•Jm  fcrperj-  of  one  Vigiliiis  Ta(»«ensis,  in  tlie  beginning  of 
(ha  sixth  century, and  that  eminent  divines,  like  Jortin,  have 
oot  hesitated  to  w\y,  "  There  are  proiiositions  contained  in 
our  Liturgy  and  Articles,  which  no  man  of  common  sense 
tmong*;  us  JH-Iieves  "  t  But  while  all  this  is  freely  con- 
ceded to  Protestants  ;  while  n(>b;)dy  doubts  their  sincerity, 
when  they  declare  that  their  aniclfs  are  not  essentials  of 
hith,  but  a  collection  of  opinions  which  have  U-en  promul- 
Itted  by  fallible  men,  and  from  many  of  which  they  CmI 

•  8c«  rmsflire  NBturelle  ct  PoliL  uu  Royaumc  de  8i«m,  ke. 
t  SMctorei  ou  the  ArHdet,  SubtcHptioni,  te. 


Couldst  thou  but  see  what  rerdur*  paints  th« 

sod 
"Which  none  but  tyrants  and  their  slaves  havs 

trod. 
And  didst  thou  know  the  spirit,  kind  and  braye, 
That  warms  the  soul  of  each  insulted  slaTe, 
Who,  tired  with  struggling,  sinks  beneath  au 

lot, 
And  seems  by  all  but  watchful  France  forgot  •— >• 
Thy  heart  would  burn  —  yes,  even  thy  Pittite 

heart 
Would  bum,  to  think  that  such  a  blooming  pari 
Of  the  world's  garden,  rich  in  nattire's  charms, 
And  fiU'd  with  social  souls  and  vigorous  arms, 
Should  be  the  victim  of  that  canting  crew, 
So  smooth,  so  godly,  —  yet  so  devilish  too ; 
^Vho,  arm'd  at  once  with  Prayer  books  and  with 

whips,' 
Blood  on  their  hands,  and  Scripture  on  their  lips. 


themselves  justified  in  dissenting,  —  while  so  much  liberty 
of  retractation  is  alUtwwl  to  Protestants  upon  their  own  de- 
clared and  suliscrilied  Articles  of  religion,  is  it  not  strange 
that  a  similar  indulgence  should  be  so  olwtinately  refused 
to  the  Catholics,  upon  icueu  whirli  their  church  has  uni- 
formly resisted  and  condemned,  in  every  country  where  it 
has  independently  tiouri>hed  ?  When  the  Catholics  s-ty, 
"Tlie  Decree  of  the  Cituncil  of  I^teran,  which  you  object 
to  us,  hfis  no  claim  whatever  upon  either  our  faith  or  uui 
reason  ;  it  did  not  even  profess  to  contain  any  doctrinal  de 
cision,  but  was  merely  a  judicial  proceeding  of  that  asseni 
biy  ;  and  it  would  be  as  fair  for  us  to  imixite  a  mtfie-kiUing 
doctrine  to  the  Pititestants,  because  their  flrst  |>ope,  Henry 
VIIL,  was  sanctioned  in  an  indulgence  of  that  pMiiensity, 
as  for  you  to  c<>nclude  tliat  we  have  inherited  a  king-depu»- 
ing  taste  from  the  aeU  of  the  t'ouncil  uf  Lateran,  or  tha 
secular  pretensit.ns  of  our  |io|ies.  U'ith  respect,  luo,  to  tha 
Decree  of  the  Council  of  Conrtante,  upon  the  strength  o 
which  you  accuse  us  of  breaking  faith  with  heretics,  we  do 
not  hesitate  to  pronounce  tliat  Decree  a  calunuiious  forgery, 
a  forgery,  tiNi,  so  obviMis  and  ill  fabricated,  that  none  but 
our  enemies  have  ever  ventured  to  give  it  the  slightest  credit 
for  authenticity."—  When  the  Calhilics  make  these  declara- 
tions (and  they  are  almost  weary  uith  making  them),  when 
they  show,  too,  by  their  conduct,  that  these  dcclai  ttions  are 
sincere,  and  that  tlieir  faith  and  morals  are  no  more  regu- 
lated by  the  absurd  decrees  of  old  councils  and  popes,  thaa 
tJieir  science  is  influenced  by  the  papal  anathema  agaitiM 
that  Irishman  *  who  first  found  out  the  Anti|iodes  —  is  il 
not  strange  tliat  so  many  still  wilfully  distrust  what  evsty 
g<K>d  man  is  8«j  much  interested  in  Iwlieving  t  I'hat  so  muy 
siKMild  prefer  Uie  dark  lantern  of  the  Pth  century  to  the 
sunshine  of  intellect  which  has  since  overspread  the  world, 
I  and  that  every  dabbler  in  theology,  fmcn  .Mr.  L«  Meturier 
down  to  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  should  dare  W 
oppow  the  rubbish  of  Oonstaiice  and  Lateran  to  the  hriih* 
and  triumphant  progress  of  Justice,  genenisity,  kt,i\  truth .» 

•  VirgiUaa,  fnnumcd  SoUv^ns,  •  nsUvs  of  Inland,  who  uutw 
tained.  In  th*  8th  ccDturr,  the  doctrine  ot  the  AaUfwdw.  aa4  wsi 
•nsthematlzed  accordingly  by  the  Pops.  John  SegCa*  Brfgna 
■aother  Irishmsn,  was  the  first  that  etcr  wnMt  Sfsisrt  tnara*- 
ilantUtion. 


i72 


INTOLERANCE,  A  SATIRE. 


Tyrants  by  creed,  and  torturers  by  text, 
Make  this  iife  hell,  in  honor  of  the  next ! 
yoiii  R — desd — les,  P — re — y — Is,  —  great,  glo- 
rious Heaven, 
If  I'm  presumptuous,  be  my  tongue  forgiven, 
When  here  I  swear,  by  my  soul's  hope  of  rest, 
I'd  rather  have  been  born,  ere  man  was  blest 
With  the  pure  dawn  of  Revelation's  light. 
Yes,  —  rather  plunge  me  back  in  Pagan  night. 
And  take  my  chance  with  Socrates  for  bliss,' 
Than  be  the  Christian  of  a  faith  like  this, 
Which  builds  on  heavenly  cant  its  earthly  sway, 
And  in  a  convert  mourns  to  lose  a  prey  ; 


1  In  a  singular  work,  written  by  one  Franciscus  Collius, 
"  upon  the  Souls  of  the  Pagans,"  the  author  discusses,  with 
much  coolness  and  erudition,  all  the  probable  chances  of  sal- 
vation upon  which  a  heatlien  philosopher  might  calculate. 
Consigning  to  perdition  without  much  dilficulty  Plato,  Soc- 
rates, &c.  the  only  sage  at  whose  fate  he  seems  to  hesitate  is 
Pythagoras,  in  consideration  of  his  golden  thigh,  and  the 
many  miracles  which  he  performed.  But,  having  balanced 
a  little  his  claims,  and  finding  reason  to  father  all  these  niira 
cles  on  the  devil,  he  at  length,  in  the  twenty-fifth  chapter, 
decides  upon  damning  him  also.  {De  Animabus  Pagannrum, 
lib.  iv.  cap.  20  and  25.)  —  The  poet  Dante  compromises  the 
matter  with  the  Pagans,  and  gives  them  a  neutral  territory  or 
limbo  of  tlieir  own,  where  their  employment,  it  must  be 
owned,  is  not  very  enviable.  —  "  Senza  speme  vivemo  in 
desio."  —  Cant.  iv.  —  Among  the  numerous  errors  imputed 
to  Origen,  he  is  accused  of  having  denied  the  eternity  of  fu- 
ture punishment ;  and,  if  he  never  advanced  a  more  irra- 
tional doctrine,  we  may  venture,  I  think,  to  forgive  him. 
He  went  so  far,  however,  as  to  include  the  devil  himself  in 
the  general  hell-delivery  which  he  supposed  would  one  day 
or  other  take  place,  and  in  this  St.  Augustin  thinks  him 
rather  too  merciful  —  "  Miserecordiorprofecto  fuit  Origenes, 
qui  et  ipsum  diabolum,"  iScc.  (/>e  Civitat.  Dei,  lib.  xxi.  cap. 
17.)  —  According  to  St.  Jerome,  it  was  Origen's  opinion, 
that  "  the  devil  himself,  after  a  certain  time,  will  be  as  well 
off  as  the  angel  Gabriel  "  —  "  Id  ipsum  fore  Gabrielem  quod 
diabolum."  (Scehis  Epistle  to  Pammacliius.)  But  Halloix,  in 
ills  Defence  of  Origen,  denies  strongly  that  this  learned  fa- 
ther had  any  such  misplaced  tenderness  for  the  devil. 

»  Mr.  Fox,  in  his  Si)eech  on  the  Repeal  of  the  Test  Act 
^1790),  thus  condemns  the  intermixture  of  religion  with  the 
political  constitution  of  a  .state :  —  "  What  purpose  (he  asks) 
•,an  it  serve,  except  the  baleful  purpose  of  communicating 
vnl  receiving  contamination?  Under  such  an  alliance,  cor- 
ruption must  alight  upon  the  one,  and  slavery  overwhelm 
U)o  Jthcr. 

Itocke,  too,  says  of  the  connection  between  church  ana 
rttte  "  1  le  boundaries  on  both  sides  are  fixed  and  immova- 
ble Hs  jumbles  heaven  and  earth  together,-  the  things 
noot  remote  and  opposite,  who  mixes  these  two  societies, 
ivhict  are  in  their  original,  end,  business,  and  in  every 
thmg,  perfectly  distinct  and  infinitely  different  from  each 
tther.    —  First  Letter  on  Toleration. 

The  corruptions  introduced  into  Christianity  may  be  dated 
<roni  the  period  of  its  establishment  under  Constantine,  nor 
tould  all  he  splendor  which  it  then  acquired  atone  for  the 
leace  and  lurity  which  it  lost 

•  tlier*  'laa  been,  after  all,  quite  as  much  intolerance 


Which,   grasping  human  hearts  with  doublt 

hold,  ^ 
Like  Danae's  lover  mixing  god  and  gold, '  — 
Corrupts  both  state  and  church,  and  makes  an 

oath 
The  knave  and  atheist's  passport  into  both  ; 
Which,  while  it  dooms  dissenting  souls  to  know 
Nor  bliss  above  nor  liberty  below. 
Adds  the  slave's  suffering  to  the  sinner's  fear, 
And,  lest  he  'scape  hereafter,  racks  him  here  1  * 
But  no  —  far  other  faith,  far  milder  beams 
Of    heavenly    justice    warm    the    Christian' 

dreams; 


among  Protestants  as  among   Papists.     According  to  Ui« 
hackneyed  quotation  — 

Iliacos  intra  muros  peccatur  et  extra. 

Even  the  great  champion  of  the  Reformation,  Melanctlion. 
whom  Jortin  calls  "  a  divine  of  much  mildness  and  good 
nature,"  thus  expresses  his  approbation  of  the  burning  of 
Servetus  :  "  Leg!  (he  says  to  Bullinger)  qu®  de  Serveti  blas- 
phemiis  respondistis,  et  pietatem  ac  judicia  vestra  proba 
Judico  etiam  senatum  Genevensem  recti  fecisse,  quou  ho- 
niinem  pertinacem  et  non  omissurum  blasphemias  sustulit; 
ac  miratus  sum  esse  qui  severitatem  illam  improbent."  —  I 
have  great  pleasure  in  contrasting  with  these  "  mild  and 
good-natured  "  sentiments  the  following  words  of  the  Papii>v 
Baluze,  in  addressing  his  friend  Conringius :  "  Interiiu 
amemus,  mi  Conringi,  et  tamet^i  diversas  opiniones  tuemui 
in  caus^  religionis,  moribus  tamen  diversi  non  simus,  qui 
eadem  literarum  studia  sectamur."  —  Herman.  Conring. 
Epistol.  par  secund.  p.  56. 

Hume  tells  us  tliat  the  Commons,  in  u\e  beginning  ol 
Charles  the  First's  reign,  "  attacked  .Monugue,  one  of  the 
King's  chaplains,  on  account  of  a  moderate  book  which  hs 
had  lately  composed,  and  which,  to  their  great  disgust,  saved 
virtuous  Catholics,  as  well  as  other  Christians,  from  eternal 
torments."  —  In  the  same  manner  a  complaint  was  lodged 
before  the  Lords  of  the  Council  against  that  excellent  writer 
Hooker,  for  having,  in  a  Sermon  against  Popery,  attempted 
to  save  many  of  his  Popish  ancestors  for  igmirai.ce.  —  To 
these  examples  of  Protestant  tuleration  I  shall  beg  leave  to 
oppose  the  following  extract  from  a  letter  of  old  Roger  As- 
Cham  (the  tutor  of  Queen  Elizabeth],  which  is  preserved 
among  the  Harrington  Papers,  and  was  written  in  1.5GiS,  to 
the  Earl  of  Leicester,  complaining  of  the  Archbishop 
Young,  who  had  taken  away  his  prebend  in  the  church  of 
York  :  "  Master  Bourne*  did  never  grieve  me  half  so  raoclin 
in  offering  me  wrong,  as  Mr.  Dudley  and  the  Byshopp  oF 
York  doe,  in  taking  away  my  righl.  No  byshopp  in  <X, 
Mary's  time  would  have  so  dealt  with  me  ;  not  Mr.  Bourne 
hyinself,  when  Winchester  lived,  durst  have  so  dealt  with 
me.  For  suche  good  estimation  in  those  dayes  even  the 
learnedst  and  wysest  men,  as  Gardener  and  Cardinal  Poole, 
made  of  my  poore  service,  that  although  they  knewe  per- 
fectly that  in  religion,  both  by  open  wrytinge  and  pryvi* 
talke,  I  was  contrarye  unto  them ;  yea,  when  Sir  Fraiiu.- 
Englefield  by  name  did  note  me  speciallye  at  the  council] 
board.  Gardener  would  not  suffer  me  to  be  called  thither, 
nor  touched  ellswheare  saiinge  suche  words  of  «ne  in  a 
l<-tre,  as  though  lettres  cannot,  I  blushe  to  write  them  to 

*  Sir  John  Bourne,  Principal  Secretarj  of  Stite  to  Queen  Malj 


INTOLERANCE.  A  SATIRE. 


17« 


His  creed  is  jrrit  on  Mercy's  page  above, 
My  the  pur  j  hands  of  all-atoning  Love  ; 
He  weeps  to  see  abused  Religion  twine 
Koun  1  Tyranny's  coarse  brow  her  Avreath  di- 
vine ; 
And  he,  while  round  him  sects  and  nations  raise 
To  the  one  God  their  varying  notes  of  praise, 
Blesses  each  voice,  whate'or  its  tone  may  be. 
That  serves  to  swell  the  general  harmony.' 

Ruch  was  the  spirit,  gently,  grandly  bright. 
That  fill'd,   O  Fox  !    thy   peaceful  soul   with 

light ; 
While  free  and  spacious  as  that  ambient  air 
Which  folds  our  planet  in  its  circling  care, 
The  mighty  sphere  of  thy  transparent  mind 
Embraced  the  world,  and  breathed  for  all  man- 
kind. 
Last  of  the  great,  farewell !  —  yet  not  the  last  — 
Though  Britain's  sunshine  hour  with  thee  be 

past, 
leme  still  one  ray  of  glory  gives, 
A.nd  feels  but  half  thy  loss  while  Orattan  lives. 


APPENDIX. 

To  the  foregoing  Poem,  as  first  published, 
were  subjoined,  in  the  shape  of  a  Note,  or  Ap- 
pendix, the  following  remarks  on  the  History 
and  Music  of  Ireland.  This  fragment  was 
originally  intended  to  form  part  of  a  Preface  to 
the  Irish  Melodies ;  but  afterwards,  for  some 
reason  which  I  do  not  now  recollect,  was  thrown 
aside. 

*  *  *  *  * 

Our  history,  for  many  centuries  past,  is  cred- 
itable neither  to  our  neighbors  nor  ourselves, 
and  ought  not  to  be  read  by  any  Irishman  who 
wishes  either  to  love  England  or  to  feel  proud 


wwr  lordwhipp.  Winchwrter'*  good  will  gtoode  not  in  8peak> 
m(  ftire  and  wishlni;  well,  hut  he  did  in  deede  that  for  me,* 
Hli  Teby  ni)  wife  and  rhildrcn  shall  live  the  better  when  1 
»in  |ti!ne."  (So«  Suete  Antiqiio;,  vol.  i.  pp.  98,  99.)  —  If 
nen  who  acted  thus  were  bigots,  what  shall  we  call  Mr. 
p_rc— T-1  ? 

In  SutclilTe's  "  Survey  of  Popery  "  there  occurs  the  fol- 
DDWing  assertion  :  —  "  Papists,  that  positively  hold  the  he- 
retical and  false  doctrines  of  the  modem  church  of  Rome, 
cannot  (Kissibly  be  saved." —  Ah  a  contrast  to  this  and  other 
ipecimens  of  Protestant  liberality,  which  it  would  he  much 
more  easy  than  pleasant  to  collect,  I  refer  my  reader  to  the 
Declaration  of  Le  P*re  Courayer; — doubting  not  that, 
vhlle  be  reads  the  sentiments  of  this  pious  man  upon  toler- 

•  By  Ganl«k:ir'i  (kvor  Ajcham  long  held  bis  frllowihip,  tbongh 
—4  mldent 


of  Ireland.  The  loss  of  independence  verj 
early  debased  our  character  ;  and  our  feuds  an** 
rebellions,  though  frequent  and  ferocious,  bm 
seldom  displayed  that  generous  spirit  of  enter 
prise  with  which  the  pride  of  an  independent 
monarchy  so  long  dignified  the  struggles  of 
Scotland.  It  is  true  this  isUnd  has  given  birll 
to  heroes  who,  under  more  favorable  ciicum 
stances,  might  have  left  in  the  hearts  of  thcii 
countrymen  recollections  as  dear  as  those  of  a 
Bruce  or  a  Wallace ;  but  success  was  wanting 
to  consecrate  resistance,  their  cause  was  brand- 
ed with  the  dishearteiurg  name  of  treason,  and 
their  oppressed  counfrj'  was  such  a  blank  among 
nations,  that,  like  the  adventures  of  those  woods 
which  Rinaldo  wished  to  explore,  the  fame  of 
their  actions  was  lost  in  the  obscurity  of  ths 
place  where  they  achieved  them. 

Errando  in  quelli  bosch! 

Trovar  potria  strane  awenture  e  multe. 
Ma  come  i  luoghi  i  fntti  ancor  son  foschi, 
Clie  non  se'n  ha  notizia  le  pi^  volte.* 

Hence  is  it  that  the  annals  of  Ireland,  through 
a  lapse  of  six  hundred  years,  exhibit  not  one 
of  those  shining  names,  not  one  of  those  themes 
of  national  pride,  from  which  poetry  borrows 
her  noblest  inspiration  ;  and  that  history,  which 
ought  to  be  the  richest  garden  of  the  Muse, 
yields  no  growth  to  her  in  this  hapless  island 
but  cypress  and  weeds.  In  truth,  the  poet  who 
would  embellish  his  song  with  allusions  to  Irish 
names  and  events,  must  be  contented  to  seek 
them  in  those  early  periods  when  our  character 
was  yet  unalloyed  and  original,  before  the  im- 
politic craft  of  our  conquerors  had  divided, 
weakened,  and  disgraced  us.  The  solo  traita 
of  heroism,  indeed,  which  he  can  venture  at 
this  day  to  commemorate,  either  with  safety  to 
himself,  or  honor  to  his  country,  are  to  be 
looked  for  in  those  an'ier.t  times  when  the  na- 


ation,  he  will  feel  inclined  to  exclaim  with  BflsbAR 
"  Blush,  ye  Protestant  bigots  !  and  be  confounded  at  Uit 
comparison  of  your  own  wrctchwl  and  malignant  mt\  • 
dices  with  the  senerous  and  enlarged  ideas,  the  ihA 
and  animated  language  of  this  Popish  priest."—  Ktsft 
xxvii.  p.  8R. 

1  "  I,a  tdl^rance  est  la  chose  dii  monde  a  pliir  pnipr*  A 
ramener  le  siicle  d'or,  ef  i  faire  un  concert  et  unt  iiannonM 
de  plusieuni  voix  et  insu.iments  de  dltfirens  tons  et  noits 
au8si  agriable  pour  le  moins  que  I'unifonnU*  d'une  seu.t 
voix."  Bayle,  Commentaire  I'hilosophique,  tc.  part  it 
chap.  vl.  —  Both  Bayle  and  I/ocke  would  have  Irpaled  0.» 
subject  of  Toleration  In  a  manner  much  more  worthy  rf 
themselves  and  of  the  cause,  if  they  had  written  in  an  a*> 
less  distracted  by  religious  pr«iudicM. 

*  Ariosto.  canto  iv 


m 


INTOLERANCE,   A   SATIRE. 


^ive  monarcha  of  Ireland  displayed  and  fostered 
virtues  worthy  of  a  better  age  ;  when  our  Mal- 
Bchies  wore  around  their  necks  collars  of  gold 
■vhich  they  had  won  in  single  combat  from  the 
Invader,'  and  our  Briens  deserved  and  won  the 
warm  affections  of  a  people  by  exhibiting  all 
^he  :nost  estimable  qualities  of  a  king.  It  may 
oe  said  that  the  magic  of  tradition  has  shed  a 
jharm  over  this  remote  period,  to  which  it  is  in 
teality  but  little  entitled-  and  that  most  of  the 
pictures,  which  we  dwell  on  so  fondly,  of  days 
when  this  island  was  distinguished  amidst  the 
gloom  of  Europe,  by  the  sanctity  of  her  morals, 
the  spirit  of  her  knighthood,  and  the  polish  of 
her  schools,  are  little  more  than  the  inventions 
of  national  ^partiality,  —  that  bright  but  spurious 
offspring  which  vanity  engenders  upon  igno- 
rance, and  Avith  which  the  first  records  of  every 
people '  abound.  But  the  sceptic  is  scarcely  to 
be  envied  who  would  pause  for  stronger  proofs 
than  we  already  possess  of  the  early  glories  of 
Ireland  ;  and  were  even  the  veracity  of  all  these 
proofs  surrendered,  yet  wh"  would  not  fly  to 
Buch  flattering  flctions  from  the  sad  degrading 
truths  which  the  history  of  later  times  pre- 
sents to  us  ? 

The  language  of  sorrow,  however,  is,  in  gen- 
eral, best  suited  to  our  Music,  and  with  themes 
of  this  nature  the  poet  may  be  amply  supplied. 
There  is  scarcely  a  page  of  our  annals  that  will 
not  furnish  liira  a  subject ;  and,  while  the  na- 
tional Muse  of  other  countries  adorns  her  tem- 
ple proudly  with  trophies  of  the  past,  in  Ireland 
her  melancholy  altar,  like  the  shrine  of  Pity  at 
Athens,  is  to  be  known  only  by  the  tears  that 
are  shed  upon  it:  "  lachrymis  altaria  sxidant."  ^ 

There  is  a  well-known  story,  related  of  the 
Antiochians   under   the    reign   of    Theodosius, 

1  See  Warner's  History  of  Ireland,  vol.  i.  book  i.T. 

»  Statins,  Thcbaid.  lib.  xii. 

*  "  A  sort  of  civil  exconiinunicatioii  (says  Gibbon),  which 
lepit  iteil  thpin  from  their  (cllovv-citizens  by  a  peculiar  brand 
of  iii'aiiiy  ;  and  this  declaration  of  the  supreme  magistrate 
teiid'il  to  jnslify,  or  at  least  to  excuse,  tlie  insults  of  a  fanatic 
popiil  I'p  The  .■'ectaries  were  liradnally  di.s()ualified  for  the 
po.sse-.  iioii  of  honorable  or  lucrative  employments,  and 
T':eo'.'osiii-i  was  satisfied  with  his  own  justice  when  he  de- 
erred  that,  as  the  Eunoniians  distinguished  the  nature  of 
the  Son  Iri.ui  that  of  the  Father,  they  should  be  incapable  of 
making  their  will?,  <<r  of  ret-eiviiig  any  advantage  from  te»- 
laznci  '.ify  driia.ioiia." 


which  is  not  only  honorable  to  the  powers  of 
music  in  general,  but  which  applies  so  peculiar- 
ly to  the  mournful  melodies  of  Ireland,  that  1 
cannot  resist  the  temptation  of  introducing  it 
here.  The  piety  of  Theodosius  would  have 
been  admirable,  had  it  not  been  stained  with 
intolerance ;  but  under  his  reign  was,  I  believ**- 
first  set  the  example  of  a  disqualifying  Dcnai 
code  enacted  bj'  Christians  against  Christians. 
Whether  his  interference  with  the  religion  of 
the  Antiochians  had  any  share  in  the  alienat\on 
of  their  loyalty  is  not  expressly  ascertained  b_ 
historians ;  but  severe  edicts,  heavy  taxation, 
and  the  rapacity  and  insolence  of  the  mei. 
whom  he  sent  to  govern  them,  sufficiently  ac- 
count for  the  discontents  of  a  warm  and  sus- 
ceptible people.  Repentance  soon  followed  thu 
crimes  into  which  their  impatience  had  hurried 
them ;  but  the  vengeance  of  the  Emperor  was 
implacable,  and  punishments  of  the  most  dread- 
ful nature  hung  over  the  city  of  Antioch,  whose 
devoted  inhabitants,  totally  resigned  to  despond- 
ence, wandered  through  the  streets  and  pub- 
lic assemblies,  giving  utterance  to  their  grief  in 
dirges  of  the  most  touching  lamentation.^  A*. 
length,  Flavianus,  their  bishop,  whom  they  had 
sent  to  intercede  with  Theodosius,  finding  all 
his  entreaties  coldly  rejected,  adopted  the  ex- 
pedient of  teaching  these  songs  of  sorrow, 
which  he  had  heard  from  the  lips  of  his  un- 
fortunate countrymen,  to  the  minstrels  who 
performed  for  the  Emperor  at  table.  The  heart 
of  Theodosius  could  not  resist  this  a2)pe<il ;  tears 
fell  fast  into  his  cup  while  he  listened,  and  the 
Antiochians  were  forgiven.  Surely,  if  music 
ever  spoke  the  misfortunes  of  a  people,  or  coulc^ 
ever  conciliate  forgiveness  lor  their  errors,  the 
music  of  Ireland  ought  to  possess  those  powers. 

*  MtAr)  Ttva  uXiitjivpiiov  Tr\r)on  xat  avuvaOeiai  avvOriievnt 
THIS  /ijA'.'<5(uit  enrifov. — J^icejihor.  lib.  xii.  cap.  43.  This 
story  is  told  al.«o  in  Sozonien,  lib.  vii.  cap.  93  ;  but  unfortu- 
nately Chrysostom  says  nothing  whatever  about  it,  and  hn 
not  only  had  the  best  opportunities  of  information,  but  wa^ 
too  fond  of  music,  as  apfjears  by  his  praises  of  psalmod- 
(Exposit.  in  I'salm  xii.),  to  omit  such  a  flattering  illustmirj 
of  its  powers,  lie  imputes  their  recf)nciliation  to  the  intff- 
ference  of  the  Antiochian  solitaries,  while  Zo/.imus  attriiiinei 
it  to  the  remonstrances  of  the  sophist  Libanius.  —  Gibbon  I 
think,  does  not  even  allude  to  this  story  of  the  musicians 


THE  SCEPTIC.  A  SATIRE. 


171 


THE    SCEPTIC; 

A  PHILOSOPHICAL  SATIRE. 

Softov  ira»Tia¥  fiaatXta. 

PiAOAB.  op.  Herodot  lib.  Hi. 


PREFACE. 

The  Sceptical  Philosophy  of  the  Ancients  has 
roen  no  l(>ss  misrepresented  than  the  Epicurean. 
Pyrrho  may  perhaps  have  carried  it  to  rather  an 
irrational  excess  ;  but  we  must  not  believe,  with 
Beattie,  all  the  absurdities  imputed  to  this  phi- 
losopher; and  it  appears  to  me  that  the  doc- 
trines of  the  school,  as  explained  by  Sextus 
Empiricus,'  are  far  more  suited  to  the  wants 
and  infirmities  of  human  reason,  as  well  as 
more  conduciye  to  the  mild  virtues  of  humility 
and  patienee,  than  any  of  those  systems  of  phi- 
losojjhy  which  preceded  the  introduction  of 
Christianity.  The  Sceptics  may  be  said  to  have 
held  a  middle  path  between  the  Dogmatists  and 
Academicians ;  the  former  of  whom  boasted 
that  they  had  attained  the  truth,  while  the  lat- 
ter denied  that  any  attainable  truth  existed. 
The  Sceptics,  however,  without  either  asserting 
or  denying  its  existence,  professed  to  be  mod- 
estly and  anxiously  in  search  of  it ;  or,  as  St. 
Augustine  expresses  it,  in  his  liberal  tract 
against  the  Manichseans,  "  nemo  nostrum  dicat 
jam  se  invenisse  veritatem  ;  sic  eam  quecramus 
quasi  ah  utrisque  nesciatur."  *  From  this  habit 
of  impartial  investigation,  and  the  necessity 
which  it  imposed  upon  them,  of  studying  not 
only  every  system  of  philosophy,  but  every  art 
and  science,  which  professed  to  lay  its  basis  in 
truth,  they  necessarily  took  a  wider  range  of 
erxidition,  and  were  far  more  travelled  in  the 
regions  of  philosophy  than  those  whom  convic- 
tion or  bigotry  had  domesticated  in  any  partic- 
Ulu  system  It  required  all  the  learning  of 
iogmatism  to  overthrow  the  dogmatL^m  of  leam- 
irg  :  and  the  Sceptics  may  be  said  to  resemble, 
b  this  respect,   that  ancient  incendiary,  who 


I  IVrrh  Ilyjioth.  — Tiie  reader  may  And  a  tolerably  clear 
tbKtnrt  cif  H»<  w(irk  of  !?e\tti!(  Eiiipiriciis  in  La  Vtrit6  des 
Scieiirett,  by  Menienne,  liv.  i.  rhap.  ii.  &c 

*  Lit),  ronlra  Kpist  Manii-luei  qiiani  vocant  Pundamenti, 
}p.  Paris.  Ii  ni.  vi. 

Bi-e  .Marin.  t*chrorkiuf  de  ?repliel.<ino,  who  endeavon, 
-  weakly,  I  Jv  k  -  -  tu  refute  tlib  opiuiun  of  Upaiua. 


stole  from  the  altar  the  fire  with  which  he  de« 
stroyed  the  temple.  Tliis  advantage  over  al. 
the  other  sects  is  allowed  to  them  even  by  Lin. 
sius,  whose  treatise  on  the  miracles  of  the  Mrgj 
Hallensis  will  sufficiently  save  him  from  all  sus- 
picion of  scepticism.  "Lahore,  ingenio,  me- 
moria,"  he  says,  "  supra  omnes  pene  philosopho* 
fuLsse.  —  Quid  nonnc  omnia  aliorum  sccta  tenere 
debuerunt  et  inquircrc,  si  poterunt  refellcrc? 
res  dicit.  Nonne  orationes  varias,  rarns,  subti- 
les  inveniri  ad  tam  receptas,  claras,  ccrtas  (ut 
videbatur)  sententias  evertendas  ? "  &c.  &c.*  • 
Manuduct.  ad  Philoaoph.  Stoic.  Dissert.  4. 

Between  the  scepticism  qf  the  ancients  and 
the  modems  the  great  difference  is,  tliat  the 
former  doubted  for  the  pur])08e  of  investigating, 
as  may  be  exemplified  by  the  third  book  of 
Aristotle's  Metaphysics,*  while  the  latter  inves- 
tigate for  the  purpose  of  doubting,  as  may  ba 
seen  through  most  of  the  philosophical  works 
of  Hume.*  Indeed,  the  Pyrrhonism  of  latter 
days  is  not  only  more  subtle  than  that  of  an- 
tiquity, but,  it  must  be  confessed,  more  dan^rf'r 
ous  in  its  tendency.  The  happiness  of  a  Chi 
tian  depends  so  essentially  upon  his  belief,  thar 
it  is  but  natural  he  should  feel  alarm  at  the 
progress  of  doubt,  lest  it  should  steal  by  de- 
grees into  that  region  from  which  he  is  most 
interested  in  excluding  it,  and  poison  at  last  the 
very  spring  of  his  consolation  and  hope.  Still, 
however,  the  abuses  of  doubting  ought  not  to 
deter  a  philosophical  mind  from  indulging  mild', 
ly  and  rationally  in  its  use  ;  and  there  is  noth 
ing,  surely,  more  consistent  with  the  meek  Bpiht 
of  Cliristianity,  than  that  liumble  scepticism 
which  pr  )fesse8  not  to  extend  its  distrust  be« 
yond  the  circle  of  human  pursuits  and  the  pre- 
tensions of  human  knowledge.     A  follower  of 


♦  Eirn  St  T-trc  i-T'p'jffai  /9>i>Xu(iti"iff  iroofoy;  t>  ,» 
Aiaitnpni'at  KiX'-'i, —  Mriaphjii.  lib.  Hi.  cap  I. 

»  Neither  Ifiime,  however,  nor  Berkeley,  at*  tnbe  Jiid|M 
by  the  mi<>repre»enlati<'n«  of  Reattie,  whtire  b-HTk,  h<'«e<->i 
amiaNy  .°nte 'del,  iai«  fitth  a  mcmt  iinpliitiw  pbirr.l  apiMi 
fo  popi.'ar  "eei'iB  •  ai.''  pmliid'cex.  and  in  a  o^nl-  m*^  P**^' 


176 


THE  SCEPTIC,   A  SATIRE. 


this  school  may  be  among  the  readiest  to  admit 
the  claims  of  a  superintending  Intelligence  upon 
his  faith  and  adoration  :  it  is  only  to  the  wis- 
dom of  this  weak  world  that  he  refuses,  or  at 
>east  delays,  his  assent:  it  is  only  in  passing 
through  the  shadow  of  earth  that  his  mind 
undergoes  the  eclipse  of  scepticism.  No  fol- 
lower of  Pyrrho  has  ever  spoken  more  strongly 
against  the  dogmatists  than  St.  Paul  himself, 
in  the  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians;  and 
there  are  passages  in  Ecclesiastes  and  other 
parts  of  Scripture,  which  justify  our  utmost 
diffidence  in  all  that  human  reason  originates. 
Even  the  Sceptics  of  antiquity  refrjuned  care- 
fully from  the  mysteries  of  theology,  and,  in 
entering  the  temples  of  religion,  laid  aside  their 
philosophy  at  the  porch.  Sextus  Empiricus 
thus  declares  the  acquiescence  of  his  sect  in  the 
general  belief  of  a  divine  and  foreknowing  Pow- 
er : —  T(d  fitv  Bi<a  xaTaxoXov6ovvrt(  ado^aarmf 
tpafttv  ttvtxi  dtovi  xai  ns^ofisv  ■d'covg  xai  nqovottv 
fffTowc  (pafiiv.^  In  short,  it  appears  to  me,  that 
this  rational  and  well-regulated  scepticism  is 
-he  only  daughter  of  the  Schools  that  can  safely 
oe  selected  as  a  handmaid  for  Piety.  He  who 
distrusts  the  light  of  reason,  will  be  the  first  to 
follow  a  more  luminous  guide  ;  and  if,  with  an 
ardent  love  for  truth,  he  has  sought  her  in  vain 
through  the  ways  of  this  life,  he  will  but  turn 
with  the  more  hope  to  that  better  world,  where 
all  is  simple,  true,  and  everlasting  :  for,  there  is 
no  parallax  at  the  zenith ;  it  is  only  near  our 
troubled  horizon  that  objects  deceive  us  into 
vafcue  and  erroneous  calculations. 

1  Lih.  iii.  cap.  1. 

2  "  The  particular  balk,  ni'itiln^r,  figure,  and  motion  of 
tlie  parts  of  fire  or  snow  are  really  in  them,  wheinei  anji 
Dne  perceive  tliem  or  not,  and  tlierefore  they  may  be  called 
real  qualities,  because  they  really  exist  in  those  bodies  ;  but 
light,  heat,  whiteness,  or  coldness,  are  no  more  really  in 
them  than  sickness  or  pain  is  in  manna.  Take  away  the 
sensaticm  of  them  ;  let  not  the  eye  see  light  or  colors,  nor 
the  ears  hear  sounds  ;  let  the  palate  not  taste,  nor  the  nose 
8iii«ll,  and  all  colors,  tastes,  odors,  and  sounds,  as  they 
«re  such  particular  ideas,  vanish  and  cease."  —  Locke,  book 
li.  chap.  S. 

Bishop  Berkeley,  it  is  well  known,  extended  this  doctnne 
even  to  primary  qualities,  and  supposed  that  matter  itself 
nas  but  an  ideal  existence.  But,  how  are  we  to  apply  his 
theory  to  that  period  which  preceded  the  formation  of  man, 
when  our  system  of  sensible  things  was  produced,  and  the 
Bun  shone,  and  the  waters  flowed,  without  any  sentient 
being  to  witness  them?  The  spectator,  whom  Whiston 
Mipplies,  will  scarcely  solve  the  difficulty :  "  To  speak  my 
mind  freely,"  says  he,  "  I  believe  that  the  Messias  was 
there  actually  present." —  Seeffkuton,  of  the  Mosaic  Creatloru 

8  Boetius  imploys  this  argument  of  the  Sceptics  among 
\vi  consolatiiy  rettecfions  'ipon  the  emptiness  of  fame. 


THE  SCEPTIC. 

As  the  gay  tint  that  decks  the  vema.  rose, 
Not  in  the  flower,  but  in  our  vision  glows ; 
As  the  ripe  flavor  of  Falemian  tides. 
Not  in  the  wine,  but  in  our  taste  lesiies  ; 
So  when,  with  heartfelt  tribute,  we  declare 
That  Marco's  honest  and  that  Susan's  fair, 
'Tis  in  our  minds,  and  not  in  Susan's  eyes 
Or  Marco's  life,  the  worth  or  beauty  lies  : 
For  she,  in  flat-nos'd  China,  would  appear 
As  plain  a  thing  as  Lady  Anne  is  here ; 
And  one  light  joke  at  rich  Loretto's  dome 
Would  rank  good  Marco  with  the  damn  d  »1 
Rome. 

There's  no  deformity  so  vile,  so  base, 
That  'tis  not  somewhere  thought  a  charm,  a 

grace  ; 
No  foul  reproach,  that  may  not  steal  a  beam 
From  other  suns,  to  bleach  it  to  esteem.' 
Ask,   who    is  wise?    you'll  find  the  selfsame 

man 
A  sage  in  France,  a  madman  in  Japan  ; 
And  here  some  head  beneath  a  mitre  swells, 
Which  there  had  tingled  to  a  cap  and  bells  : 
Nay,   there  may   yet  some   monstrous  regior 

be, 
Unknown  to  Cook,  and  from  Napoleon  free, 
Where    C — stl — r — gh    wouid    for    a    patrio; 


And  mouthing  M- 
ass ! 


-ve  scarce  be  deem'd  an 


"  (luid  quod  diversanim  gentium  mores  inter  se  atque  mst) 
tuta  discordant,  ut  quod  apud  alios  laude,  apud  alios  sup 
plitio  dig^ium  judicetur?"  —  Lib.  ii.  prosa  7.  Many 
amusing  instances  oi  diverbity  in  ht  tastes  Tianners,  nmi 
morals  of  different  nations,  may  be  found  throughout  ihi 
works  of  that  amusing  Sceptic  I^e  Mothe  le  Vayer.  —  See 
his  Opuscule  Sceptique,  his  Treatise  "  De  la  Secte  Scep- 
tique,"  and,  above  all,  those  Dialogues,  not  to  be  found  m  his 
works,  which  he  published  under  the  name  of  HoratiusTu- 
bero.  —  The  chief,  objection  to  these  writings  of  Le  Vayet 
(and  it  is  a  blemish  which  may  be  felt  also  in  the  Esprit  de? 
Loix),  IS  the  suspicious  obscurity  of  the  sources  from  whence 
he  frequently  draws  his  instances,  and  the  indiscriminate  use 
made  by  him  of  the  lowest  populace  of  tne  library, —  XhuM 
lying  travellers  and  wonder  mongers,  of  whom  Shaftesbury, 
in  his  Advice  to  an  Authorr,  complains,  as  "laving  tended  in 
his  own  time  to  the  diffusion  of  a  very  shallow  and  viciinis 
sort  of  scepticism.  —  Vol.  i.  p.  352.  The  Pyrrhonism  of  Le 
Vayer,  however,  is  of  the  most  innocent  and  playful  kind  : 
and  Villemandy,  the  author  of  Scepticismus  Debellatus,  ex 
empts  him  specially  in  the  declaration  of  war  ivhtch  h» 
denounces  agamst  the  other  armed  netifrals  of  the  sect,  in 
consideration  of  the  orthodox  limits  within  which  he  confina* 
his  incredulitr. 


THE  SCEPTIC,  A  SATniK 


ITT 


"  Last  not  to  reason  (Epicurus  cries), 
"  But  trust  the  senses,  there  conviction  lies : "  '  — 
Alas  !  thej/  judge  not  by  a  purer  light, 
Nor  keep  their  fountains  more   untinged  and 

bright : 
Habit  so  mars  them,  that  the  Russian  swain 
Will  sigh  for  train  oil,  while  he  sips  Champagne : 
And  health  so  rules  them,  that  a  fever's  heat 
Would   make  even   Sh — r — d — n  think  water 

sweet. 

Just  as  the  mind  the  oning  sense  •  believes, 
The  erring  mind,  in  turn,  the  sense  deceives  ; 
And  cold  disgust  can  find  but  wrinkles  there. 
Where  passion  fancies  all  that's  smooth   and 

fair, 
p  ♦  *  *  #  ,  vho  sees,  upon  his  pillow  laid, 
A  face  for  which  ten  thousand  pounds  were  paid. 
Can  tell,  how  quick  before  a  jury  flies 
llie  spell  that  mock'd  the  warm  seducer's  eyen. 

Self  is  the  medium    through  which  Judg- 
ment's ray 
Can  seldom  pass  without  being  tum'd  astray. 
The  smith  of  Ephfisus'  thought  Diana's  shrine, 
By  which  bis  craft  most  throve,  the  most  divine  ; 
\nd  ev'n  the  true  faith  seems  not  half  so  true. 
When  Imk'd  with  one  good  living  as  -with  two. 
Had  W — Ic — t  first  been  pension'd  by  the  throne. 
Kings  would  have  sufier'd  by  his  praise  alone  ; 


I  Thin  was  the  creed  aim  of  thone  modem  Epicureans, 
•^hom  Ninon  de  I'EncIos  collected  around  her  in  the  Rue 
lex  Tdunielles,  and  whom  object  seenis  to  have  been  to  de- 
^ry  me  faculty  of  reason,  a^s  tending  only  to  embarrass  our 
*-hole«ome  use  of  pleasures,  without  enabling  us,  in  any  de- 
ino,  to  avoid  their  abuse.  Mad.-.me  d«8  Houliires,  the  fair 
,)iipil  of  Oes  Barreauz  in  the  artj  ol  poetry  and  gallantry, 
■las  devoted  most  of  her  verses  to  tl.is  laudable  purpose,  and 
■  even  such  a  determined  foe  to  leason,  that,  in  one  of  her 
Mutorals,  she  congratulates  her  <ihoep  on  the  want  of  it.  St. 
Evremont  speaks  thus  uprn  t'le  'lUbJect :  — 

"  Vn  melange  inc»/l8'n  d'esprit  et  de  mati^re 
>ou8  (ait  vivre  av^c  crop  ou  trop  pen  de  lumiire. 

Nature,  4iive-r.ouj  i  la  clart£  des  anges, 
Ou  nous  aba'Me  au  sens  des  simples  aniraaux.** 
Wtiich  may  be  th-is  paraphrased  :  — 

Ha  1  man  been  made,  at  nature's  birth. 

Of  orjy  Uame  or  only  earth,  , 

Haii  he  been  fomi'd  a  perfect  whole 

Of  purely  that,  or  grossly  thu, 
rben  sense  would  ne'er  have  clouded  aoul. 

Nor  soul  re!<train'd  the  sense's  blias. 
O  happy,  had  his  light  been  strong. 

Or  had  he  never  shared  a  light, 
Which  shines  enough  to  show  he's  wrong. 

But  not  enough  to  lead  him  righL 

Bee,  aror  ng  the  fragments  of  Petriniiu,  tlKwe  venee  be- 

23 


And  P — ine  peihaps,  for  something  sntig  pet 

aim.. 
Had  laugh'd  like  W— 11— «ley,  at  all  Rights  ol 

Man. 

But  'tis  not  only  individual  minds,  — 
Whole  nations,  too,  the  same  delusion  blind*. 
Thus  England,  hot  firom  Denmark's  smokiTiQ 

meads. 
Turns  up  her  eyes  at  Gallia's  guilty  deeds  ; 
Thus,  self-pleas'd  still,  the  same  dishonotlrg 

chain 
She  binds  in  Ireland,  she  would  break  in  Spain  ; 
While  prais'd  at  distance,  but  at  home  forbid. 
Rebels  in  Cork  are  patriots  at  Madrid. 

If  Grotius  be  thy  guide,  sVut,  shut  the  book 
In  force  alone  for  Laws  of  Nations  look, 
liet  shipless  Danes  and  whining  Yankce«.  dwel 
On  naval  rights,  with  Grotius  and  Vattel, 
While  C — bb — t's  pirate  code  alone  appear* 
Sound  moral  sense  to  England  and  Algicm 

Woe  to  the  Sceptic,  in  these  party  days, 
Who  wafts  to  neither  shrine  his  puffs  of  praise ) 
For  him  no  pension  pours  its  annual  fruits, 
No  fertile  sinecure  spontaneous  shoots  ; 
Not  hia  the  meed  that  cronn'd  Don  H — kh- 

— m's  rhyme. 
Nor  sees  he  e'er,  in  dreams  of  future  time. 


ginning  "  Pallunt  noe  oculi,"  tee.  The  moat  sceptical  of  the 
ancient  poets  was  Euripides  :  and  it  would,  I  tiiink,  jhix/Is 
the  whole  school  of  Pyrrho  to  produce  a  doubt  mure  siar- 
tling  than  the  following :  — 

T<t  S'  otScv  ti  5n>'  rnvO'  b  KtuXfirai  iiai/ti,ti, 

Tu  J^iff  it  ^yriOKitv  tart. 

See  Laert  in  Pyrrh. 

Socrates  and  Plato  were  the  gratd  sources  of  ancient  scep- 
ticism. According  to  Cicero  (de  Orator,  lib.  iii.),  they  ru(> 
plied  Arcesilas  with  the  doctrines  of  the  .Middle  Academy  ; 
and  how  closely  these  resembled  the  tenets  of  the  iikeptics, 
may  be  seen  even  in  Scxius  Einpiricua  (lib  i.  cap.  X)),  who. 
with  all  his  distinctions  can  scarcely  prove  any  differeiire 
It  appears  strange  that  Epic  inis  should  have  been  a  d<.f 
matist ;  and  his  natural  temper  would  most  pMhabty  tia/t- 
led  him  to  the  repose  of  scepticism,  had  not  the  Sioicx,  li^ 
their  violent  opposition  to  his  doctrines,  compelled  ilin  tr 
be  as  obstinate  as  themselves.  Plutarch,  indeed,  Ip  report- 
ing some  of  his  opinions,  represents  him  as  having  delivers** 
them  with  considerable  hesitation.-  E»i«oB/)st  m-^iti  ifxe 
yivitXiKtt  TovTiati,  txofititoc  re»  tr6rx'>iiti>nn, —  Vt  Plaea. 
PhilMopK.  lib.  ii.  cafi.  13.  See  also  the  9lat  and  22d  chap 
ten.  But  that  the  leading  JtaanKtaristics  of  tke  sect  wer* 
self-sufficiency  and  dogm.itism,  appears  fmm  what  Cicen 
says  of  Velleiu*,  Delfalur.  Door.  — •' Turn  Velleiiis,  rtdci 
ter  sani,  ut  solent  tati,  nihil  tam  verens  qiiam  lie  dubitars 
aliqu&  de  re  videretur." 

i  Aeu,  chap.  xix.     *  For  a  eenain  man  named  Drmtvott 


178 


THE  SCEPTIC,  A  SATIRE. 


Those  dliarlowy  forms  of  sleek  reversions  rise, 
So  deur  to  Scotchmen's  second-sighted  eyes. 
Yet  who,  that  looks  to  History's  damning  leaf, 
Where  Whig  and  Tory,  thief  opposed  to  thief. 
On  either  side  in  lofty  shame  are  seen,' 
While  Freedom  s  form  hangs  crucified  between. 
Who,  B — rd — tt,  who  such  rival  rogues  can  see, 
l^ut  flies  from  both  to  Honesty  and  thee  ? 

If,  weary  of  the  world's  bewildering  maze,'* 
Hopeless  of  finaing,  through  its  weedy  ways, 
One  flower  of  truth,  the  busy  crowd  we  shun, 
And  to  the  shades  of  tranquil  learning  run, 
How  many  a  doubt  pursues  !  '  how  oft  we  sigh, 
When  histories  charm,  to  think  that  histories  lie ! 
That  all  are  grave  romances,  at  the  best, 
And  M — sgr — ve's  *  but  more  clumsy  than  the 

rest. 
By  Tory  Hume's  seductive  page  beguiled, 
We  fancy  Charles  was  just  and  Strafford  mild ; '' 
And  Fox  himself,  with  party  pencil,  draws 
Monmouth  a  hero,  *'  for  the  good  old  cr.'^Ase  !  "  * 
Then,  rights  are  wrongs,  and  victories  are  de- 
feats. 
As  French  or  English  pride  the  tale  repeats ; 


a  silversmith,  wliicli  made  silver  shrines  for  Diana,  brought 
no  small  gain  nnto  the  craftsmen." 

1  "Tliose  two'tliieves,"saj's  Ralph',  "between  whom  the 
natit  II  is  crucified." —  Use  and  Abase  of  Parliamenls. 

2  Tlie  agitation  of  the  ship  is  one  of  the  cliief  difficulties 
whii'h  impede  the  discovery  of  the  longitude  at  sea  ;  and 
the  tumult  and  hurry  of  life  are  equally  unfavorable  to  that 
caliii  level  of  mind  which  is  necessary  to  an  inquirer  after 
truth.  , 

In  the  mean  time,  our  modest  Sceptic,  in  the  absence  of 
tntli, -rontents  himself  with  prohahllities,  resembling  in  this 
respect  >those  suitors  of  Penelope,  who,  on  finding  that  they 
could  not  possess  the  mistress  herself,  very  wisely  resolved 
to  put  up  with  her  maids:  rij  Ilf/i'tA-n-i;  irAJicrias£ii'  nK 
6vfa,uituL,  Tuii  TavT)ii  emyvvvro^tpa-Kaitiaii. —  Plutarch, 

s  See  a  curious  work,  entitled  "  Reflections  upon  Learn- 
ing," written  on  the  plan  of  Agrippa's  "  De  Vanitate  Scien- 
Uaruni,"  but  much  more  honestly  and  skilfully  executed. 

*  This  historian  of  the  Irish  rebellions  has  outrun  even  his 
pre<lecessor  in  the  same  task,  Sir  John  Temple,  for  whose 
chi'rarter  with  re>pect  to  veracity  tlie  reader  may  consult 
C«rt«;'s  I  'ollection  <;f  Oniiond's  Driginal  Papers,  p.  207.  See 
l\»  Id  iValson's  account  of  him,  in  the  introduction  to  the 
leci  nd  volume  of  his  Historic  Collect 

'  He  defends  Strafford's  conduct  as  "  innocent  a.id  even 
laudable."  In  the  same  spirit,  speaicing  of  the  arbitrary 
sentences  of  the  Star  Chamber,  he  says,  —  "  The  severity 
of  the  Star  Chamber,  which  was  generally  ascribed  to 
Laud's  passionate  disposition,  wa>>  perliaps,  in  itself,  some- 
ivhat  blamable." 

li  It.at  dexibility  of  temper  and  opinion,  which  the  habits 
ef  sceoticism  are  so  calculated  to  produce,  are  thus  pleaded 
br  by  \!r.  Fox,  in  the  very  sketch  of  Monmouth  to  which  I 
«Uu«ti  .  anu  ihi^i  part  i  f  tlio  picture  the  historian  may  be 


And,  when  they  tell  Corunna's  story  o'er, 
They'll  disagree  in  ail,  but  honoring  Moore  i 
Nay,  future  pens,  to  flatter  future  courts, 
May  cite  perhaps  the  Park-guns'  gay  reports 
To  prove  that  England  triumph' d  on  the  mom 
Which  found  her    Junot's  jest  and    Europii't 
scorn. 

In  science,  loo  —  how  many  a  system,  raised 
Like  Neva's  icy  domes,  a  while  hath  blazed 
With  lights  of  fancy  and  with  forms  of  prrde. 
Then,  melting,  mingled  with  the  oblivious  tide  I 
Now  Earth  usurps  the  centre  of  the  sky. 
Now  Newton  puts  the  paltry  planet  by  ; 
Note  whims  revive  beneath  Descartes' '  pen, 
Which  noio,  assai''d  by  Locke's,  expire  again. 
And  when,  perhaps,  in  pride  of  chemic  powers, 
We  think  the  keys  of  Nature's  kingdom  ours. 
Some  Davy's  magic  touch  the  dream  unsettles, 
And  turns  at  once  our  alkalis  to  metals. 
Or,  should  we  roam,  in  metaphysic  maze, 
Through  fair-built  theories  of  former  days, 
Some  Dr — mm — d^  from  the  north,  more  ablj 

skill'd, 
Like  other  Goths,  to  ruin  than  to  build. 


thought  to  have  drawn  from  hirviseK.  "  One  of  the  most 
conspicuous  features  in  his  c^ar!':,ter  iseems  to  have  been  a 
remarkable,  and,  as  some  think,  a  culpable  dei;ree  of  fJexi- 
bility.  That  such  a  dv-ipoiitirn  is  preferable  to  its  opposite 
extreme  will  be  adinittod  by  all,  who  »!iiiik  that  modesty, 
even  in  excess,  is  ;no;e  nearly  allied  lo  wisdom  than  conceit 
and  self-siitficinnry.  He  who  ;.as  ktte'itively  considered 
the  political,  or  indeed  the  general  concerns  of  life,  may 
possibly  go  ut'A\  further,  Kiid  may  rank  a  willingness  to  be 
convinced,  or,  in  somb  crises,  even  without  conviction,  tc 
concede  our  own  opinion  to  that  of  other  men,  among  the 
principal  ingredient  in  the  composition  of  practical  .wis- 
dom." —  It  is  right  to  observe,  however,  that  the  Sceptic's 
readineso  of  concession  arises  rather  from  uncertainty  *lian 
conviction;  more  from  a  suspici(m  that' his  own  opinion 
may  be  wrong,  than  from  any  persuasion  that  the  opinion 
of  his  adversary  is  right.  "  It  may  be  so,"  was  the  courte- 
ous and  sceptical  formula  with  which  tlie  Dutch  were  ac- 
customed to  reply  tr  the  statements  of  ambassadors.  See 
Lloyd's  State  fVcrtkies,  art.  Sir  Thomas  Wyat. 

'  Descartes,  who  is  considered  as  the  parent  of  modern 
scepticism,  says,  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  whole  range 
of  philosophy  which  does  not  admit  cf  tw<^  opj«isite  opin 
ions,  and  which  is  not  involved  in  doi-jt  an'i  uncerfalnt) 
"  In  Philosophia  nihil  adhuc  riperiri,  dp  quo  u'ln  in  utraui 
que  partem  dispr.tatur,  hoc  es',  quod  non  sit  incertum  ei 
dubium."  Gassendi  i";  likewise  to  be  added  to  the  list  ol 
modern  Sceptics:  and  Wedderkopff,  in  his  Dissertation 
"  De  Sccpticisino  i>rofano  et  sacro  "  (Argentorat.  16o6),  has 
denounced  fcra-.m  is  aso  as  a  follower  of  Pyrrho,  fi.r  h;s 
opinions  upjii  the  Trinity,  and  some  other  subjcts.  To 
these  ir  v,e  add  tl.e  names  ol  Bayle,  Mallebranche,  Dryden 
IjO'.kr,  &c.  iLC;  I  think  t:iere  is  no  one  who  need  bo 
ashamed  of  doubting  in  such  company. 

8  See  this  Ken'.leuian's  Academic  Questions. 


TWOPENNY  POST  BAG. 


in 


rrunples  triumphant  inrough  our  fanes  o'er- 

thrcwn. 
Nor  leaves  one  grace,  o».e  glory  of  his  ovm. 

O  Learning,  whaisM»'-»r  thy  pomp  and  boast, 
CT^nletter'd  minds  hoVe  taught  and  charm'd  men 

most. 
The  rude,  unread  Columbus  was  our  guide 
''o  worlds,  which  Icam'd  Lactantius  had  de- 
nied; 
And  one  wild  ShaKspeare,  following  Nature's 

lights. 
Lb  worth  whole  planets,  £ll'd  with  Stagirites. 

See  grave  Theology,  when  once  »he  strays 
Trora  Revelation's  path,  what  tricks  she  plays ; 
What  various   heav'ns,  —  all   tit   for   bards   to 

sing,— 
dave  churchmen  drcam'd,  from  Papius '  down 

to  King !  * 
^"hile  hell  itself,  in  India  nought  but  smoke,' 
b.  Spain's  a  furnace,  and  ii.  France  —  a  joke. 

1  Papias  lived  atxmt  the  time  of  l*ie  apostles,  and  ix  rap- 
poMcd  to  have  given  birth  to  the  huei-y  of  the  ChiliMtc, 
WhoM  heaven  witu  by  no  mdanit  cx°  a  spiritual  nature,  but 
rather  an  antiri|Kitioii  of  the  Pmph^t  of  Hera's  elysiuia. 
Bee  ICusebiUH,  Hiiit.  Ek^cletiiasL  lib.  iii  cap.  33,  and  !li»- 
rnnyni.  de  Scriptor.  EccleMia^it. —  From  ill  I  can  find  in 
these  aulhom  concerning  Papiax,  it  seenu>  hardly  fair  to  im- 
pute tu  him  those  gross  imaginations  in  waich  the  believers 
•f  the  sensual  millennium  indulged. 

3  King,  in  his  Morsels  of  Criticism,  vol  i.,  gupix)e«8  the 
sun  to  be  itie  receptacle  of  blessed  spirits. 


Hail,  modest  Ignorance,  thou  goal  and  pristi, 
Thou  last,  best  knowledge  of  the  simply  wise  J 
Hail,  humble  Doubt,  when  error's  waves  are  past, 
How  sweet  to  reach  thy  shelter'd  port  *  at  last, 
And,  there,  by  changing  skies  nor  lured  noi 

awed. 
Smile  at  the  battling  winds  that  roai  abroad. 
There  gentle  Charity,  who  knows  how  frail 
The  bark  of  Virtue,  even  in  summer's  gale, 
Sits  by  the  nightly  fire,  whose  beacon  glow» 
For  all  who  wander,  whether  friends  or  foes 
There  Faith  retires,  and  keeps  her  white  tai 

furl'd. 
Till  call'd  to  spread  it  for  a  better  world  ; 
While  Patience,  watching  on  the  weedy  shore. 
And,  mutely  waiting  till  the  storm  be^'er. 
Oft  turns  to  Hope,  who  still  directs  her  eye 
To  some  blue  spot,  just  breaking  in  the  sky ! 

Such  are  the  mild,  the  blest  associates  given 
To  him  who  doubts,  —  and  trusts  in  nought  but 
Heaven  i 


»  The  Indians  call  hell  "  the  House  of  Smoke."  Seo  Pi- 
cart  upon  tJie  Religion  of  the  Banians.  The  reader  who  if 
curious  about  infernal  matters  may  be  edified  by  oinsultinf 
Rusca  de  Infenio,  particularly  lib.  ii.  ciip.  7, 8,  where  he  will 
find  tlie  precise  sort  of  fire  ascertained  in  which  wicked 
spirits  are  to  Ite  burned  hereafter. 

«  "  Ch*re  Scepliqiie,  douce  p&ture  de  mon  ame,  et  I'unique 
port  de  salut  k  uu  esprit  qui  aiiue  le  reputf !  "—La  MctJu  U 
Vayer 


TWOPENNY    POST    BAG. 


BY    THOMAS    BROWN,    THE    YOUNGER. 


Elape*  manibus  secidir*  tabella.        Otid. 


DEDICATION. 
TO  STEPHEN  WOOLRICHE,  ESa 
II r  DBAB  WoOLRIfdB  :  — 

It  is  now  about  seven  years  since  I  prora- 
Bed  '^and  I  grieve  to  think  it  is  almost  as  long 
lince  we  met)  to  dedicate  to  you  the  very  first 
Book,  of  wl'.atever  size  or  kind,  I  should  pub- 


years  would  elapse,  without  my  giving  the  least 
signs  of  life  upon  the  subject  of  this  important 
promise  ?  ^Vho  could  have  imagined  that  a  vol- 
ume of  doggerel,  after  all,  would  be  the  tirsJ 
offering  that  Gratitude  would  lay  upon  the 
shrine  of  Friendship  ? 

If  you  contuiue,  however,  to  be  as  much  ii: 
terestcd  about  me  and  my  pursuits  as  formerly 
you  vdW  be  happy  to  hear  that  doj^gerol  is  not 


4ih.     ^^1I0  could  have  thought  that  so  many  j  my  only  ovcupatiou  \  but  that  I  am  preparing  t» 


throw  my  name  to  the  Swans  of  the  Temple  of 
Inimortality,'  leaving  it,  of  course,  to  the  said 
Swans  to  determine,  whether  they  ever  will 
"-ake  the  trouble  of  picking  it  from  the  stream. 
In  the  mean  time,  my  dear  Woolriche,  like 
tn  orthodox  Lutheran,  you  must  judge  of  me 
rather  by  my  faith  than  my  works ;  and,  how- 
ever trifling  the  tribute  which  I  here  offer,  never 
loubt  the  fidelity  with  which  I  am,  and  always 
»1  all  be, 

Your  sincere  and 

attached  friend, 

THE  AUTHOR. 
Manh.  4, 1813. 


PREFACE. 

The  Bag,  from  which  the  following  Letters 
are  selected,  was  dropped  by  a  Twopenny  Post- 
man about  two  months  since,  and  picked  up  by 
an  emissary  of  the  Society  for  the  Suppression 
of  Vice,  who,  supposing  it  might  materially  as- 
sist the  private  researches  of  that  Institution, 
immediately  took  it  to  his  employers,  and  was 
rewarded  handsomely  for  his  trouble.  Such  a 
treasury  of  secrets  was  worth  a  whole  host  of 
informers ;  and,  accordingly,  like  the  Cupids  of 
the  poet  (if  I  may  use  so  profane  a  simile)  who 
"  fell  at  odds  about  the  sweet  bag  of  a  bee,"  " 
those  venerable  Suppressors  almost  fought  with 
each  other  for  the  honor  and  delight  of  first 
ransacking  the  Post  Bag.  Unluckily,  however, 
it  turned  out,  upon  examination,  that  the  dis- 
coveries of  profligacy  which  it  enabled  them  to 
make,  lay  chiefly  in  those  upper  regions  of  so- 
ciety, which  their  well-bred  regulations  forbid 
them  to  molest  or  meddle  with.  —  In  conse- 
quence, they  gained  but  very  few  victims  by 
their  prize,  and,  after  lying  for  a  week  or  two 
under  Mr.  Hatchard's  counter,  the  Bag,  with 
its  violated  contents,  was  sold  for  a  trifle  to  a 
ifriend  of  mine. 

It  happened  that  I  had  been  just  then  seized 
with  an  ambition  (having  never  tried  the  strength 
of  my  \\ing  but  in  a  Newspaper)  to  publish 
omething  or  other  in  the  shape  of  a  Book  ;  and 
t  occurred  to  me  that,  the  present  being  such  a 
letter- writing  era,  a  few  of  these  Twopenny  Post 
Epistles,  turned  into  easy  verse,  would  be  as 
light  and  \  ij^ular  a  task  as  I  could  possibly  se- 


1  Arioeto,  canto  35^ 
t  Henick.  . 


lect  for  a  commencement.  I  did  not,  however, 
think  it  prudent  to  give  too  many  Letters  •  04 
first,  and,  accordingly,  have  been  obliged  (ix 
order  to  eke  out  a  sufficient  number  of  pages 
to  reprint  some  of  those  trifles,  which  had  al 
ready  appeared  in  the  public  journals.  Ae  in 
the  battles  of  ancient  times,  the  shades  of  the 
departed  were  sometimes  seen  among  the  com- 
batants, so  I  thought  I  might  manage  to  remedy 
the  thinness  of  my  ranks,  by  conjuring  up  a  few- 
dead  and  forgotten  ejjhemerons  to  fill  them. 

Such  are  the  motives  and  accidents  that  led 
to  the  present  publication ;  and  as  this  is  the 
first  time  my  Muse  has  ever  ventured  out  of  the 
go-cart  of  a  Newspaper,  though  I  feel  all  a 
parent's  delight  at  seeing  little  Miss  go  alone,  I 
am  also  not  without  a  parent's  anxiety,  lest  an 
unlucky  fall  should  be  the  consequence  of  the 
experiment ;  and  I  need  not  point  out  how 
many  living  instances  might  be  found,  of  Muses 
that  have  suffered  very  severely  in  their  heads, 
from  taking  rather  too  early  and  rashly  to  their 
feet.  Besides,  a  Book  is  so  very  different  a  thing 
from  a  Newspaper  !  —  in  the  former,  your  dog- 
gerel, without  either  company  or  shelter,  must 
stand  shivering  in  the  middle  of  a  bleak  page  by 
itself ;  whereas,  in  the  latter,  it  is  comfortably 
backed  by  advertisements,  and  has  sometimes 
even  a  Speech  of  Mr.  St — ph — n's,  or  some- 
thing equally  warm,  for  a  chaitffe-pied  —  so  that, 
in  general,  the  very  reverse  of  "  laudatur  et 
alget "  is  its  destiny. 

Ambition,  however,  must  1  .m  some  risks,  and 
I  shall  be  very  well  satisfied  if  the  reception  of 
these  few  Letters,  should  have  the  effect  of 
sending  me  to  the  Post  Bag  for  more. 


PREFACE 

TO  THE  FOURTEENTH   EDITION 
BT  A  FRIEND  OF  THE  AUTHOll. 

In  the  absence  of  Mr.  Brown,  who  is  at  pres- 
ent on  a  tour  through  ,  I  feel  myseli 

called  upon,  as  his  friend,  to  notice  certain  mis- 
conceptions and  misrepresentations,  to  which 
this  little  volume  of  Trifles  has  given  rise. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  not  true  that  Mr.  Brown 
has  had  any  accomplices  in  the  work.  A  note, 
indeed,  which  has  hitherto  accompanied  his 
Preface,  may  very  naturally  have  been  the 
origin  of  such  a  supposition  ;  but  that  note, 
which  was  merely  the  coquetry  of  an  author,  I 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


18 


have,  in  thj  present  edition,  taken  upon  mjrself 
to  remove,  and  Mr.  BfoaVti  must  therefore  be 
considered  (like  the  mother  of  that  unique  pro- 
duction, the  Centaur,  pioru  kui  ftoru*^)  as  alone 
responsible  for  the  whole  contents  of  the  volume. 

In  the  next  place  it  has  been  said,  that  in 
consequence  of  this  graceless  little  book,  a  cer- 
tain distinguished  Personage  prevailed  upon 
another  distinguished  Personage  to  withdraw 
ftom  the  author  that  notice  and  kindness  with 
which  he  had  so  long  and  so  liberally  honored 
mm.  In  this  story  there  is  not  one  syllable  of 
Muth.  For  the  magnanimity  of  the  former  of 
these  persons  I  would,  indeed,  in  no  case  an- 
swer too  rashly :  but  of  the  conduct  of  the  latter 
towards  my  friend,  I  have  a  proud  gratification 
in  declaring,  that  it  has  never  ceased  to  be  such 
•«  he  must  remember  with  indelible  gratitude  ; 
—  a  gratitude  the  more  cheerfully  and  warmly 
paid,  from  its  not  being  a  debt  incurred  solely 
on  iiis  own  account,  but  for  kindness  shared 
with  those  nearest  and  dearest  to  him. 

To  the  charge  of  being  an  Irishman,  poor  Mr. 
tirown  pleads  guilty ;  and  I  believe  it  must  also 
be  acknowledged  that  he  comes  of  a  Roman 
Catholic  family :  an  avowal  which  I  am  aware 
is  decisive  of  his  utter  reprobation,  in'the  eyes 
of  those  exclusive  patentees  of  Christianity,  so 
worthy  to  have  been  the  followers  of  a  certain 
enlightened  Hishop  Donatus,*  who  held  •'  that 
God  is  in  Africa  and  not  elsewhere."  But  from 
all  this  it  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  Mr. 
Brown  is  a  Papist;  and,  indeed,  I  have  the 
strongest  reasons  for  suspecting  that  they,  who 
sny  so,  are  somewhat  mistaken.  Not  that  I 
presume  to  have  ascertained  his  opinions  upon 
iuch  subjects.  All  I  profess  to  know  of  his 
orthodoxy  is,  that  he  has  a  Protestant  wife  and 
tvo  or  three  little  Protestant  children,  and  that 
he  has  been  seen  at  church  every  Sunday,  for  a 
whole  year  together,  listening  to  the  sermons 
of  his  truly  reverend  and  amiable  friend.  Dr. 

,  and  behaving  there  as  well  and 

as  orderly  as  most  people. 

There  are  yet  a  few  other  mistakes  and  false- 
hoods about  Mr.  Brown,  to  which  I  had  in- 
tended, with  all  becoming  gravity,  to  advert; 
out  I  begin  to  think  the  task  is  quite  as  useless 

1  Pindar,  Pyth.  2.  —  My  Mend  Mrtainly  cannut  add  evr* 
If  avSpaai  ycpaa<pof>oy> 

*  Bishop  of  Chmb  Nigrs,  in  the  ii>'irtb  century.   . 

*  A  new  reading  haa  been  aiiiEgetited  in  tlie  original  of  the 
'JAt  uf  Horace,  freely  tranxlated  by  Lord  Eld— n,  page  189. 
'ji  die  lini.  "  Sive  por  Syrteis  iter  et tuotuw,"  it  is  propoaed, 


as  it  is  tiresome.     Misrcprefientations  and  cal- 
umnies of  this  sort  are,  like  the  arguments  ana 
statemenU  of  Dr.  Duigenan,  —  not  at  all  th« 
less  vivacious  or  less  servdceable  to  their  fabri 
cators,  for  having  been  refuted  and  disprove<l 
thousand  times  over.     They  are  broteht  fcr 
ward  again,  as  good  as  new,  wheneru    SkLu 
or  stupidity  may  be  in  want  of  them ;  and  \n 
quite  as  useful  as  the  old   broken  lantern,  l 
Fielding's  Amelia,  which  the  watchman  alwcvi 
keeps  ready  by  him,  to  produce,  in  pr~>f  of 
riotous   conduct,   against   his  victims.     I  snail 
therefore  give  up  the  fruitless  toil  of  vindica- 
tion, and  would  even  draw  my  pen  over  what  I 
have  already  written,  had  I  not   promised  tn 
furnish  my  publisher  with  a  Preface,  and  know 
not  how  else  I  could  contrive  to  eke  it  out. 

I  have  added  two  or  three  more  trifles  to  thi« 
edition,  which  I  found  in  the  Morning  Chron 
icie,  and  knew  to  be  from  the  pen  of  my  friend. 
The  rest  of  the  volume  remains  '  in  its  original 
state. 

Jlpril  30,  1814. 


INTERCEPTED    LETTERS,   Ac. 


LETTER  L 

FKOM  THE  PR — NC — 68  OH — EL — E  OF  W — L — • 
TO  THE  LADY  B — KB — A  A8HL — T.* 

My  dear  Lady  Bab,  you'll  be  shock'd,  I'm  afraid, 
When  you  hear  the  sad  rumpus  your  Ponies 

have  made ; 
Since  the  time  of  horse  consuls  (now  long  ou* 

of  date). 
No  nags  ever  made  such  a  stir  in  the  state. 
Lord   Eld — n   first  heard  —  and    as    instantlj 

pray'd  he 
To  •'  God  and  his  King  "  —  that  a  Popish  j'yU-  ( 

Lady 
(For  though  you've  bright  eyes  and  iweh* 

thousand  a  year. 
It  is  still  but  too  true  you're  a  Papist,  my  dear,  J 

"  Byrtels,"  which  brings  the  de,  it  Is  said,  ntnie  borne  K 
tlie  noble  translator,  and  piveh  a  peculiar  forre  and  aptnew  Ir 
the  epithet  "  entuoMs."  '  Birrely  thmw  tmt  (hi«  enirnda 
tion  for  the  learned,  being  unable  mywlf  to  decide  upon  hi 
merita 
*  This  young  Lady,  who  is  a  Roman  Catholic,  IMhI  laieH 
Mr  a  VMy  trifling  alteratiuu,  to  read  "  Surt*u,"  instead  of  >  made  a  present  uf  some  beautiful  Ponies  to  the  Pr— nc-  «> 


182 


IXTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


Had  insidiously  sent,  by  a  tall  Irish  groom, 
Two  priest-ridden  Ponies,  just  landed  from  Rome, 
And  so  full,  little  rogues,  of  pontifical  tricks. 
That  the   dome  of  St.  Paul's  was  scarce  safe 
from  their  kicks. 

Off  at  once  to  Papa,  in  a  flurry  he  flies  — 
For  Papa  always   does  what  these  statesmen 

advise, 
0  -  ccndition  that  they'll  be,  in  turn,  so  polite 
As  in  no  case  whate'er  to  advise  him  too  right  — 
"  Pretty  doings  are  here.  Sir  (he  angrily  cries. 
While  by  dint  of  dark  eyebrows  he  strives  to 

look  wise)  — 
"  'Tis  a  scheme  of  the  Romanists,  so  help  me 

God! 
"  To  ride  over  your  most  Royal  Highness  rough- 
shod— 
'•  Excuse,  Sir,  my  tears  —  they're  from  loyalty's 

source  — 
"  Bad  enough  'twas  for  Troy  to  be  sack'd  by  a 

Horse, 
"  But  for  us  to  be  ruin'd  by  Ponies  still  worse  !  " 
Quick  a  Council  is  call'd  —  the  whole  Cabinet 

sits  — 
The  Archbishops  declare,  frighten'd  out  of  their 

wits, 
That  if  once  Popish  Ponies  should  eat  at  my 

manger, 
From  that   awful  moment   the   Church  is  in 

danger ! 
As,  give  them  but  stabling,  and  shortly  no  stalls 
Will  suit  their  proud  stomachs  but  those  at  St. 

Paul's. 

The  Doctor,'  and  he,  the  devout  man  of 
Leather,* 
V — ns — tt — t,  now  laying  their  Saint  heads  to- 
gether. 
Declare  that  these  ^kittish  young  a-bominations 
Are  clearly  foretold  in  Chap.  vi.  Revelations  — 
Nay,  they  verily  think  they  could  point  out 

the  one 
Which  the  Doctor's  friend  Death  was  to  canter 
upon 

Lord  H — i-r — by,  hoping  that  no  one  imputes 
To  the  Court  any  fancy  to  persecute  brutes. 
Protests,  on  the  word  of  himself  and  his  cronies. 
That  had  these  S'-'d  creatures  been  Asses,  not 
Ponies, 

'  Ml    \ddington,  bo  nicknamed. 

*  Alluding  to  a  tax  late  y  laid  upon  leather. 

*  The  question  whethei   i  Veto  was  to  be  allowed  to  the 


The  Court  would  have  started  no  sort  of  ob« 

jection, 
As  Asses  were,  there,  always  sure  of  protection. 

"  If  the  Pr — nc — ss  vdll  keep  them  (says  Lord 

C— stl— r— gh), 
"  To  make  them  quite  harmless,  the  only  true 

way 
"Is   (as  certain   Chief  Justices   do   with  ".  1  eij 

wives) 
"  To  flog  them  within  half  an  inch  of  their  lives 
"  If  they've  any  bad  Irish  blood  lurking  about, 
"This  (he  knew  by  experience)  would  soon 

draw  it  out." 
Should  this  be  thought  cruel,  his  Lordship  pro- 
poses 
"The   new   Veto  snafile'  to   bind   down   theii 

noses  — 
"  A  pretty  contrivance,  made  out  of  old  chains, 
"  Which  appears  to  indulge,  while  it  doubly 

restrains ; 
"  Which,  however  high  mettled,  their   game- 

someness  checks 
("  Adds  his  Lordship  humanely,)  or  else  breaks 

their  necks  ! " 

This  proposal  receiv'd  pretty  general  applause 
From  the  Statesmen  around  —  and  the  neck- 
breaking  clause 
Had  a  vigor  about  it,  which  soon  reconcil'd 
Even  Eld — n  himself  to  a  measure  so  mild. 
So  the  snaffles,  my  dear,  were  agreed  to  nem 

con.. 
And  my  Lord  C — stl — r — gh,  having  so  often 

shone 
In  the  fettering  line,  is  to  buckle  them  on. 

I  shall  drive  to  your  door  in  these  Vetoes  some 
day. 
But,  at  present,  adieu  !  —  I  must  hurry  away 
To  go  see  my  Mamma,  as  I'm  suffer' d  to  meet  hel 
For  iust  half  an  hour  by  the  Qu — n's  host  re- 
peater 

Ch — BI    -l-IB 


LETTER  II. 

FHOM     COLONEL     M«M — H — N    TO     O \n 

FK — NC 8     L — OKIE,     ESQ. 

Dear  Sir,  I've  just  had  time  to  look 
Into  your  very  learned  Book,* 

Crown  in  the  appointment  of  Irish  Catholic  Biships  was,  a 
this  time,  very  generally  and  actively  agitated. 

*  For  an  account  of  this  extraordinary  work  of  Mr.  LMkll 
see  tile  Edinburgh  Review,  vol.  jx. 


INTERCEPfED  LETTERS. 


Ik 


Whei^in  —  a«  plain  as  man  can  speak, 
Whose  English  is  half  modem  Greek  — 
You  prove  that  we  can  ne'er  intrench 
Our  happy  isles  against  the  French, 
Till  Royalty  in  England's  made 
A  m  uch  more  independent  trade  ;  — 
In  short,  until  the  House  of  Guelph 
La)  •  Lords  and  Commons  on  the  shelfi 
And  boldly  sets  up  for  itself. 

All  that  can  well  be  understood 
In  'his  said  Book,  is  vastly  good  ; 
And,  as  to  what's  incomprehensible, 
I  dare  be  sworn  'tis  full  as  sensible. 

But,  to  your  work's  immortal  credit, 
iTie  Pr — n — e,  good  Sir,  the  Pr — n — e  has 

read  it, 
(The  only  Book,  himself  remarks. 
Which  he  has  read  since  Mrs.  Clarke's). 
Last  levee  morn  he  look'd  it  through, 
During  that  awful  hour  or  two 
Of  grave  tonsorial  preparation, 
Which,  to  a  fond,  admiring  nation, 
Sends  forth,  announc'd  by  trump  and  drum, 
The  best-wigg'd  Pr — n — e  in  Christendom. 

He  thinks  with  you,  th'  imagination 
Of  partriership  in  legislation 
Could  only  enter  in  the  noddles 
Of  dull  and  leger-keeping  twaddles, 
Whose  heads  on  Jirma  are  running  so, 
They  ev'n  must  have  a  King  and  Co., 
\nd  hence,  most  eloquently  show  forth 
On  checks  and  balances,  and  so  forth. 

But  now,  he  trusts,  we're  coming  near  a 
Far  more  royal,  loyal  era ; 
"When  England's  monarch  need  but  say, 
"  Whip  mc  those  scoundrels,  C — stl — r — gh ! " 
Or,  "  Hang  me  up  those  Papists,  Eld — n," 
Ajid  'twU  be  done  —  ay,  faith,  and  well  done. 

With  view  to  which,  I've  his  command 
To  heg.  Sir,  from  your  travell'd  hand, 
(Round  which  the  foreign  graces  swarm  ') 
A  Plau  of  radical  Reform ; 


I  "  The  tnith  indeed  wenw  to  be,  that  having  lived  ao  long 
ihroad  as  evidently  to  have  lost,  in  a  great  decree,  the  unof 
Md  native  language,  Mr.  Leckie  has  gradually  come  not 
vily  to  speak,  ttut  to  Ceel,  like  a  foreignoc"  —  Edinburgh 
Kniete. 

The  learned  Colonel  must  allude  here  to  a  deacriptiaa  of 
OM  Mysteriouo  Isle,  in  the  history  of  Abdalla,  Son  of  Hanii; 


Comi)il'd  and  chos'n  as  best  you  can. 
In  Turkey  or  at  Ispahan, 
And  quite  upturning,  branch  and  root, 
Lords,  Commons,  and  Burd^tt  to  boot. 

But,  pray,  whate'er  you  may  impart,  wtiN 
Somewhat  more  brief  than  Majai  C-rtwr-ght 

Else,  though  the  Pr e  be  long  'n  rigging, 

'Twould  take,  at  least,  a  fortnights  wigging,  -  • 
Two  wigs  to  every  paragraph  — 
Before  he  well  could  get  through  halt 

You'll  send  it  also  speedily  — 
As,  truth  to  say,  'twixt  you  and  me. 
His  Highness,  heated  by  your  work, 
Already  thinks  himself  Grand  Turk  ! 
And  you'd  have  laugh'd,  had  you  seen  how 
He  scar'd  the  Ch — nc — 11 — r  just  now, 
When  (on  his  Lordship's  entering  puflTd)  h» 
Slapp'd  his  back  and  call'd  him  "  Mufti ! " 

The  tailors  too  have  got  commands. 
To  put  directly  into  hands 
All  sorts  of  Dulimans  and  Pouches, 
With  Stishes,  Turbans,  and  Paboutches, 
(While  Y — rm — th's  sketching  out  a  plan 
Of  new  Moiutachea  h  f  Ottomane) 
And  all  things  fitting  and  expedient 
To  turkify  our  gracious  R — g — nt  t 

You,  therefore,  have  no  time  to  waste  — 
So,  send  your  System.  — 

Yours,  in  htMn, 


POSTSCRIPT. 

Befobe  I  send  this  scrawl  away, 

I  seize  a  moment,  just  to  say. 

There's  some  parts  of  the  Turkish  system 

So  vulgar,  'twere  as  well  you  miss'd  em. 

For  instance  —  in  Seraglio  matters  -  - 

Your  Turk,  whom  girlish  fondness  flatter*, 

Would  fill  his  Harem  (tasteless  fool  ij 

With  tittering,  red-cheek'd  things  from  school 

But  here  (as  in  that  fairyland. 

Where  Love  and  Age  went  hand  in  hand ;  • 


where  lueb  inveraiona  of  the  order  of  nature  are  Mid  l» 
have  Uken  place.  —  "  A  acore  of  old  women  and  the  wom 
number  of  old  men  played  here  and  there  in  the  court,  mm» 
at  chuck-farthing,  othen  at  tipcat  or  at  corkle*."—  An4 
again,  "There  is  nothing,  believe  nie,  more  engajrin/  thai 
those  lovely  wrinkles,"  Ilc  ttc  —  Set  TaU*  ^  tki  KaA 
vol  iiL  pp.  607.  60& 


184                           ^                      INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 

Where  lips,  till  sixty,  shed  no  honey, 

We  were  all  in  high  gig  —  Roman  Punch  and 

And  Grandams  were  worth  any  money,) 

Tokay 

Our  Sultan  has  much  ri^>er  notions  — 

Travell'd  round,  till  our  heads  travell'd  just  th% 

So,  let  your  list  of  sAe-promotions 

same  way ; 

Include  those  only,  plump  and  sage, 

And  we  car'd  not  for  Juries  or  Libels  —  no 

VVh    ee  reach' d  the  regulation-a^e  ; 

damme  !  nor 

Tha   is,  (as  near  as  one  can  fix 

Ev'n  for  the  threats  of  last  Sunday's  Examk^r ! 

JfroTC  Peerage  dates)  full  fifty-six. 

• 

More  good  things  were  eaten  than  s&icL  —  bui 

This  ruie's  iox  favorites  —  nothing  mere  — 

Tom  T— rrh— t 

For,  as  to  wives,  a  Grand  Signor, 

In   quoting  Joe  Miller,  you  know,   has  some 

Though  not  decidedly  without  them, 

merit ; 

^loed  never  care  one  curse  about  them. 

And,  hearing  the  sturdy  Justitiary  Chief 

Say  —  sated   with  turtle  —  "I'll  now  try  the 

beef"  — 

LETTER  m. 

Tommy  whisper' d  him  (giving  his  Lordship  a 
sly  hit) 

iTKOM    U-   GE    PR — CE    B — G T    TO    THE 

"  I  fear  'twill  be  Aww^-beef,  my  Lord,  if  you 
try  it !  " 

^^  E  miss'd  you  last  night  at  the  "  hoary  old 

And  C — md — n  was  there,  who,  that  mom 

sinner's," 

ing,  had  gone 

WTio  gave  us,  as  usual,  the  cream  of  good  din- 

To fit  his  new  Marquis's  coronet  on  ; 

ners  ; 

And  the  dish  set  before  hitri  —  0  dish  well  de- 

His  soups  scientific  —  his  fishes  quite  prime  — 

vis'd !  — 

His  pfttes  superb  —  and  his  cutlets  sublime  ! 

Was,  what  old  Mother  Glasse  calls,  "  a  calf  fe 

Li  short,  'twas  the  snug  sort  of  dinner  to  stir  a 

head  surpris'd ! " 

Stomachic  orgasm  in  my  Lord  El — b — gh, 

The  braim  were  near  Sh — ry,  and  once  had  been 

Who  set  to,  to  be  sure,  with  miraculous  force, 

tine. 

And  exclaim'd  between  mouthfuls,  "  a  iJs-Cook, 

But,  of  late  they  had  lain  so  long  soaking  in 

of  course !  — 

wine, 

"  While  you  live  —  (what's  there  under  that 

That,  though  we,  from  courtesy,  stiU  chose  to 

cover  ?  pray, look)  — 

call 

"While  you  live  —  (I'll  just  taste  it)  —  ne'er 

These  brains  very  fine,  they  were  no  brains  at 

keep  a  She- Cook. 

aU. 

'•  'TLs  a  sound  Salic  Law  —  (a  small  bit  of  that 

toast)  — 

When  the  dinner  was  over,  we  drank,  every 

"  W^hich  ordains  that  a  female  shall  ne'er  rule 

one 

the  roast ; 

In   a  bumper,  "The  venial   delights  of  Crim. 

"  For  Cookery's  a  secret —  (this  turtle's  uncom- 

Con.; " 

mon)  — 

At  which  H — df — t  with  warm  reminiscences 

«  Like  Masonry,  never  found  out  by  a  woman  ! " 

gloated, 

The  dinner,  you  know,  was  in  gay  celebration 

And  E — b'r — h  chuckled  to  hear  himself  quoted. 

Of  my  brilliant  triumph  and  H — nt's  condem- 

Our next  round  of  toasts  was  a  fancy  qu''.* 

nation  ; 

new, 

A  compliment,  too,  to  his  Lordship  the  Judge 

For  we  drank  —  and  you'll  own  'twas  benevo 

For  his  Speech  to  the  Jury  —  and  zounds  !  who 

lent  too  — 

would  grudge 

To  those  well-meaning  husbands,  cits,  parsoa^ 

Turtle  soup,  though  it  came  to  five  guineas  a 

or  peers, 

bowl. 
To  reward  such  a  loyal  and  complaisant  soul  ? 

Whom  we've,  any  time,  honor' d  by  courting 
their  dears: 

This  museum  of  wittols  was  com'ical  rather ; 

1  This  letter,  as  the  reader  will  perceive,  was  wrif  en  the 

Old  H — df — t  gave  M — ss — y,  and  I  gave  yoTO 

•&}  after  a  uiiiner  given  by  tlie  M — rq— s  of  H — d^ 

f— th— r. 

h..  bAvnt,  not  a  soul  till  this  morciiig  would 

buuge  — 
W  e  wcro  nil  fun  and  frolic,  •  -  and  eyen  the 

J e 

Laid  aside,  iot  the  time,  his  juridical  fashion, 
Aiid  through  the  whole  night  wasn't  once  in  a 

passioii  \ 

I  write  thii*  in  bed,  while  my  whiskers  are 

airing, 
Ajid  M — c '  has  a  sly  dose  of  jalap  preparing 
For   poor  T — mmy  T — rr — t  at    breakfast  to 

quaff — 
lis  I  feel  I  want  something  to  give  me  a  laugh. 
And  there's  nothing  so  good  as  old  T — mmy, 

kept  close 
To  his  Cornwall  accounts,  after  taking  a  dose. 


LETTER  IV. 

FROM    THE     HIOHT    HON.    P — TR— CK    D — OEX — K 
TO   THB   BIGHT   HON.    8IK   J — HN   N — CH — L. 

DubliM.* 

Last  week,  dear  N — oh — 1,  making  merry 

A.t  dinner  with  our  Secretary, 

WTien  all  were  drunk,  or  pretty  near 

(^The  time  for  doing  business  here), 

Says  he  to  me,  "  Sweet  Bully  Bottom  ! 

"  These  Papist  dogs  —  hicQup  —  'od  rot  'em  !  — 

"  Deserve  to  be  bespatter'd  —  hiccup  — 

«  With  all  the  dirt  ev'n  you  can  pick  up. 

"  But,  as  the  Pr — ce  (here's  to  him  —  fill  — 

"  Hip,  hip,  hurra  !)  —  is  trying  still 

"  To  humbug  them  with  kind  professions, 

"  And,  as  you  deal  in  strong  expressions  — 

"  Rogite  "  —  •*  traitor  "  —  hiccup  —  and  all  that — 

"  You  must  be  muzzled,  Doctor  Pat !  — 

•  You  must  indeed  —  hiccup  —  that's  flat."  — 

Y'es  —  "  muzzled  "  wgs  the  word,  Sir  John — 
rh'fse  fools  have  clapp'd  a  muzzle  on 
The  boldest  mouth  that  e'er  ran  o'er 
With  slaver  of  the  times  of  yore  !  '  — 
Was  it  for  this  that  back  I  went 
As  far  as  Latcran  and  Trent, 

1  Colonel  M'Mahon. 

*  ThU  leiter,  which  contained  some  very  heavy  eneloauree, 
leems  to  have  been  sent  to  London  hy  a  private  band,  and 
then  put  into  the  Twoi>enny  Poet  Office,  to  save  trouble. 
Bee  the  Appendix,  p.  141. 

*  In  sending  this  xheet  to  the  prem,  however,  I  learn  that 
the  "  mur.zie "  has  been  taken  oft,  and  the  Right  Hon. 
doctor  af  lin  let  Ioom  1 

2i 


To  prove  that  they,  who  danui'd  us  then. 

Ought  now,  in  turn,  be  damn'd  again  i  — 

The  silent  victim  still  to  sit 

Of  Gr — tt — n's  fire  and  C — nn — g's  wit. 

To  hear  ev'n  noisy  M — th — w  gabble  on. 

Nor  mention  once  the  W — e  of  Babyloo  1 

O,  'tis  too  much  —  who  now  will  be 

The  Nightman  of  No -Popery  ? 

WTiat  Courtier,  Saint,  or  even  Bishop, 

Such  learned  filth  will  ever  fish  up  ? 

If  there  among  our  ranks  be  rnc 

To  take  my  place,  'tis  thou,  Sir  John  ; 

Thou,  who,  like  me,  art  dubb'd  Right  Rem. 

Like  me  too,  art  a  Lawyer  Civil 

That  wishes  Papists  at  the  devil. 

To  whom  then  but  to  thee,  my  friend. 
Should  Patrick  *  his  Portfolio  send  ? 
Take  it  —  'tis  thine  —  his  leam'd  Portfolio, 
With  all  its  theologic  olio 
Of  Bulls,  half  Irish  and  half  Roman   - 
Of  Doctrines,  now  beUev'd  by  no  man  -- 
Of  Coimcils,  held  for  men's  salvation. 
Yet  always  ending  in  damnation  — 
(AVhich  shows  that,  since    the   world's  citM 

tion, 
Your  Priests,  whate'er  their  gentle  shammin{^ 
Have  always  had  a  taste  for  damning,) 
And  many  more  such  pious  scraps. 
To  prove  (what  we've  long  prov'd,  perhaps.^ 
That,  mad  as  Christians  us'd  to  be 
About  the  Thirteenth  Century, 
There  still  are  Christians  to  be  had 
In  this,  the  Nineteenth,  just  as  mad ! 

Farewell  —  I  send  with  this,  dear  N — oh— 1, 
A  rod  or  two  I've  had  in  pickle 
Wherewith  to  trim  old  Gr — tt — n's  jacket. — 
The  rest  shaU  go  by  Monday's  packet. 

P.  D. 


Among  the  Eticlosurea  in  the  foregoing  Letter  uxu 
the  following  "  Unantwerable  Argument  againM 
the  Papiets." 

•  •  •  • 

We'hb  told  the  ancient  Roman  nation 
Made  use  of  spittle  in  lustration ;  * 

4  A  bad  name  for  poetry  ;  but  D— gen— n  is  still  wpih  . 
Aa  Prudentius  says  upon  a  veiy  different  subject - 

Torquetur  ApoUo 
Nomine  percussua. 


Expiat 


•  LustraJibua  ante  Mlivi* 

r^aii  ML  • 


( Vide  Lactantiuni  ap.  Gallaeum  '  — 
i.  e.  you  need  not  7-ead  but  see  'em  ;) 
Now,  Irish  Papists,  fact  surprising, 
Make  use  of  spittle  in  baptizing  ; 
Which  proves  them  all,  O'Finns,  O'Fagans, 
Jonnors,  and  Tooles,  all  downright  Pagans, 
rhis  fact's  enough ;  —  let  no  one  tell  us 
To  free  such  ?ad,  salivous  fellows.  — 
No,  no  —  the  man,  baptiz'd  with  spittle, 
Ueth  no  truth  in  him  —  not  a  tittle  ! 


LETTER  V. 

FROM     THE     COUNTESS     DOWAGER     OF     C RK 

TO    L.VDY   . 


!  I've  been  just  sending 


ftlv  dear  Lady  — 

out 
About  five  hundred  cards  for  a  snug  little  Rout  — 
(By  the  by,  you've  seen  Rokeby  ?  —  this  mo- 
ment got  mine  — 
The  Mail  Coach  Edition* — prodigiously  line !) 
But  I   can't   conceive   how,  in  this  very  cold 

weather, 
I'm  ever  to  bring  my  five  hundred  together ; 
As,  unless  the  thermometer's  near  boiling  heat. 
One  can  never  get  half  of  one's  hundreds  to  meet. 
(Apropos  —  you'd  have  laugh'd  to  see  Townsend 

last  night, 
Escort  to  their  chairs,  with  liis  staff,  so  polite, 
The  "  three  maiden  Miseries,"  all  in  a  fright ; 
Poor  Townsend,  like  Mercurj',  filling  two  posts, 
Supervisor  of  thieves,  and  chief  usher  of  ghosts  .') 

But,  my  dear  Lady ,  can't  you  hit  on 

some  notion, 

At  least  for  one  night  to  set  London  in  motion  ?  — 

As  to  having  tl*  R — g — nt,  that  show  is  gone 
by- 

Besides,  I've  remark'd  that  (between  you  and  I) 

Tt?  Marchesa  and  he,  inconvenient  in  more 
ways, 

Save  taken  muoh  lately  to  whispering  in  door- 
ways ; 

Which  —  con  sid' ring,  you  know,  dear,  the  size 
of  the  two  — 

Vlakes  a  block  that  one's  company  cannot  get 
through ; 


1  I  have  taken  the  trouble  of  examining  the  Doctor's  ref-     sputi  usum  in  peccatonim  expiatione  a  Paganis  non  a  Ct 


irence  here,  and  find  him  for  once  correct.  The  following 
ire  the  words  of  his  indignant  referee  Gallffius  —  "Asserere 
aoD  veremur  sacrum  bautismum  a  Papistis  profanari,  et 


And  a  house  such  as  mine  is,  with  doorways  at 

small. 
Has  no  room  for  such  cumbersome  love  work 

at  all.  — 
(Apropos,  though,  of  love  work  —  you've  heard 

it,  I  hope. 
That  Napoleon's   old    mother'?   to   many   the 

Pope,  — 
"V\Tiat  a  comical  pair!)  —  but,  to  stick  to  my 

Rout, 
'Twill  be  hard  if  some  novelty  can't  I  e  struck  out. 
Is  there  no  Algcrine,  no  Kamchatkan  arriv'd  ? 
No  Plenipo  Pacha,  three-tail'd  and  ten-wiv'd  ? 
No  Russian,  whose  dissonant  consonant  name 
Almost  rattles  to  fragments  the  trumpet  of  fame  ? 

I  remember  the  time,  three  or  four  winters 

back, 
"When  —  provided  their  wigs  were  but  decently 

black  — 
A  few  Patriot  monsters,  from  Spain,  were  a  sight 
That  would  people  one's  house  for  one,  night 

after  night. 
But  —  whether  the  Ministers  paw'd  them  too 

much  — 
(And  you  know  how  they  spoi'  whatsoever  they 

tou»h) 
Or,  whether  Lord  G — rge  (tne  young  man  about 

town) 
Has,  by  dint  of  bad  poetry,  written  them  down 
One  has  certainly  lost  one's  Peninsular  rage  ; 
And  the  only  stray  Patriot  seen  for  an  age 
Has  been  at  such  places  (think,  how  the  fit 

cools  !) 
As  old  Mrs.  V — gh — n's  or  Lord  L — v — rp — I's. 

But,  in  short,  my  dear,  names  like  Wintztschit- 

stopschinzoudhoff 
Are  the  only  things  now  make  an  ev'ning  go 

smooth  off: 
So,  get  me   a  Russian  —  till  death  I'm  your 

debtor  —  , 

If  he  brings  the  whole  Alphabet,  so  muoh  the 

better. 
And  —  Lord!  if  he  would  but.  ^n  character  o-ip 
Off  his  fish  oil  and  candles,  he'd  quite  set  me  up 

Au  revoir,  my  sweet  girl  —  I  must  leave  you 
in  haste  — 
Little  Gunter  has  brought  me  the  Liqueurs  to 
taste. 


tn» 

tianis  man&sse." 

s  See  Mr.  Murray's  Advertisement  about  the  Mai  C(«tl 
copies  of  Uokeby. 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


\h, 


PO  STSCRIPT. 

By  the  by,  have  you  found  any  friend  that  can 

construe 
That  Latin  account,  t'other  day,  of  a  Monster  5' 
U  we  can't  get  a  Russian,  and  that  thing  in  Latin 
B'.'  not  too  improper,  I  think  I'll  bring  that  in. 


LETTER  VI. 

VAOM    ABDALLAH,*    IN    LONDON,    TO    M0HA8SAX,    IN 
ISPAHAN. 

Whilst  thou,  Mohassan,  (happy  thou  !) 

Dost  daily  bend  thy  loyal  brow 

Before  our  King  —  our  Asia's  treasure ! 

Nutmeg  of  Comfort ;  Rose  of  Pleasure  !  — 

And  bear' St  as  many  kicks  and  bruises 

As  the  said  Rose  and  Nutmeg  chooses  ; 

Thy  head  still  near  the  bowstring's  borders, 

And  but  left  on  till  further  orders  — 

Through  London  streets,  with  turban  fair, 

And  caftan,  floating  to  the  air, 

I  saunter  on,  the  admiration 

Of  this  short-coated  population  — 

This  sew'd-up  race  —  this  button'd  nation  — 

Who,  while  they  boast  their  laws  so  free, 

lieave  not  one  limb  at  liberty, 

But  live,  with  all  their  lordly  speeches, 

The  slaves  of  buttons  and  tight  breeches. 

Yet,  though  they  thus  their  knecpans  fetter, 
(They're  Christians,  and  they  know  no  better  '') 
In  some  things  they're  a  thinking  nation  ; 
And,  on  Religious  Toleration, 
I  own  I  like  their  notions  qrnte,  ' 

They  are  so  Persian  and  so  right ! 
You  know  our  Sunnites,*  —  hateful  dogs  ! 
Whom  every  pious  Shiite  flogs, 

I  Alliidine,  I  «ippo<>e,  to  the  Latin  AdvertiRcment  of  a 
Luvui  Nnliine  in  tho  newspafieni  lately. 

>  I  have  made  many  inquiries  aliout  thix  Persian  gentle- 
san,  bii;  i-aiinol  satiafnctorily  aacertain  who  he  is.  From 
bw  nations  of  Rrligioiis  I^ilierty,  howpver,  I  conchide  that 
he  is  in  importation  of  Ministcra  ;  and  he  has  arrived  Just 
(n  time  to  an\»l  the  P  o  and  Mr  L — ck— c  in  their  new 
Oriental  Fian  of  Reform.  —  ^ee  tlie  fecond  of  these  Lettem. 
How  Abdallah's  epistle  to  Ispalhtn  found  its  way  into  the 
Twopenny  Pcwt  Ran  is  more  than  I  can  pretend  to  account  for. 

'  "C  "^it  un  hnnn&te  honime,"  said  a  Turkish  governor 
»f  De  Riiytei  ;  «'c'est  grand  dommape  qu'il  soit  (-hr*tien." 

*  Sunnitet  and  Shiiu*  are  the  iwo  leading  sects  into  which 
tie  Mahometan  world  's  divided  ;  and  they  have  pone  on 
riirsine  and  (wrsecutinir  each  other,  without  any  intermis- 
«i(>ri,  for  ahoiit  eleven  hundred  years.  The  Snnni  is  the  e»- 
«t  :*twd  sect  in  Turkey,  and  the  Skia  in  Peraia ;  and  tbe 


Or  longs  to  flog '  —  'tis  true,  they  prmy 

To  God,  but  in  an  ill-bred  way  ; 

With  neither  arms,  nor  legs,  nor  (sow 

Stuck  in  their  right,  canonic  places.  * 

'Tis  true,  they  worship  Ali's  name  '  — 

Their  Heav'n  and  ours  arc  just  the  same  — 

(A  Persian's  Heav'n  is  eas'ly  made, 

Tis  but  black  eyes  and  lemonade.) 

Yet,  though  we've  tried  for  centuries  butk  - 

We  can't  persuade  this  stubborn  pack, 

By  bastinadoes,  screws,  or  nippers. 

To  wear  th'  establish'd  pea-green  slippers 

Then,  only  think,  the  libertines  ! 

They  wash  their  toes  —  they  comb  their  cLb^i, 

With  many  more  such  deadly  sins ; 

And  what's  the  worst,  (though  la.st  I  rank  it) 

Believe  the  Chapter  of  the  Blanket  ' 

Yet  spite  of  tenets  so  flagitious, 
( Which  TMist,  at  bottom,  be  seditious ; 
Since  no  man  living  would  refuse 
Green  slippers,  but  from  treasonous  views . 
Nor  wash  his  toes,  but  with  intent 
To  overturn  the  government, )  — 
Such  is  our  mild  and  tolerant  way, 
We  only  curse  them  twice  a  day 
(According  to  a  Form  that's  set). 
And,  far  from  torturing,  only  let 
All  orthodox  believers  beat  'em, 
And  twitch  their  beards,  where'er  they  ai**« 
'em. 

As  to  the  rest,  they're  free  to  do 
Whate'er  their  fancy  prompts  them  to. 
Provided  they  make  nothing  of  it 
Towards  rank  or  honor,  power  or  proflt  • 
Which  things,  we  nat'rally  expect. 
Belong  to  us,  the  Rstablish'd  sect, 
WTio  disbelieve  (the  Lord  be  thanked  !) 
Th'  aforesaid  Chapter  of  the  Blanket. 

differences  between  them  turn  chiefly  upon  those  .ai|»''iaiu 
points,  which  our  piout  ft-iend  Abdallah,  in  the  jk»  aiiirlt 
of  Shiite  Ascendency,  reprobates  in  this  letter 

*  "  Les  Sunnites,  qui  ^toient  comnie  les  CafholiqiiM  is 
Musiilrnanisme." —  DWlerbeloL 

«  "  In  conlradiiitinrtion  to  the  Sounis,  who  In  thel  /njMI 
cross  tiieir  hands  on  the  lower  part  of  the  breast,  the  tichialM 
dmp  their  arms  in  straight  lines  ;  and  as  the  8<Ninis,  at  eet- 
tain  (leriods  of  the  prayer,  press  their  forehendu  on  ih« 
ground  or  carpet,  the  Schlahs,"  tc  tcc  —  FltnUr't  K«waf« 

»  "  I.es  Turca  ne  ditestent  pas  AH  riciprnquement ;  as 
contreire,  Hi  le  reconnciasent,"  *c.  ice,  —  ChnrHin. 

•  "  The  Shiitea  wear  green  slippers,  which  the  bunnitM 
consider  as  a  great  abomination."  —  Mariti. 

»  For  these  points  of  ditTcrence,  as  well  as  fnrtte  Chap- 
ter of  the  RIanket,  I  must  refer  the  reader  not  having  t%* 
book  by  me)  to  Picart'a  Aceoant  of  the  Mabuoetsn  Sadi 


1S8 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


The  same  mild  views  of  Toleration 
Inspire,  I  find,  this  button'd  nation, 
Whose  Papists  (full  as  giv'n  to  rogue, 
And  only  Sunnites  with  a  brogue) 
Pare  just  as  well,  with  all  their  fuss, 
A  s  rasca  Sunnites  do  wi^^^h  us. 

The  tender  Gazel  I  enclose 
Is  for  my  love,  my  Syrian  Rose  — 
Take  it  when  night  begins  to  fall, 
And  throw  it  o'er  her  mother's  wall. 

GAZEL. 

Rememberest  thou  the  hour  we  pass'd,  — 

That  hour  the  happiest  and  the  last  ? 

O,  not  so  sweet  the  Siha  thorn         ' 

To  summer  tees,  at  break  of  morn, 

Not  half  so  sweet,  through  dale  and  dcU, 

To  Camels'  ears  the  tinkling  bell. 

As  is  the  soothing  memory 

Of  that  one  precious  hour  to  me. 

How  can  we  live  so  far  apart  ? 
0,  why  not  rather,  heart  to  heart. 

United  live  and  die  — 
Like  those  sweet  birds,  that  fly  together, 
With  feather  always  touching  feather, 

Link'd  by  a  hook  and  eye  ! ' 


LETTER  Vn. 

FROM    MESSRS.     L CK^-OT — N    AND    CO. 

TO ,    ESQ.* 

P  ER  Post,  Sir,  we  send  your  MS.  —  look'd  it 

through  — 
Vory  sorry  —  but  can't  undertake  —  'twouldn't 

do. 
Clever  work,  Sir !  —  would  get  up  prodigiously 

veil  — 
tta  only  defect  is  —  it  never  would  sell. 
And  though  Statesmen  may  glory  in  being  un- 

botight. 
It,,  an  Author  'tis  not  so  desirable  thought. 


1  This  will  appear  straage  to  an  English  reader,  but  it  is 
.iterally  translated  from  Abdallah's  Persian,  and  the  curious 
bird  to  which  he  alludes  is  the  Jvftak,  of  which  1  find  the 
following  account  in  Richardson  :  •  -"A  sort  of  bird,  that  is 
laid  to  have  but  one  wing ;  on  the  opposite  side  to  which 
the  male  has  a  hook  and  the  female  a  ring,  so  that,  when 
Ihey  fly,  tliey  are  fastened  together." 
«  From  motives  of  delicacy,  and,  indeed,  of  fellow-feeling, 
suppress  the  name  of  the  Author,  whose  ngected  luanu- 


Hard  times.  Sir,  —  most  books  are  too  deal 

to  be  read  — 
lliough  the  gold  of  Good  Sense  and  Wit's  smol 

change  are  fled. 
Yet  the  paper  we  Publishers  pass,  in  their  steao^ 
Rises   higher  each  day,  and  ('tis  frightful  in 

think  it) 
Not  even  such  names   as  F — tzg — r — d's   can 

sink  it ! 

However,  Sir — if  you're  for  trying  again. 
And  at  somewhat  that's  vendible  —  we  are  your 
men. 

Since  the  Chevalier  C — rr  '  took  to  marrying 

lately. 
The  Trade  is  in  want  of  a  Traveller  greatly  — 
No  job,   Sir,  more   easy  —  your  Country  once 

plann'd, 
A  month  aboard  ship  und  a  fortnight  on  land 
Puts  your  Quarto  of  Travels,  Sir,  clean  out  of 

hand. 

An  East  India  pamphlet's  a  thing  that  would 

teU  — 
And  a  lick  at  the  Papists  is  sure  to  sell  well. 
Or — supposing     you've     nothing    original    in 

you  — 
Write  Parodies,  Sir,  and  such  fame  it  will  win 

you. 
You'll  get  to  the  Blue-stocking  Routs  of  Al- 

binia  !  * 
(Mind  —  tiot  to  her  dinners  —  a  second-hand  Muse 
Musn't  think  of  aspiring  to  mess  with  the  Blues.) 
Or  —  in  case  nothing  else  in  this  world  you  can 

do  — 
The"  dense  is  in't.  Sir,  if  you  cannot » eview ! 

Should  you  feel  any  touch  of  poetical  glow, 
We've  a  scheme  to  suggest :  —  Mr.  Sc — tt,  you 

must  know, 
(Who,  we're  sorry  to  say  it,  now  works  for  tht 

Row,") 
Having  quitted  the  Borders,  to  seek  new  r© 

nown, 
Is  coming,  by  long  Quarto  stages,  to  Town ; 


script  was  enclosed  in  this  letter.  — See  the  Appendix,  p 
144. 

8  Sir  John  Carr,  the  author  of  "  Tours  in  Ireland,  Hol- 
land, Sweden,"  &c.  &c. 

*  This  alludes,  I  believe,  to  a  curious  correspondence, 
which  is  said  to  have  passed  lately  between  Alb — n — a 
Countess  of  B — ck — gh — ms— e,  and  a  certain  ingenHXU 
Parodist 

i  Paternoster  How. 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS. 


lAk 


A.nd  l>eg;innmg  with  Rokeby  (the  job's  sure  to 

pay) 
Means  to  do  ail  the  Gentlemen's  Seats  on  the 

way. 
Nc/w,  the  scheme  is  (though  none  of  our  hack- 
neys can  beat  him) 
To  start  a  fresh  Poet  through  Ilighgate  to  meet 

him ; 
Who,  bv  means  of  quick  proofs  —  no  revises  — 

-ong  coaches  — 
May  do  a  few  Villas,  before  So — tt  approaches. 
Indeed,  if  our  Pegasus  be  not  curst  shabby, 
He'll  reach,  without  found' ring,  at  least  Wo- 

burn  Abbey. 
Such,  Sir,  is  our  plan  —  if  you're  up  to  the 

freak, 
'Tis  a  match !  and  we'll  put  you  in  training  next 

week. 
At  present,  no  more  —  in  reply  to  this  letter,  a 
^.ine  will  oblige  very  much 

Yours,  et  cetera. 

^nmpU  of  tkt  Mutu 


LETTER  Vm. 


FBOM   COLONEI,   TH — M — 8   TO   

8K-T-PT — NOT — N,    ESQ. 

CuME  to  our  F^te,'  and  bring  with  thee 
Thy  newest,  best  ejpbroidery. 
Come  to  our  Fete,  and  show  again 
That  pca-grecn  coat,  thou  pink  of  men, 
Which  charm'd  all  eyes,  that  last  survey'd  it ; 
When  Br — mm — I's  self  inquir'd  "  who  made 

it  ? "  — 
When  Cits  came  wond'ring,  from  the  East, 
And  thought  thee  Poet  Pye  at  least  I 

O,  come,  (if  haply  'tis  thy  week 
For  looking  pale,)  \nth  paly  cheek ; 
Though  more  we  love  thy  roseate  days. 
When  the  rich  rouge  pot  pours  its  blaze 
Full  o'er  thy  face,  and,  amply  spread, 
1  ip»  e'en  thy  whisker  tops  with  red  — 


1  Thii  Ii«ner  encloaed  a  Card  for  Uw  Grand  Ftu  on  the 
Ml  of  Fehruar; 
>  All  amateur  actor  of  mucb  riiible  renown. 

*         Quem  tu,  Melpomene,  wniel 

Nasce  .teiu  placido  lumine,  videris,  Ilc       Hoeat. 
fbe  Man,  upon  whom  thou  hast  deign'd  to  look  funny, 

O  TmRedy'n  Muse  !  at  the  liour  of  his  birth  — 
«t  them  say  what  they  will,  that'll  the  .Man  for  my  money. 

Give  others  thy  tears,  but  let  nt  have  thy  mirth  ! 

Tbe  cr»*  "    M     ? — tes,  the  very  amusing  amateur  tra- 


Like  the  last  tints  of  dyfng  Day 
That  o'er  some  darkling  grove  delay. 

Bring  thy  best  lace,  thou  gay  Philander. 
(That  lace,  like  H — rry  Al — x— nd — r. 
Too  precious  to  be  wash'd,)  —  thy  ring*, 
Thy  seals  —  in  short,  thy  prettiest  things  I 
Put  all  thy  wardrobe's  glories  on, 
And  jield  in  frogs  and  fringe,  to  none 
But  the  great  R — g— t's  self  alone ; 
AVho  —  by  particular  desire  — 
For  that  night  only,  means  to  hire 
A  dress  from  Romeo  C — tes.  Esquire.* 
Hail,  first  of  Actors  !  '  best  of  R— g— 1» ! 
Bom  for  each  other's  fond  allegiance  ! 
Both  gay  Lotharios  —  both  good  dressers  - 
Of  serious  Farce  both  learn'd  Professors 
Doth  circled  round,  for  use  or  show. 
With  cock's  combs,  wheresoe'ei  they  go  !  * 

Thou  know'st  the  time,  thou  man  of  lor«» 
It  takes  to  chalk  a  ball-room  floor  — 
Thou  know'st  the  tim^  too,  wclladaT  • 
It  takes  to  dance  that  chalk  away.* 
The  ball  room  opens  —  far  and  nigh 
Comets  and  suns  beneath  us  lie  ; 
O'er  snow-white  moons  and  stars  we  walk 
And  the  floor  seems  one  sky  of  chalk  I 
But  soon  shall  fade  that  bright  deceit. 
When  many  a  maid,  with  busy  feet 
That  sparkle  in  the  lustre's  ray. 
O'er  the  white  path  shall  bound  and  play 
Like  Nymphs  along  the  Milky  Way  :  — 
"With  every  step  a  star  hath  fled. 
And  suns  grow  dim  beneath  their  tread  ! 
So  passeth  life  —  (thus  Sc — tt  would  write. 
And  spinsters  read  him  with  delight,)  — 
Hours  are  not  feet,  yet  hours  trip  on, 
Time  is  not  chalk,  yet  time's  soon  gone ! ' 

But,  hang  this  long  digressive  flight !  — 
I  meant  to  say,  thou'lt  see,  that  night, 
What  falsehood  rankles  in  their  hearts. 
Who  say  the  Pr e  neglects  the  art*  •  - 


gedian  here  alluded  to,  was  a  cock ;  and  vson  prr.diMty 
were  hia  liveries,  hafnem,  4cc,  covered  with  thix  omainant 

*  To  t)io!ie,  who  neither  go  to  ballii  nor  read  the  .Mutr.iri 
Poet,  it  may  be  neceaaary  to  mention,  that  the  AcKiri  of  jail 
roomn,  in  general,  are  chalked,  for  aafety  and  for  omaniHt, 
with  various  fanciful  device*. 

*  Hearts  are  not  flint,  yet  flints  are  rent, 
HeartA  are  not  steel,  yet  steel  is  bent. 

After  all,  however,  Mr.  8c — tt  may  well  say  to  the  Cnln—I 
(and,  indeed,  to  much  better  wags  than  tbe  Culonei.)  iior 


Neglects  the  arts  ?  no,  Str — hi — g,'  no ; 
Thy  Cupids  answer  "  'tis  not  so  ;  " 
And  every  floor,  that  niglit,  shall  tell 
How  quick  thou  daubest,  and  how  well. 
Bhino  as  thou  mayst  in  French  vermilion, 
Thou'rt  best  beneath  a  French  cotillon ; 
And  still  coni'st  off,  whate'er  thy  faults, 
Willi  f.ijmg  colors  in  a  Waltz. 
Ncr  nfied'st  thou  mourn  the  transient  date 
fo  thy  boit  works  assign'd  by  fate. 
While  some  chef-d'oeuvres  live  to  weary  one, 
Thim  boast  a  short  life  and  a  merry  one  ; 
Tl  eir  hour  of  glory  past  and  gone 
With  "  Molly  put  the  kettle  on  ! "  ' 

But,  bless  my  soul !  I've  scarce  a  leaf 
Of  pauer  left  —  so,  must  be  brief. 

This  festive  Fete,  in  fact,  will  be 
The  fbrnicr  Fote's  facsimile  ;  ' 
The  same  long  Masquerade  of  Rooms, 
All  trick' d  up  in  such  odd  costumes, 
(These,  P — rt — r,'*  are  thy  glorious  works  !) 
you'd  swear  Egyptians,  Moors,  and  Turks, 
Bearing  Good  Tasce  some  deadly  malice. 
Had  ciubb'd  to  raise  a  Picnic  Palace  ; 
And  each  to  make  the  olio  pleasant 
Had  sent  a  State  Room  as  a  present. 
The  same  fauteuils  and  girandoles  — 
The  f<amc  gold  Asses,''  pretty  souls  ! 
That,  in  this  rich  and  classic  dome, 
Appear  so  perfectly  at  home  ; 
The  same  bright  river  'mong  the  dishes. 
But  not  -  -  ah  !  not  the  same  dear  fishes  :  — 
Late  hours  and  claret  kill'd  the  old  ones  — 
Bo,  'stead  o*  silver  and  of  gold  ones, 
(It  being  rather  hard  to  raise 
Fish  of  that  specie  nowadays) 
Some  sprats  have  been,  by  Y — rra — th'a  wish. 
Promoted  into  Silver  Fish, 
And  Gudgeons  (so  V — ns — tt — t  told 
The  11 — g — t)  are  as  good  as  Gold .' 

Sv!  prithee,  come  —  our  F^te  will  be 
Bit  i.alf  a  Fete  if  wanting  thee. 


I   &.  foreign  artist  mucli  patronized  by  tlie  Prince  Regent. 

>  ''he  name  of  a  popular  country  dance. 

»    •  C — rl— t — n  H e  will  exhibit  a  complete  fac-nimile, 

•n  If  spot-  to  ir.lpri^r  ->niainent,  to  what  it  did  at  the  last 
Fet«.  The  same  splendid  draperies,"  &c.  &c.  —  Morning 
Post. 

*  Mr.  VVa!sh  Porter,  to  whose  taste  vas  left  the  furnishing 
fthi  ijoma  of  CarUou  House. 


APPENDIX. 

LETTER  IV.     PAGE  185. 

Among  the  papers,  enclosed  in  Dr.  B— -g — n- 
— rx's  Letter,  was  found  an  Heroic  Epistle  in 
Latin  verse,  from  Pope  Joan  to  her  Lover,  of 
which,  as  it  is  rather  a  curious  document,  I 
shall  venture  to  give  some  account.  This  fe- 
male Pontiff  was  a  native  of  England,  (or,  ac- 
cording to  others,  of  Germany,)  who,  at  an 
early  age,  disguised  herself  in  male  attire,  and 
followed  her  lover,  a  young  ecclesiastic,  to 
Athens,  where  she  studied  with  such  effect,  that 
upon  her  arrival  at  Rome,  she  was  thought 
worthy  of  being  raised  to  the  Pontificate.  This 
Epistle  is  addressed  to  her  Lover  (whom  she 
had  elevated  to  the  dignity  of  Cardinal),  soon 
after  the  fatal  accouchement,  by  which  her  Falli- 
bility was  betrayed. 

She  begins  by  reminding  him  tenderly  of  the 
time,  when  they  were  together  at  Athens  — 
when,  as  she  says, 

"  by  Ilissus'  stream 

"  We  whispering  walk' d  along,  and  learn'd  to 

speak 
'•  The  tendcrest  feelings  in  the  purest  Greek ;  - 
'•  Ah,  then  how  little  did  we  think  or  hope, 
"  Dearest  of  men,  that  I  should  e'er  be  Pope  ! 
"  That  I,  the  humble  Joan,*  whose   hcMsewLfe 

art 
"  Seem'd  just  enough  to  keep  thy  house  and 

heart, 
("  And  those,  alas,  at  sixes  and  at  sevens,) 
"  Should  soon  keep  all  the  keys  of  all  the  heav  - 

ens  ! " 

Still  less  (she  continues  to  say)  could  they  have 
foreseen,  that  such  a  catastrophe  as  had  hap- 
pened in  Council  would  befall  them  —  that  she 

"  Should  thus  surprise  the  Conclave's  grave  de- 
corum, 
"  And  let  a  little  Pope  pop  out  before  em  — 
"Pope  Innocent!  alas,  the  only  one 
."That  name  could  e'er  be  justly  fix'd  upon." 


6  The  saltcellars  on  the  Pr e's  awn  table  were  in  the 

fonn  of  an  Ass  with  panniers. 

•  Spanheim  attribute'^  the  unanimity,  with  wliich  Joa. 
was  elected,  to  that  innate  and  irresistible  charm,  by  wl\irh 
her  sex,  though  latent,  operated  upon  the  instinct  of  th» 
Cardinals  —  "  Non  vi  aliqii.1,  sed  concorditor,  omnium  in  st 
conversii  desiderio,  quae  sunt  blandienti:,  sexus  artf*,  latnuiw 
in  hie  quaiu^uam  \ " 


INTERCEPTED   LETTERS. 


19 


Bhe  then  very  pathetically  laments  the  down- 
fall ot  her  greatness,  and  enumerates  the  vari- 
ous treasures  to  which  she  is  doomed  to  bid 
farewell  forever :  — 

"But  O,  more  dear,  more  precious  ten  times 

over  — 
**  Farewell  my  Lord,  my  Cardinal,  my  Lover  ! 
"  I  made  t/iee  Cardinal  —  thou  mad'st  »/»c  —  ah  ! 
"  Hiou  mad'st  the  Papa  of  the  world  Mamma !  " 

I  liave  not  time  at  present  to  translate  any 
more  of  this  Epistle ;  but  1  presume  the  argu- 
ment M-hich  the  Right  Hon.  Doctor  and  his 
frientk  mean  to  deduce  from  it,  Ls  (in  their  usual 
convincing  strain)  that  Romanists  must  be  un- 
worthy of  Emancipation  now,  because  they  had 
a  Petticoat  Pope  in  the  Ninth  Century.  Noth- 
ing can  be  more  logically  clear,  and  1  find  that 
Horace  had  exactly  the  same  views  upon  the 
subject :  — 

RomoHus  (eheit  posteri  negabitiH  '.) 

EmaHeipatu:!  F(EitiJtM 
Fort  vallum ! 


LETl'ER  Vn.    PAGE  188. 

iHB  Manuscript,  found  enclosed  in  the  Book- 
»llerfl'  Letter,  turns  out  to  be  a  Melodrajna, 
A  two  Acts,  entitled  "  The  Book," '  of  which 
«he  Tlioatrcs,  of  course,  had  had  the  refusal, 
oeforc  it  was  presented  to  Messrs.  L — ck — ng- 
t — n  and  Co.  This  rejected  Drama,  however, 
possesses  considerable  merit,  and  I  shall  take 
the  liberty  of  laying  a  sketch  of  it  before  my 
Readers. 

The  first  Act  opens  in  a  very  awful  manner  — 
fiiite,  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  —  !Scenc,  the 
Bourbon    Chamber*  in   C — rl — t — n   House  — 

Eater  the  P e  R — g— t  solus  —  After  a  few 

broken  sentences,  he  thus  exclaims  :  — 

'  Away  —  Away  — 

Thou  hauiif'st  my  fancy  so,  thou  devilish  Rook, 
[  meet  thee  —  trace  thee,  whcresoe'er  I  look. 

'  T'lete  wa.«,  in  like  mai.ner,  a  myterioiis  BiMik,  in  the 
.t>th  rcnliir>',  wliirli  pm|ili>ycd  all  the  anxiniiM  curiosity  of 
the  le&nieri  iif  that  time.  Evnry  one  mptike  of  it ;  many 
wrote  .igain«t  i\  though  it  dune  not  ap|iear  that  any  txKiy 
had  rver  Keen  it ;  and  Grxtiuv  u  of  opinion  liiat  no  xuch 
Boon  ever  exiMod.  It  was  entitleil  "  Liber  de  trilxin  iinpos- 
toni>MT»."  ^.">oe  Morbof  Cap.  do  I.ibris  daniiiatis.)  —  Our 
Oion,-  ini>dern  niyjitery  of  "  (lie  Book "  reseinlile*  this  in 
mil)  |..irtrcul  itii ;  and.  if  (he  niimlier  of  Lawjers  employed 
ti  iJr«<viiig  |i    -p  be  suilod  ixirreclly,  a  sliglil  ulteraliui  of 


I  see  thy  damned  ink  in  Eld— u's  brow^ 

1  see  thy  foolscap  on  my  II — rtf — d*»  Spouse  — 
V — ns — tt — t's  head  recalls  thy  Itatiu-m  case. 
And  all  thy  blank  leave*  stare  from  H— d— r* 

face  ! 
WTiile,   tuiaing  here   {laving  hU  hand  on  hit 

Atari),  I  find,  ah  wretclied  elf ! 
Thy  Li»i  of  dire  Errata  in  myself. 

(  Wat/ia  the  stage  in  considerable  agitation.) 
O  Roman  Punch  !  O  potent  Cura<;ou ! 
O  Mareschino  !  Mareschino  O ! 
Delicious  drams  !  why  have  you  not  the  art 
To  kill  this  gnawing  Bookioorm  in  my  heart .' 

He  is  here  interrupted  in  his  Soliloquy  by  per- 
ceiving on  the  ground  some  scribbled  fragir.en^i 
of  paper,  which  he  instantly  collects,  and  "  by 
the  light  of  two  magnificent  candelabras "  dis- 
covers the  following  unconnected  words,  ••  If  ift 
tieglticted  "  —  ••  the  Book  "  —  •'  IVrong  Meaeuret  " 
—  *•  the  Queen "  —  "  Mr.  Lambi-rt "  —  "the  li — 
g-t." 

Ha !  treason  in  my  house  !     Curst  wordf.,  that 

wither 
My  princely  soul,  {shaking  the  papers  violently) 

■what  Demon  brought  you  hither  ? 
••  My  V/ifc ;  "  —  '•  the  Book  "  too  !  —  stay  —  s 

nearer  look  — 
(holding  the  fragments  closer  to  the  candelabra*) 
Alas  !  too  plain,  B,  double  O,  K,  Book  — 
Death  and  destruction ! 

He  here  rings  all  the  bells,  and  a  whole  legion 
of  valets  enter.  A  scene  of  cursing  and  swear- 
ing (very  much  in  the  German  style)  ensuea, 
in  the  course  of  which  messengers  arc  de 
npatchcd,  in  different  direction*,  for  the  L — rH 
Ch— no— U— r,  the  D— e  of  C— b— 1— d,  &c. 
&c.  The  intermediate  time  is  filled  up  by 
another  Soliloquy,  at  the  conclusion  of  which 
the  aforesaid  Personages  rush  on  alunned  •  the 
D — ke  with  his  stays  only  half  laced,  and  thf 
Ch — nc — 11 — r  with  his  wig  thrown  hastiU 
o\<er  an  old  red  nightcap,  "  to  maintain  ll  i 
becomin)^  splendor  of  his  office"*     Die  R--- 

the  title  into  "<i  (ri)iu«  impnstoribua "  would  produt?  i 
coinridenre  altogether  vcr}-  rr.'mitrkuble. 

*  The  »aine  chamber,  donlHleiw,  thai  wan  pretiarwl  (J 
the  reception  of  tlie  UoiirtK  ns  al  the  flr><t  (irand  F--tc,  an^ 
which  wa.x  omainenied  (all  "  for  tlio  Uelivemnre  of  Eu- 
rope ")  with  Jlriir*  dt  lis. 

»  "To  eiiaole  the  individual,  who  fKilrt«  the  i  ffir«  m 
Chancellor,  to  maintain  il  in  becoming  Kplrndor."  (.1  Urns 
laugh  )  —  Lord  Cahtlkkb  >om'«  Spt  -.h  u^oh  Uk  ViU  Oka* 
t*UvrU  Z'ili. 


tS2 


INTERCEPTED   LETTERS 


g — t  produces  the  appalling  fragments,  upon 
which  the  Ch — nc — 11 — r  breaks  out  into  ex- 
clamations of  loyalty  and  tenderness,  and  re- 
lates the  following  portentous  dream  :  — 

'Tis  scarcely  two  hours  since 

I  had  a  fearful  dream  of  thee,  my  P e  !  — 

Methought  I  heard  thee,  'midst  a  courtly  crowd, 
Bay  from  thy  throne  of  gold,  in  mandate  loud, 
•'  Worship  my  whiskers  !  "  —  (weeps)  not  a  knee 

was  there 
13ut  bent  and  worshipp'd  the  Illustrious  Pair, 
Which  curl'd  in  conscious  majesty  !  (pulls  out 

his  handkerchief  )  —  while  cries 
Uf  "  Whiskers,  whiskers  !  "  shook  the  echoing 

skies.  — 
Just  in  that  glorious  hour,  methought,  there 

came. 
With  looks  of  injur'd  pride,  a  Princely  Dame, 
And  a  young  maiden,  clinging  by  her  side. 
As  if  she  fear'd  some  tyrant  would  divide 
Two  hearts  that  nature  and  affection  tied  ! 
The  Matron  came  —  within    her    riffht    hand 

glow'd 
A  radiant  torch ;  while  from  her  left  a  load 
Of  Papers  hung  —  (wipes  his  eyes)  collected  in 

her  veil  — 
The  venal  evidence,  the  slanderous  tale, 
The  wounding  hint,  the  current  lies  that  pass 
From  Post  to  Courier,  form'd  the  motley  mass  ; 
Which,  with   disdain,  before  the  Throne  she 

throws, 
And  lights  the  Pile  beneath  thy  princely  nose. 

(  Weeps.) 
Heav'ns,  how  it  blaz'd  !    I'd  ask  no  livelier  fire, 
( With  animation)  To  roast  a  Papist  by,  my  gra- 
cious sire !  — 
But  ah  !  the  Evidence  —  (weeps  again)  I  mourn'd 

to  see  —  . 
Cast,  as  it  burn'd,  a  deadly  light  on  thee  : 
And  Tales   and  Hints  their  random   sparkles 

flung. 
And  hiss'd  and  crackled,  like  an  old  maid's 

tongue  ; 
Whue  Post  and  Courier,  faithful  to  their  fame, 
Made   up   in  stink    for  what    they  lack'd  in 

flame. 
When,  lo,  ye  Gods  !  the  fire  ascending  brisker, 
Now  singes  one,  now  lights  the  other  whisker. 
Ah  !  where  was  then  the  Sylphid,  that  unfurls 
Her  fairy  standard  in  defence  of  curls  ? 
Throne,    Whiskers,   Wig,    soon  vanish' d  into 

smoke, 
Vhe    watchman    cried   "  Past   One,"   and  —  I 

awoke. 


Here  his  Lordship  weeps  more  profusely  than 
ever,  and  the  R — g — t  (who  has  been  very  much 
agitated  during  the  recital  of  the  Dream)  by  a 
movement  as  characteristic  as  that  of  Charles 
XII.  when  he  was  shot,  claps  his  hands  to  h'jr 
whiskers  to  feel  if  all  be  really  safe.  A  Privy 
Council  is  held  —  all  the  Servants,  &c.  are  ex 
amined,  and  it  appears  that  a  Tailor,  who  had 
come  to  measure  the  R — g — t  for  a  Dress  (whioli 
takes  three  whole  pages  of  the  best  superfine 
clinquant  in  describing),  was  the  only  person 
who  had  been  in  the  Bourbon  Chamber  durinar 
the  day.  It  is,  accordingly,  determined  to  seize 
the  Tailor,  and  the  Council  breaks  ap  witli  a 
unanimous  resolution  to  be  vigorous. 

The  commencement  of  the  Second  Act  turns 
chiefly  upon  the  Trial  and  Imprisonment  of 
two  Brothers '  —  but  as  this  forms  the  under 
plot  of  the  Drama,  I  shall  content  myself  with 
extracting  from  it  the  folio-wing  speech,  which 
is  addressed  to  the  two  Brothers,  as  they  "  exeunt 
severally  "  to  Prison  ;    - 

Go  to  your  prisons  —  though  the  air  of  Spring 
No  mountain  coolness   to  your   cheeks   shall 

bring ; 
Though  Summer  flowers  shall  pass  unseen  away, 
And  all  your  portion  of  the  glorious  day 
May  be  some  solitary  beam  that  falls, 
At  morn  or  eve,  upon  your  dreary  walls  — 
Some  beam  that  enters,  trembling  as  if  aw'd, 
To  tell  how  gay  the  young  world  laughs  abroad  ! 
Yet  go  —  for  thoughts  as  blessed  as  the  air 
Of    Spring    or    Summer    /lowers    await    you 

there ; 
Thoughts,  such  as  He,  who  feasts  his  courtly 

crew 
In  rich  conservatories,  never  knew  ; 
Pure  self-esteem  —  the  smiles  that  light  within, 
The  Zeal,  whose  circling  charities  begin 
With  the  few  lov'd  ones  Heaven  has  plac'd  it 

near, 
And  spread,  till  all  Mankind  are  in  its  spnere  ; 
The  Pride,  that  suff'ers  without  vaunt  or  plea, 
And  the  fresh  Spirit  that  can  warble  free. 
Through  prison  bars,  its  hymn  to  Liberty- ! 

The  Scene  next  changes  to  a  Tailor's  Work- 
shop, and  a  fancifully-arranged  group  of  thtSf 
Artists  is  discovered  upon  the  Shopboard  — 
Their  task  evidently  of  a  royal  nature,  from  the 
profusion  of  gold  lace,  frogs,  &c.  that  lie  about  — 
They  all  rise  and  come  forward,  while  one  of 

1  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt  aiid  his  ^ruthet. 


SATTKICAL  AND  HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


\9t 


t  lem  sings  the  following  Stanzas  to  the  tone  of 
•  Derry  Down." 

My  brave  brother  TaUors,  come,  straighten  your 

knees, 
For  a  moment,  like  gentlemen,  stand  up  at  ease, 
While  I  sing  of  our  P e  (and  a  fig  for  his 

railers) 
llie    Shopboard's    delight  !    the  Maecenas    of 

Tailors ! 

Derry  down,  down,  down  derry  down. 

Some  monarchs  take  roundabout  ways  into  note. 
While  Ilia  short  cut  to  fame  is  —  the  cut  of  his 

coat ; 
Philip's  Son  thought  the  World  was  too  small 

for  his  Soul, 
But  our  R — g — t's  finds  room  in  a  lac'd  button 

hole. 

Derry  down,  &c 

Look  through  all  Europe's  Kings — thoee,  at 
least,  who  go  loose  — 

Not  a  King  of  them  all's  such  a  friend  to  the 
Goose. 

Bo,  Ood  keep  him  increasing  in  size  and  re- 
nown, 

Still  the  fattest  and  best  fitted  P e  about 

town  ! 

Derry  down,  &c. 

During  the  "  Derry  down "  of  this  last  verse, 

a  mcss'-iiger  from  the  S — c — t — y  of  S e's 

Dtfic,  rushes  on,  and  the  singer  (who,  luckily 
the  effect  of  the  scene,  is  the  very  Tailor  sus- 


pected of  the  mysterious  fragments)  is  inter- 
rupted in  the  midst  of  his  laudatory  exertions, 
and  hurried  away,  to  the  no  small  surprise  and 
consternation  of  liis  comrades.  The  Plot  now 
hastens  rapidly  in  its  development  —  the  man- 
agement  of  the  Tailor's  examination  is  highly 
skilful,  and  the  alarm,  which  he  is  made  to  be- 
tray, is  nal  ural  without  being  ludicrous.  Ths 
explanation,  too,  M-hich  he  finally  gives  is  not 
more  simple  than  satisfactory.  It  appears  that 
the  said  fragments  formed  part  of  a  self-excul- 
patory note,  which  he  had  intended  to  send  to 
Colonel  M'M n  upon  subjects  purely  profes- 
sional, and  the  corresponding  bits  (which  still 
lie  luckily  in  his  pocket)  being  produced,  and 
skilfully  laid  beside  the  others,  the  following 
billet-doux  is  the  satisfactory  result  of  their 
juxtaposition. 

Honor'd  Colonel  —  my  Wife,  who's  the  Queen 

of  uU  slatterns. 
Neglected  to  put  up  the  Book  of  new  Patterns. 
She  sent  the  wrong  Measures  too  —  shamcfulljr 

wrong  — 
They're  the  same  us'd  for  poor  Mr.  Lamber 

M'hen  young ; 
But,  bless  you !  they  wouldn't  go  half  r  }und 

the  R— g— t  — 
So,  hope  you'll  excuse  yours  till  death    most 

obedient. 

This  fully  explains  the  whole  myrtery — the 
R — g — t  resumes  his  wonted  smilfs,  and  the 
Drama  terminates  as  usual,  to  the  satisfactfiv" 
of  all  parties. 


SATIRICAL    AND    HUMOROUS    POEMS. 
sxoaazontoj:  aixoata. 


mE  INSURRECTION  OF  THE  PAPERS. 

A   DREAM. 

"  It  would  bo  impossible  fur  hiit  Royal  Highnem  to  diMll- 
gr^e  his  penion  from  the  accumulating  pile  of  papora  that 
encompassad  it." —  Loud  Caitlireaoh'i  Speech  upon  Colo 
tel  APMahonU  Appointment,  April  14,  1812. 

Last  night  I  toss'd  and  tum'd  in  bed, 
B»*  could  not  sleep  —  at  length  I  said. 


"  I'll  think  of  Viscount  C — stl— r— gh, 
"  And  of  his  speeches  —  that's  the  way.* 
And  so  it  was,  for  instantly 
I  slept  as  sound  as  sound  could  be. 
And  then  I  dreamt  —  so  dread  a  dream  T 
Fuseli  has  no  such  theme  ; 
Lewis  never  wrote  or  borrow'd 
Any  horror,  half  so  horrid  t 


194 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


Methought  the  Pr e,  in  whisker'd  state, 

Before  me  at  his  breakfast  sate  ; 

On  one  side  lay  unread  Petitions, 

On  t'other,  Hints  from  five  Physicians  ; 

Here  tradesmen's  bills,  —  official  papers. 

Notes  from  my  Lady,  drams  for  vapors  — 

The7-e  plans  of  saddles,  tea  and  toast, 

Death  warrants  and  the  Morning  Post. 

Wlien  lo  !  the  Papers,  one  and  all, 
As  if  at  some  magician's  call. 
Began  to  flutter  of  themselves 
From  desk  and  table,  floor  and  shelves  ; 
And,  cutting  each  some  different  capers, 
Advanc'd,  O  Jacobinic  papers  ! 
i*.s  though  they  said,  "  Our  sole  design  is 
"  To  suff"ocate  his  Royal  Highness  !  " 
The  lieadcr  of  this  vile  sedition 
Was  a  huge  Catholic  Petition, 
With  grievances  so  full  and  heavy. 
It  threaten'd  worst  of  all  the  bevy. 
Then  C'ommon  Hall  Addresses  came 
In  swaggering  sheets  and  took  their  aim 
Right  at  the  R — g — t's  well-dress'd  head. 
As  if  determin' d  to  be  read. 
Ne.vt  Tradesmen's  Bills  began  to  fly. 
And    Tradesmen's    Bills,    we   know,    mount 

high; 
Nay  ev'n    Death    warrants    thought  they'd 

best 
Be  lively  too,  and  join  the  rest. 

But,  O  the  basest  of  defections  ! 
His  Letter  about  "  predilections  "  — 
His  own  dear  Letter,  void  of  grace. 
Now  flew  up  in  its  parent's  face  ! 
Sliock'd  with  this  breach  of  filial  duty. 
He  just  could  murmur  «'  et  Tu  Brute  f  " 
Then  sunk,  subdued  upon  the  floor 
At  Fox's  bust,  to  rise  ro  more  ! 

I  wak'd  —  and  pray'd,  vnth.  lifted  hand, 
"  O,  never  may  this  Dream  prove  true  j 

•*  Though  pupti  overwhelms  the  land, 
"  Let  it  not  crush  the  Sovereign  too  !  ' 


1  Letter  from  his  Royal  nighnees  the  Prince  Regent  to 
Dm  Duke  of  York,  Feb.  13,  1812. 

•  ••  I  think  it  hardly  necessary  to  call  your  recollection  to 
ib9  recent  circumstances  under  which  I  assumed  the  au- 
ttiority  delegated  to  me  by  Parliament.  '  —  Prince's  Letttr. 


PARODY 

OS'   A    CELEBRATED    I^TTES.' 

At  length,  dearest  Freddy,  the  moment  is  nigh. 
When,  with  P — re — v — I's  leave,  I  may  throi* 

my  chains  by ; 
And,  as  time  now  is  precious,  the  first  thing 

I  do, 
Is  to  sit<lown  and  write  a  Avise  .etter  tc  /on 


I  meant  before  now  to  have  sent  you  this  Letter, 
But  Y — rm — th  and  I  thought  perhaps  'twculd 

be  better 
To  wait  till  the  Irish  «fFairs  were  decided  — • 
(That  is,  till  both  Ho  »se3  had  prosed  and  di- 
vided. 
With  all  due  appearance  of  thought  and  diges- 
tion) — 
For,  though  H — rtf— rd  Hoase  had  long  settled 

the  question, 
I  thought  it  but  decent,  between  me  .and  you. 
That  the  two  other  Houses  should  settle  it  too. 

I  need  not  remind  you  hoA>  cursedly  bad 
Our  aff"airs  were  all  looking,  when  Father  went 

mad;* 
A  strait  waistcoat  on  him  and  restrictions  on  me, 
A  more  limited  Monarchy  could  not  well  be. 
I  was  call'd  upon  then,  in  that  moment  of  puzzle, 
To  choose  my  own  Minister  — just  a.5  they  muzzle 
A  playful  young  bear,  and  then  mock  his  disaster. 
By  bidding  him  choose  out  his  own  dancing 

master. 

I  thought  the  best  way,  as  a  dutiful  «on, 
Was  to  do  as  Old  Royalty's  self  would  hare 

done.* 
So  I  sent  word  to  say,  i  woula  keep  the  v  hol« 

batch  in. 
The  same  chest  of  tools,  without  cleansing  :r 

patching ; 
For  tools  of  this  kind,  like  Martinus's  sconce,* 
Would  lose  all  their  beauty,  if  purified  once  ; 


'  "  My  sense  of  duty  to  our  Royal  father  soJe'.v  decided 
that  choice."  —  Pnnce's  Letttr. 

*  The  antique  shield  of  Martinus  Scriblerus,  which,  «poa 
scouring,  turned  out  to  be  only  an  old  sconce. 


And  think  — only  think — if  our  Father  should 

find, 
Upon  graciously  coming  again  to  his  mind,' 
TTiat  improvement  hid  spoil'd  any  favorite  ad- 
viser — 
rha    R — se  was  grown  honest,  or  W — stm — re- 

1 — nd  wiser  — 
rhat   R — d — r  was,  ev'n  by  one  twinkle,  the 

brighter  — 
r>x   L — V — rj) — I's  speeches  but  half  a  pound 

lighter  — 
Wh&t  a  shock  to  his  old  royal  heart  it  would  be  ! 
No  !  —  far  were  such  dreams  of  improvement 

from  mo : 
And  it  pleased  me  to  2nd,  it  the  House,  where, 

you  know,* 
There's  such  good  mutton  cutlets,  and  strong 

cura^oa,' 
That  the  Marchionecs  call'd  me  a  duteous  old 

boy, 
Aiid  my  Y — rm — th's  rod  whiskers  gtexr  redder 

for  joy. 

JTou  know,  my  dear  Freddy,  how  oft,  if  I 

tcould. 
By  the  law  of  last  Sessions  I  might  have  done 

good. - 
I  miffht  have  withheld  these  political  noodles 
From  knocking  their  heads  against  hot  Yankse 

Doodles ; 
I  miyht  have  told  Ireland  I  pitied  her  lot. 
Might  have  sooth'd  her  with  hope  —  but  you 

know  I  did  not. 
And  my  wish  is,  in  truth,  that  the  best  of  old 

fellows 
Should  not,  on  recovering,  have  cause  to  be 

jealous. 
But  find  tliat,  while  he  has  been  laid  on  the  shelf. 
We've  been  all  of  us  nearly  as  mad  as  him- 
self. 
^  JTou  smile  at  my  hopes  —  but  the  Doctors  and  I, 
Are  the  last  that  can  think  the  K — ng  ever  will 

die.* 

A  new  era's  arriv'd'  —  though  you'd  hardly 
believe  it  — 
And  all  things,  of  course,  must  be  new  to  re- 
ceive it. 


1  *  vaved  any  penonal  gratiflution.  In  onl«r  that  hit 
Maje^  mipht  refnime,  nn  liis  restoraiion  to  health,  eveiy 
^wer  an'?  prerogative,"  &.r.  —  Prince's  Letter. 

*  "  And  I  have  the  Ratinfaction  of  knowing  that  such  waa 
tw  opin'cn  uf  persona  for  wboae  Judgment,"  &c  Jtc — 


Md. 


The  'erar-writer'a  ftrorite   inch«on. 


New  villas,  new  ffites  (which  ev'n  Waithitw 

attends)  — 
New  saddles,  new  helmets,  and  —  why  not  fw«i 
friends  t 


I  repeat  it,  "  New  Friends  "  —  for  I  cam.ot  d». 

scribe 
The  delight  I  am  in  with  this  P — re— v— 1  tribe 
Such  capering !  —  Such  vaporing !  —  Suet  rigoi 

—  Such  vigor ! 
North,  South,  East,  and  West,  they  have  cut 

such  a  figure. 
That  soon  they  will  bring  the  whole  world  round 

our  ears. 
And  leave  us  no  friends  —  but  Old  Nick  and 

Algiers. 

When  I  think  of  the  glory  they've  bcam'd  on. 
my  chains, 
'Tis  enough  quite  to  turn  my  illustrious  brains. 
It  is  true  we  are  bankrupts  in  commerce  and 

riches. 
But  think    how  we   find   otir   AUics   in   new 

breeches  ! 
We've  lost  the  warm  hearts  of  the  Irish,  'tis 

granted, 
But  then  we've  got  Java,  an  island  much  wanted 
To  put  the  last  lingering  few  who  remain, 
Of  the  Walcheron  warriors,  out  of  their  pain. 
Then  how  Wellington  fights  !  and  how  squab- 
bles his  brother  ! 
For  Papists  the  one,  and  with  Papists  the  other  ; 
One  crushing  Napoleon  by  taking  a  City, 
While  t'other  lays  waste  a  whole  Cath'lic  Com- 
mittee. 
O  deeds  of  renown  ?  —  shall  I  boggle  or  flinch. 
With  such  prospects  before  me  ?  by  Jove,  not 

an  inch. 
No  —  let  EnglaiuTs  affairs  go  to  rack,  if  they  will. 
We'll  look  after  th'  affairs  of  the  Cotitinent  still 
And,  with  nothing  at  homo  but  starvation  and 

riot. 
Find  Lisbon  in  bread,  and  keep  Sicily  quiet. 

I  am  proud  to  declare  I  have  no  predilection*,* 
My  heart  is  a  sieve,  where  some  scatter'd  aSv^ 
tion« 


4  "  I  eettahily  am  the  laat  pereon  In  the  kingdoai  » 
whom  It  can  be  permitted  to  de)<pair  of  our  myal  TatherS 
recovery."—  Prince's  Letter. 

(  "  A  new  era  la  now  arrived,  and  I  cannot  but  rrfleci 
with  satisfaction,"  Scc.  —  Ihid. 

•  "  I  hare  no  predilectMina  to  indulc*, — no  neMOMaV 
to  iratiiy."  —  Ihd. 


i9C 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


dLre  just  danc'd  about  for  a  moment  or  two, 
And  the  finer  they  are,  the  more  sure  to  run 

through  : 
Neither    feel    I    resentments,   nor  wish  there 

should  come  ill 
7  0  mortal  —  except  (now  I  think  on't)  Beau 

Br — mm — 1, 
\M  0  threaten'd  last  year,  in  a  superfine  passion. 
To  cut  me,  and  bring  the  old  K — ng  into  fashion. 
Tliis  is  all  I  can  lay  to  my  conscience  at  present ; 
When  such  is  my  temper,  so  neutral,  so  pleasant, 
So  roj'ally  free  from  all  troublesome  feelings. 
So  little  encumber'd  by  faith  in  my  dealings, 
(And  that  I'm  consistent  the  world  will  allow, 
What  I  was  at  Ne\\'market  the  same  I  am  now). 
When  such  are  my  merits  (you  know  I  hate 

cracking), 
I  hope,  like  the  Vender  of  Best  Patent  Blacking, 
"  To  meet  with  the  gen'rous  and  kind  approbation 
"  Of  a  candid,  enlighten'd,  and  liberal  nation." 

By  the  hy,  ere  I  close  this  magnificent  Letter, 
(No  man,  except  Pole,  could  have  writ  you  a 

better), 
'Twould  please  me  if  those,  whom  I've  hum- 

bugg'd  so  long ' 
With  the  notion  (good  men  !)  that  I  knew  right 

from  wrong. 
Would  a  few  of  them  join  me  —  mind,  only  a 

few  — 
To  let  too  much  light  in  on  me  never  would  do  ; 
But  even   Grey's  brightness  shan't  make  me 

afraid. 
While  I've  C— md— n  and  Eld— n  to  fly  to  for 

shade  ; 
Nor  will  Holland's  clear  intellect  do  us  much 

harm. 
While  there's  W — stm — rel — nd  near  him  to 

weaken  the  charm. 
As  for  Motra's  high  spirit,  if  aught  can  subdue  it. 
Sure  joining  with  H — rtf — rd  and  Y — rm — th 

will  do  it ! 
Between  R — d — r  and  Wh — rt — n  let  Sheridan 

sit. 
And  the  fogs  will  soon  quench  even  Sheridan's 

wit : 
And  agamst  all  the  pure  public  feeling  that  glows 
Ev'n  in  Whitbread  himself  we've  a  Host  in 

Q — rge  P^ — se  ! 


1  "  I  cannot  conclude  without  expressing  the  gratification 
I  sliould  feel  if  some  of  those  persons  with  whom  the  early 
tiabits  of  my  public  life  were  formed  would  strengthen  my 
bands,  and  constitute  a  part  of  my  government" — Prince't 
UtUr. 

1  *  You  are  authorized  tv   communicate  these  sentiments 


So,  in  short,  if  they  wish  to  have  Places,  tl.ej 
may. 

And  I'll  thank  you  to  tell  all  these  matters  t(i 
Grey,» 

Who,  I  doubt  not,  will  write  (as  there's  no  tim« 
to  lose) 

By  the  twopenny  post  to  tell  Grenville  the  news ; 

And  now,  dearest  Fred  (though  I've  no  predi- 
lection). 

Believe  me  yours  always  with  truest  affection. 

P.  S.  A  copy  of  this  is  to  P — re — 1  going  '  — 
Good  Lord,  how  St.  Stephen's  ■will  ring  witb 
his  crowing: ! 


ANACREONTIC 

TO   A   PLUMASSIEU. 

Fine  and  feathery  artisan. 
Best  of  Plumists  (if  you  can 
With  your  art  so  far  presume) 
Make  for  me  a  Pr — ce's  Plume  — 
Feathers  soft  and  feathers  rare, 
Such  as  suits  a  Pr — ce  to  wear. 

First,  thou  downiest  of  men. 
Seek  me  out  a  fine  Pea-hen  ; 
Such  a  Hen,  so  tall  and  grand. 
As  by  Juno's  side  might  stand. 
If  there  were  no  cocks  at  hand. 
Seek  her  feathers,  soft  as  down, 
Fit  to  shine  on  Pr — ce's  crown ; 
If  thou  canst  not  find  them,  stupid  ! 
Ask  the  way  of  Prior's  Cupid.* 

Ranging  these  in  order  due, 
Pluck  me  next  an  old  Cuckoo ; 
Emblem  of  the  happy  fates 
Of  easy,  kind,  cornuted  mates. 
Pluck  him  well  —  be  sure  you  do  — 
Who  wouldn't  be  an  old  Cuckoo, 
Thus  to  have  his  plumage  blest. 
Beaming  on  a  R — y — 1  crest  ? 

Bravo,  Plumist !  —  now  what  bird 
Shall  we  find  for  Plume  the  third  ? 
You  must  get  a  learned  Owl, 
Bleakest  of  black-letter  fowl  — 


to  Lord  Grey,  who,  1  have  no  doubt,  will  make  tlie« 
known  to  Lord  Grenville."  —  Ibid. 

3  "  I  shall  send  a  copy  of  this  letter  immediately  to  Mi 
Perceval."  —  Ibid. 

*  See  Prior's  poem,  entitled  "  The  Dove  " 


8A'nKlC'A.\i  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


ll*< 


Bigot  bird,  that  hates  the  light,' 
Foe  to  all  that's  fair  and  bright. 
Seize  his  quills,  (so  form'd  to  pen 
Books,*  that  shun  the  search  of  men  ; 
Books,  that,  far  from  every  eye. 
In  ••  swelter'd  venom  sleeping"  lie,) 
Stick  them  in  between  the  two, 
Proud  Pea-hen  and  Old  Cuckoo. 
Now  you  have  the  triple  feather. 
Bind  the  kindred  stems  together. 
With  a  silken  tie,  whose  hue 
Once  was  brilliant  Buff  and  Blue  ; 
Sullied  now  —  alas,  how  much  ! 
Only  fit  for  Y — rm — th's  touch. 

There  —  enough  —  thy  task  is  done ; 

Present,  worthy  Q ge's  Son  ; 

Now,  beneath,  in  letters  neat. 
Write  "I  8EEVB,"  and  all's  complete. 


EXTRACTS 

FBOM  THB  DIABT  OF  A  POLITICIAK. 

JVednetdaf. 
TuKouoH  M — nch — st — r  Square  took  a  canter 

just  now  — 
Met  the  old  yellow  chariot,'   and  made  a  low 

bow. 
rhis  I  did,  of  course,  thinking  'twas  loyal  and 

civil, 
But  got  such  a  look  —  O  'twaa  black  as  the 

devil  ! 
How    unlucky !  —  incoff.   he    was    trav'Uing 

about, 
And  I,  like  a  noodle,  must  go  find  him  out. 

Iftfm.—  when  next  by  the  old  yellow  chariot  I 

ride. 
To  remember  there  if  nothing  princely  inside. 

At  Levee  to-day  made  another  sad  blunder  — 
What  can  be  .'ome  over  me  lately,  I  wonder  ? 


»  P—rc— V— 1. 

*  In  allusion  to  "  the  Book  "  which  created  lacb  &  wiua- 
Bon  at  that  period. 

«  The  men  jr.  vehicle  of  the  Pr — ce. 

*  Baron  G^ranib,  the  rivMl  of  his  R.  H.  in  whUkew. 

<  England  is  not  the  only  country  where  merit  of  this 
Kind  is  noticed  and  rewarded.  "  I  remember,"  saya  Taver- 
nier,  "  to  have  wen  one  of  the  KinR  of  Perriahi  porters, 
irhose  mustnches  were  oo  long  that  he  cotild  tie  them  bo- 
■ifgd  his  neck,  or  which  i^aaon  he  bad  a  double  pentlon." 


rhe  Pr — ce  was  as  cheerful,  as  it  all  his  life. 
He  had  never  been  troubled  with  FneuJU  or  i 

Wife  — 
"  Fine  weather,"  says  he  —  to  which  I,  who  mum 

prate, 
Answered.  "  Yes,  Sir,  but  eAamjMbU  rather,  M 

late." 
He  took  it,  1  fear,  for  he  look'd  somewhat  gn;ff, 
And  handled  his  now  pair  of  whiskers  so  rougi., 
That  before   all  the  courtiers  I  fcar'd  iey'i! 

come  off. 
And  then.  Lord,  how  Qeramb  ♦  would  triumph* 

antly  scoff! 

Mem.  —  to  buy  for  son  Dicky  some  unguent  m 

lotion 
To  nourish  his  whiskers  —  sure  road  to  pw 

motion ;  * 

Last  night  a  Concert — vastly  gay  — 
Given  by  Lady  C — stl — r— gh. 
My  Lord  loves  music,  and,  we  know, 
Has  "  two  strings  always  to  his  bow.'* 
In  choosing  songs,  the  R — g — t  nam'd 
"  Had  I  a  heart  for  faiathood  f ram' d"  — 
While  gentle  H — rtf— d  begg'd  and  pray'd 
For  "  Young  I  am,  and  tore  a/raid," 


EPIGRAM. 

What  news  to-day?  —  "  O,  worse  and  worse  — 
"  Mac '  is  the  Pr — ce's  Privy  Purse  !  "  — 
The  Pr — ce's  Purse  !  no,  no,  you  fooL 
You  mean  the  Pr — ce's  Ridicule. 


KING  CRACK*  AND  HIS  IDOLS. 

WKITTEX    AFTEK    THE    LATE    NEOOTIATION    lOS    • 
NEW   U — N — 8TRY. 

Eixo  Crack  was  the  best  of  all  possible  K  Jga, 
(At  least,  so  his  Courtiers  would  twear  to  yci 
gladly,) 


•  A  rhetorical  flgure  uaed  bf  Lord  C— nil— r— nb,  (a  am 

of  his  speeches. 
'  Colonel  M— cm — h — n. 

*  One  of  those  ante<liliivian  Princes,  with  whom  ManMk* 
and  VVhiston  seem  so  intimately  artjiiainted.  If  we  hmt 
the  Memoirs  of  Tlioth,  front  which  Maneiho  compiled  hii 
IIist<iry,  we  should  And,  I  dare  say,  that  Cmrk  was  only  • 
RpCPnt,  and  that  he,  perhaps,  succeeded  Typbon,  who  (at 
Wliiston  says)  was  ib«  last  King  of  the  Antediluvtan  U* 
naatv. 


But  Crack  now  and  thjen  would  do  het'rodox 
things, 
And,  at  last,  took  to  worshipping  Images  sadly. 

Some  broken-down  Idols,  that  long  had  been 
plac'd 
In  his  father's  old  Cabinet,  pleas'd  him  so  much, 
•  ha*  he  knelt  down  and  worshipp'd,  though  — 
such  was  his  taste  !  — 
They  were  monstrous  to  look  at,  and  rotten 
to  touch. 

And  these  were  the  beautiful  Gods  of  King 
Crack  !  — 
But  his  People,  disdaining  to  worship  such 
things. 
Cried  aloud,  one  and  all,  "  Come,  your  Godships 
must  pack  — 
"  You'll  not  do  for  m*,  though  you  may  do  for 
Kings." 

Then,  trampling  these  images  under  their  feet. 
They  sent  Crack  a  petition,  beginning  ••  Great 
Ca;sar ! 
"  We're  willing  to  worship  ;  but  only  entreat 
"  That  you'll  find  us  some  decenter  Godheads 
than  these  arc." 

"  I'll  try,"  says  King  Crack  —  so  they  furnish'd 
him  models 
Of  better  shap'd  Gods,  but  he  sent  them  all 
back  ; 
Borne  Mere  chisell'd  too  fine,  some  had  heads 
'stead  of  noddles, 
In  short,  they  were  all  much  too  godlike  for 
Crack. 

So  he  took  to  his  darling  old  Idols  again. 
And,  just  mending  their  legs  and  new  bronz- 
ing their  faces, 
In  open  defiance  of  Gods  and  of  man. 
Set  the  monsters  up  grinning  once  more  in 
their  places. 


WHATS  MY  THOUGHT  LIKE? 

Quest.  Why  is  a  Pump  like  V — so — nl  C-  -stl — 
r_gh  ? 


Answ.  Because  it  is  a  slender  thing  of  wood. 
That   up  and  down   its  awkward  arm  dotJS 

sway. 
And  coolly  spout  and  spout  and  spout  away, 

In  one  weak,  washy,  everlasting  fl.ood ! 


EPIGRAM. 

DIALOGUE     BETWEEN  A   CATHOLIC    DEI  EO ATE    AH  I' 

HIS      B T L     H OHN 88      TUB     D E     Ol 

C — B L D. 

Said  his  Highness  to  Ned,'  with  that  grim  fa».e 
of  his, 
"  Why  refuse    us    the    Veto,   dear   Catholic 
Neddy  ? " 
"  Because,  Sir,"  said  Ned,  looking  full  in  his 
phiz, 
"  You're  forbidding  enough,  in  all  conscience, 
already  !  " 

WREATHS  FOR  THE  MINISTERS. 

AN    itS'ACBEONTIC. 

Hither,  Flora,  Queen  of  Flowers  ! 
Haste  thee  from  Old  Brompton's  bowers  - 
Or,  (if  sweeter  that  abode) 
From  the  King's  well-odor'd  Road, 
Where  each  little  nursery  bud 
Breathes  the  dust  and  quaffs  the  mud. 
Hither  come  and  gayly  twine 
Brightest  herbs  and  flowers  of  thine 
Into  wreaths  for  those,  who  rule  us. 
Those,  who  rule  and  (some  say)  fool  us  — 
Flora,  sure,  will  love  to  please 
England's  Household  Deities  ! ' 

First  you  must  then,  willy-nilly 
Fetch  me  many  an  orange  lily  — 
Orange  of  the  darkest  dye 
Irish  G — fl' — rd  can  supply ;  — 
Choose  me  out  the  longest  sprig, 
And  stick  it  in  old  Eld — n's  wig. 

Find  me  next  a  Poppy  posy. 
Type  of  his  harangues  so  dozy. 
Garland  gaudy,  dull  and  cool. 
To  crown  the  head  of  L — v — rp — I, 
'Twill  console  his  brilliant  brows 
For  that  loss  of  laurel  boughs. 


'  Edward  Byn  e,  the  head  of  the  Delcgatei  of  the  Irish     too,  tells  us  that  Household  Gods  were  then,  as  they  •< 
i!!atholic.<.  1  now,  "much  given  to  War  and  Penal  StatJtM  "  -  epm^ia 

a  The  ani-ients  in  like  matmer,  crowned  their  Lares,  or  '  6ei{  xni  iroiyi/iovs  6uiitovac. 
Hong«b''ld  <V>ds.     -^^e  Juvenal,  Sat.  9,  v.  138.  —  Plutarch,  ' 


SATIRICAL   AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


191 


Whicn  they  suffer'd  (what  a  pity  !) 
Ot»  the  road  to  Paris  City. 

"Next  our  C — stl— r — gh  to  crown, 
Uring  me  from  the  County  Down, 
Wither'd  Shamrocks,  which  have  been 
Gilded  o'er,  to  hide  the  green  — 
(Such  as  II— df— t  brought  away 
From  Pall  Mall  last  Patrick's  Day  >) 
Stitch  the  garland  through  and  through 
With  shabby  threads  of  every  hue ;  — 
And  as,  Goddess  !  —  entre  twus  — 
lli»  Lordship  loves  (though  best  of  men) 
A  In  Jp  torture,  now  and  then, 
Crimp  vhe  leaves,  thou  first  of  Sirens, 
Crimp  them  with  thy  ciuling  irons. 

That's  enough  —  away,  away  — 

Had  I  leisure,  I  could  say 

How  the  oldest  rose  that  grows 

Must  be  pluck'd  to  deck  Old  Rose  — 

How  the  Doctor's  •  brow  should  smUe 

Cro^^•n*d  with  wreaths  of  camomile. 

But  time  presses  —  to  thy  taste 

I  leave  the  rest,  so,  prithee,  haste  ! 


EPIGRAM. 

tlALOOim     BETWEEN    A   DOWAOBB  AND   BBB   HAID 
ON   THE   NIOHT   OP   LOHD   T — BM — TH'S    FBTB. 

"  I  WANT  the  Court  Guide,"  said  my  lady,  "  to 
look 
"  If  the  House,  Seymour  Place,  be  at  30,  or 
20."  — 
•  We've  lost  the  Coxirt  Guide,  Ma'am,  but  here's 
the  Red  Book, 
""Where  you'll  find,  I  dare  say,  Seymour 
rtacea  in  plenty  1 " 


Certain  tinsel  imitafbnf  of  (he  Shamrock  which  are 

Jli'ributed  oy  the  Servants  of  C n  Uouse  every 

•atiick's  Day. 

*  The  ivhriiiuet  given  to  Lord  Sid  mouth. 

•  This  and  the  following  are  extracted  from  •  Work, 
wliich  may,  some  time  or  other,  meet  the  eye  of  tlie  Public 
-  entitled  "  Odes  of  Horace,  done  into  English  by  several 
Arsons  of  Fashion." 

«  auid  bel*ic«i«us  CanUber,  et  ScytbM, 

Uirt'ine  t^iiincti,  cogitet,  Hadria 
Divisiis  objectn,  remittal 
Qucrere. 


HORACE,  ODE  XI.  LIB.  H. 

rBEELT  TBAN8LATED  BY  THB  PB — CB  B — O — T. 

•  Comb,  Y — ^rm — th,  my  boy,  nerer  trocVl* 

your  brains. 
About  what  your  old  crony, 
ITie  Emperor  Boney, 
Is  doing  or  brewing  on  Muaoory'b  plains ; 

•  Nor  tremble,  my  lad,  at  the  state  of  our  gimn- 

aries  : 
Should  there  come  famine, 
Still  plenty  to  cram  in 
You  always  shall  have,  my  dear  Lord  cf  the 

Stannaries. 

Brisk  let  tis  rerel,  while  revel  we  may ; 

•  For  the  gay  bloom  of  fifty  won  passes  away 

And  then  people  get  fat. 
And  infirm,  and  —  all  that, 
'  And  a  wig  (I  confess  it)  so  clumsily  sits. 
That  it  frightens  the  little  Loves  out  of  th-' 
wits; 

•  Thy  whiskers,  too,  Y— rm— th !  —  alas,  oren 

they. 
Though  so  rosy  they  bum* 
Too  quickly  must  turn 
(What  a  heart-breaking  change  for  thy  whis- 
kers!) to  Grey. 

•  Then  why,  my  Lord  Warden,  O,  why  should 
you  fidget 

Yotur  mind  about  matters  you  don't  under- 
stand ? 
Or  why  should  you  write  yourself  down  foi 
an  idiot. 

Because  "you,"  forsooth,  "hat$  the  pen  *» 
your  hand  !  " 

Think,  think  how  much  better 
Than  scribbling  a  lAtter, 


Nee  trepide*  in  usbm 
Poacentli  mri  pauca. 

Pugitntn 
Levis  Juventu  et  decor 

Pellente  laacivoi  amofM 
Canitia. 

Neque  nno  Luna  ruitiu  nlMt 
Vultu. 


Quid  rtemifl 
ComdUU  animum  btifM  ' 


too 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


CWhich  both  you  and  I 
Should  avoid  by  the  by,) 
How  much  pleasanter  'tis  to  sit  under  the  bust 
Of  old  Charley,*  my  friend  here,  and  drink 
like  a  new  one  ; 
WTiile  Charley  looks  sulky,  and  frowns  at  me, 
just 
Ax  the  Ghost  in  the  Pantomime  frowns  at 
Don  Juan. 

*  To  crown  us,  Lord  "Warden, 
In  C — mb — rl — nd's  garden 

Grows  plenty  of  monk's  hood  in  yenomouB 
sprigs : 
While  Otto  of  Roses 
Refreshing  all  noses 
rihall  sweetly  exhale  from  our  whiskers  and 
wigs. 

What  youth  of  the  Household  will  cool  oar 
Noyau 
In  that  streamlet  delicious. 
That  down  'midst  the  dishes, 
All  full  of  gold  fishes. 
Romantic  doth  flow  ?  — 

*  Or  who  will  repair 

Unto  M ch r  Sq e. 

And  see  if  the  gentle  Marchesa  be  there  ? 

Go  —  bid  her  haste  hither, 

*  And  let  her  bring  with  her 


Cur  non  sub  xlta  vel  platano,  vel  bae 
Pinu  jicentes  sic  teinere. 
Charles  Pox. 

Rosi 
Cauos  odorati  capillos, 

Dum  licet,  Assyriaque  nardo 
PoUinius  uncti. 

Quis  puer  ocius 
Restinguet  ariicntis  Faleriii 
Pocula  pratertunte  hjmpha  1 

Quis eliciet  domo 

Lyden  i 

El)uma,  die  age,  cum  lyra  (qu  liar-* 
Maturet. 

Incointam  Lacsnee 
More  coraam  religata  nodo. 
Integer  vitse  scelerisque  purus. 

Non  eget  Mauri  jaculis,  neque  arcu. 
Nee  venenatis  gravida  sngittis, 
Fusee,  pliaretra. 

8ive  per  Pyrtes  iter  aestuosas, 
Sive  facturus  per  luliospitalem 
Daucasuin,  vel  qua;  loca  fabulosus 
Lambjt  Ilvdaspea. 


The  newest  No-Popery  Sennon  that's  going  — 
'   O,  let  her  come,  with  her  dark  tresses  flowing, 
All  gentle  and  juvenile,  curly  and  gaj'. 
In  the  manner  of —  Ackermann's  Dresses  foi 
May! 

HORACE,  ODE  XXII.  LIB.  I 

FKEELY  TRANSLATED  BY  LORD  ELD N 

'  The  man  who  keeps  a  conscience  pure, 
(If  not  his  own,  at  least  his  Prince's,) 
Through  toil  and  danger  walks  secure, 
Looks  big  and  black,  and  never  winces. 

•  No  want  has  he  of  sword  or  dagger, 
Cock'd  hat  or  ringlets  of  Gcramb  ; 
Though  Peers  may  laugh,  and  Papists  swaggei 
He  doesn't  care  one  single  d-mn. 

'°  Whether  midst  Irish  chairmen  going, 
Or  through  St.  GUes's  alleys  dim, 
'Mid  drunken  Sheelahs,  blasting,  blowing, 
.    No  matter,  'tis  all  one  to  him 

"  For  instance,  I,  one  evening  late, 
Upon  a  gay  vacation  sally, 
Singing  the  praise  of  Church  and  State, 
Got  (God  knows  how)  to  Cranbourne  AlleT 

When  lo  !  an  Irish  Papis',  darted 

Across  my  path,  gaunt,  grim,  and  big  — 


The  Noble  Translator  had,  at  first,  laid  the  scene  of  thoM 
imagined  dangers  of  his  JIan  of  Conscience  among  the  Pa- 
pists of  Spain,  and  had  translated  the  words  "qua;  loca /aftn- 
foaiM  lambil  Ilydaspes  "  thus  —  "  The  fabling  Spaniard  lick* 
tlie  French  ; "  but,  recollecting  that  it  is  our  interest  ju!>< 
now  to  be  respectful  to  Spanish  Catholics  (though  there  ii 
certainly  no  earthly  reason  for  our  being  even  commonly 
civil  to  Irish  ones),  he  altered  the  passage  us  it  stands  at 
present, 
n  Namque  me  sIlvSl  lupus  in  Sabini. 

Dum  meam  canto  Lalagen,  et  ultra 
Terminum  curis  vagor  expeditis,    , 
Fugit  inennem. 

I  cannot  help  calling  the  reader's  attention  to  the  pec'iliai 
ingenuity  with  which  these  lines  are  paraphiased  Not  to 
mention  the  happy  conversion  of  the  Wolf  into  a  Papist, 
(seeing  tliat  Romulus  was  suckled  by  a  wolf,  that  Ri>ro« 
was  fo.mded  by  Romulus,  and  that  the  Poi)e  has  always 
reigned  at  Rome,)  there  is  something  particularly  nea'  in 
supposing  "ultra  terminum  "  to  mean  vacation  time;  and 
then  the  modest  consciousness  with  which  the  Noble  and 
Learned  Translator  has  avoided  touching  upon  the  word« 
"  curis  expeditis,''^  (or,  as  it  has  been  otherwise  read,  "  cauxit 
expeditis,")  and  the  felicitous  idea  of  his  lieing  "inermw' 
when  "  without  his  wig,"  are  altogether  the  most  delectabi 
specimens  of  paraphrase  in  our  languige. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


I  did  but  frown,  and  off  he  started, 
Scar'd  at  me,  even  without  my  wig. 

Yet  a  more  fierce  and  raw-bon'd  dog 
Goes  not  to  Mass  in  Dublin  city, 

Nor  shakes  his  brogue  o'er  Allen's  Bog, 
Nor  spouts  in  Catholic  Committee. 

O,  place  me  midst  O'Rourkes,  O'TooIes, 
The  ragged  royal  blood  of  Tara  ; 

Or  i)lace  me  where  Dick  M — rt — n  rules 
The  houseless  wilds  of  Connemara ; 

Of  Church  and  State  I'll  warble  still. 

Though  cv'n  Dick  M— rt — n's  self  should 
grumble  ; 

Sweet  Church  and  State,  like  Jack  and  Jill, 

So  lovingly  upon  a  hill  — 
Ah  !  ne'er  like  Jack  and  Jill  to  tumble  ! 


NEW   COSTUME  OF  THE  MINISTERS. 

—  Notrm  moiutra  creaviL 

Otio.  Metamorpk.  L  i.  v.  437. 

Hjltino  sent  off  the  troops  of  brave  Major 
Camac, 

With  a  swinging  horsetail  at  each  valorous  back, 

Ajid  such  helmets,  God  bless  us  !  as  never 
deck'd  any 

Male  creature  before,  except  Signor  Giovanni  — 
'  Let's  sec,"  said  the  It^g— t,  (like  Titus,  per- 
plexed 

With  the  duties  of  empire,)  "  whom  shall  I 
dress  next  ? " 


1  Quale  pnrtentum  neqiie  militaris 

Daiiiii<i8  latisi  alit  Ksculetin, 
N«c  Jubie  telliiii  generat  leonum 

AriUa  nutrix. 
Pone  me  pigri!)  iihi  nulla  campi* 
Artmr  zmiva  rerreatur  aura : 
Quod  iatus  inundi,  nebulc,  maluaque 

Jupiter  urget. 

I  must  here  remark,  that  the  laid  Dick  M — rt — n  being  a 
rary  gcod  Tellow,  it  was  nut  »t  all  fair  to  maJce  a  "  malui 
laoiter  "  of  him 

S  Uulce  ridcntem  I^lagen  amabo, 

Oulce  luqueiitem. 
There  cannot  bo  imagined  a  more  happy  illuRtration  of 
tfte  iiioeparal  ility  of  Church  and  State,  and  Iheir  (what  ia 
■•Jled)  "  Btaiidiiig  and  falling  together,"  tJiaii  thia  ancient 
26 


He  looks  in  the  glass  —  but  perfection  is  there, 
Wig,  whiskers,  and  chin  tufts  all  right  to  • 

hair;* 
Not  a  single  ex-curl  on  his  forehead  he  traces  - 
For    curls   are  like  Ministers,  strange  as  tht 

case  is. 
The  falser  they  are,  the  more  firm  in  their  places. 
His  coat   ho  next  views  —  but  tLe  coat  who 

could  doubt? 
For  his  Y — rm — th's  own  Frenchified  hand  rut 

it  out ; 
Every  pucker  and  seam  were  made  matteu  of 

state, 
And  a  Grand  Household  Council  was  held  on 

each  plait 

Then  whom  shall  ho  dress  ?  shall  he  now  rig 
his  brother. 

Great  C — mb — rl — d's  Duke,  with  some  kick- 
shaw or  other  ? 

And  kindly  invent  him  more  Christian-lik« 
shapes 

For  his  feather-bed  neckcloths  and  pillory  capes. 

Ah !  no  —  here  his  ardor  would  meet  with 
delays, 

For  the  Duke  had  been  lately  pack'd  up  in  new 
Stays, 

So  complete  for  the  winter,  he  saw  very  plain 

'Twould  be  devilish  hard  work  to  unpack  him 
again. 

So,  what's  to  be  done  ?  —  there's  the  Minis- 
ters, bless  'em  I  — 

As  he  made  the  puppets,  why  should't  he  drui 
'em  ? 

"An  excellent  thought!  —  call  the  tailors  — 
be  nimbjC  — 

"Let  Cum  bring  his  spyglass,  and  H — rtf— d 
her  thimble ; 


apologue  of  Jack  and  JilL    Jack,  of  courw,  r»i  w»nti  tk« 
State  in  this  ingenious  little  Allegory. 

Jack  fell  down, 

And  broke  his  Crtntn, 
And  Jill  came  tumbling  after 

»  That  model  of  Prince*,  th«  Empemr  Comiwdua,  WM 
particularly  luxurious  in  the  dreseing  and  ornamenting  f/ 
his  hair.  His  conscience,  however,  would  not  sufTer  biiB 
to  truift  himself  with  a  barber,  and  he  used,  accordingly,  Ic 
bum  off  his  beard —  "  timore  tonaoris,"  says  Lam|indiu& 
(Hut  Jlu/ruH.  Scriptor.)  The  dissolute  iEIius  Venis,  too, 
was  equally  attentive  to  the  decoration  of  his  wig.  (6*e 
Jul.  Capitolin.)— Indeed,  this  was  not  the  tnly  princely 
trait  in  the  character  of  Verus,  u  he  had  likewise  a  mart 
hearty  and  dignified  contempt  for  bis  Wifc  —  8«e  W«  h» 
suiting  answer  to  her  in  Spartianua. 


102 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


While  Y — rm — th  shall  give  us,  in  spite  of 
all  quizzers, 

'  The  last  Paris  cut  with  his  true  Gallic  scis- 
sors " 

no  sayii  g,  he  calls  C — stl — r — gh,  and  the  rest 
i>f  his  heaven-born  statesmen,  to  come  and  be 

dress' d. 
W  lale  Y — rm — th,  with  snip-liko  and  brisk  ex- 
pedition, 
Cuts  up,  all  at  once,  a  large  Cath'lic  Petition 
In   long   tailors'   measures,    (the    P — e   crying 

«•  Well  done  !  ") 
And  first  pUa  m  hand  my  Lord   Chancellor 
Eld— n. 
#  *  *  « 


CORRESPONDENCE 
BETWEEN  A   LADY  AND  GENTLEMAN, 

trON   THE    ADVAXTAOE    OF    (WHAT    IS    CALLED) 
"  HAVING    LAW  '    OX   ONe's   BIDE." 

The  Gentleman's  Proposal. 

"  Legge  aurea, 
S'ei  place,  ei  lice." 

Come,  fly  to   these  arms,  nor  let  beauties   so 
bloomy 
To  one  frigid  owner  be  tied  ; 
Your  prudes  may  revile,  and  your  old  ones  look 
gloomy, 
But,  dearest,  we've  Law  on  our  side. 

O,  think  the  delight  of  two  lovers  congenial, 

Whom  no  dull  decorums  divide  ; 
Their  error  how  sweet,  and  their  raptures  how 
veiiial, 

When  once  they've  got  Law  on  their  side. 

Tis  a  thing,  that  in  every  King's  reign  has  been 
done,  too : 
Then  why  should  it  now  be  decried  ? 
If  the  Father  has  done  it,  why  shouldn't  the 
Son, too  ? 
For  BO  argues  Law  on  our  side. 

And,  ev'n  should  our  sweet  violation  of  duty 

By  cold-blooded  jurors  be  tried, 
Vhsy  can  but  bring  it  in  "  a  misfortune,"  my 
beauty. 

As  long  as  we've  Law  on  our  side. 

1  In  allusion  to  Lori  Ell— nb— gh. 


The  Lady's  Answer. 

Hold,  hold,  my  good  Sir,  go  a  little  more  sloirly 
For,  grant  me  so  faithless  a  bride. 

Such  sinners  a"  -"ve,  are  a  little  too  lowly, 
To  hope  to  have  Law  on  our  side. 

Had  you  been  a  great  Prince,  to  whose  r.» 
shining  o'er  'em 
The  People  should  look  for  their  guide, 
Then  your  Highness  (and  welcome  !)  might  kicll 
down  decorum  — 
You'd  always  have  Law  on  your  side. 

Were  you  ev'n   an  old  Marquis,  in  mischief 
grown  hoarj', 

Whose  heart,  though  it  long  ago  died 
To  iho  pleasures  of  vice,  is  alive  to  its  glory  — 

You  still  would  have  Law  on  your  side. 

But  for  you,  Sir,  Crim.  Con.  is  a  path  full  of 
troubles ; 
By  my  advice  therefore  abide. 
And  leave  the  pursuit  to  those   Princeu   suiJ 
Nobles 
Who  have  such  a  Law  on  their  side. 


OCCASIONAL  ADDRESa 

FOR  THE  OPENING  OP  THE  NEW   rHHATSB 
OF  ST.  ST— PlI— N, 

INTEXDED  to  have  BEEX  8P0KEX  B\  THE  PRO- 
PRIETOK  IN  FULL  COSTUME,  ON  THE  24tH  01 
NOVEMBER,    1812. 

This  day  a  New  House,  for  j-our  edification. 
We    open,   most    tliinking    and    right-headed 

nation ! 
Excuse  the  materials  —  though  rotten  and  bad. 
They're  the  best  that  for  money  just  now  could 

be  had ; 
And,  if  echo  the  charm  of  such  houses  should  Le 
You  will  find  it  shall  echo  my  speech  to  a  T. 

As  for  actors,  we've  got  the  old  Company  yet. 
The  same  motley,  odd,  tragi-comical  sec ; 
And  consid'ring  they  all  were  bui,  clerks  t'othei 

day. 
It  is  truly  surprising  how  well  they  can  piay. 
Our  Manager,*  (he,  who  in  Ulavcr  was  nurs'd 
And  sung  Erin  go  Brah  for  the  galleries  first, 

a  Lord  C— atl— r— «h. 


But  on  fintUng  PiW-intcrest  a  much  better  thing, 
C'hang'd  his  note  of  a  sudden,  to  God  iave  the 

King,) 
Still  wise  as  he's  blooming,  and  fat  as  he's  clever, 
Himself  and  his  speeches  as  leiujthij  as  ever, 
Hero  offers  you  still  the  full  use  of  his  breath. 
Your  dfcvotcd  and  long-winded  proser  till  death. 

Y  ou  remember  last  season,  when  things  went 

perverse  on, 
We  had  to  engage  (as  a  block  to  rehearse  on) 
One  Mr.  V — ns — tt — t,  a  good  sort  of  person, 
Who's  also  employ'd  for  this  season  to  play. 
In  "  liaising  the   Wind,"'  and  **  the  Devil  to 

Pay."  » 
We  expect  too  —  at  least  we've  been  plotting 

and  planning  — 
To  get  that  great  actor  from  Liverpool,  C — n- 

n— g; 
And,  as  at  the  Circus  there's  nothing  attracts 
Like  a  good  tingle  combat  brought  in  'twixt  the 

acts, 
U  the  Manager  should,  with  the  help  of  Sir 

P — ph — m, 
Get  up  new  divertiona,  and  C — nn — g  should 

stop  'em, 
\V'bo  knows  but  we'll  have  to  announce  in  the 

papers, 
•*  Grand  fight  —  second  time  —  with  additional 

capers." 

Be  your  taste  for  the  ludicrous,  humdrum,  or 

sad, 
There  is  plenty  of  each  in  this  House  to  be  had. 
Where  our  Manager  ruleth,  there  weeping  will 

be. 
For  a  dead  hand  at  tragedy  always  was  he  ; 
And  there  never  was  dealer  in  dagger  and  cup. 
Who  so  smilinglg  got  all  his  tragedies  up. 
His  powers  poor  L-eland  will  never  forget. 
And  the  widows  of  Walcheren  weep  o'er  them 

yet. 

So  much  for  the   actors ;  —  for  secret   ma- 
chinery, 
I'raps,  and  deceptions,  and  shifting  of  scenery, 
Y — rm — th  and  Cam  are  the  best  we  can  find, 
To  transact  all  that  trickery  businpss  behind, 
rhe  former's  employ'd  too  to  teach  us  French 

jig». 
Keep  the  whiskers  in  curl,  and  look  after  the 
wigs. 


•  He  had 
■hfquer 


ently  been  appointed  Chancellor  of  the  Ez- 


In  taking  ray  leave  now,  I've'only  to  say, 
A  few  Seats  in  the  lloxue.,  not  as  yet  sold  awiy, 
May  be  had  of  the  Manager,  Pat  C — stl — r — f» h 


THE  SALE  OF  THE  TOOLS. 

Iiutrumeuta  regni.  —  Tacitus. 

Hebe's  a  choice  set  of  Tools  for  you,  Ge'mmen 

and  Ladies, 
They'll  fit  you  quite  handy,   whatever   youi 

trade  is ; 
(Except  it  be  Cabinet  making  ;  —  no  doubt, 
Li  that  delicate  service  they're  rather  worn  out ; 
Though  their  owner,  bright  youth !  if  he'd  ha^J 

his  own  will, 
"Would  have  bungled  away  with  them  joyouslj 

stiU.) 
You  can  see  they've  been  pretty  well  hack'd  ■ 

and  alack ! 
What  tool  is  there  job  after  job  will  not  hack  ? 
Their  edge  is  but  dullish,  it  must  be  confess' d. 
And  their  temper,  like  E nb'r h's,  noni 

of  the  best ; 
But  you'll  find  them  good  hard-working  Tools, 

upon  trying, 
Wer't  but  for  their  hraat,  they  are  well  wortt. 

the  buying ; 
They're  famous  for  making  blind*,  tlidert,  anc* 

tereena. 
And  are,  some  of  them,  excellent  turning  m* 

chines. 

The  first  Tool  I'll  put  up  (they  call  it  a  Cht» 

cellar) 
Heavy  concern  to  both  purchaser  and  seller. 
ITiough  made  of  pig  iron,  yet  worthy  of  note  'l^ 
'Tis  ready  to  melt  at  a  half  minute's  notice.' 
Who  bids  ?     Gentle  buyer  !  'twill  turn  as  thou 

shapest ; 
'Twill  make  a  good  thumbscrew  to  torture   i 

Papist ; 
Or  else  a  crampiron,  to  stick  in  the  wall 
Of  some  church  that  old  women  are  fearful  wU' 

faU; 
Or  better,  perhaps,  (for  I'm  guessing  at  ran- 
dom,) 
A  heavy  drag  chain  for  some  LaMryei'a  old  TIm* 

dem. 
Will  nobody  bid  .'     It  is  cheap,  I  am  sure.  Sir, 
Once,  twice,  —  going,  going,  —  thrice,  gone  1  — 

it  is  yours,  Sir. 

t  An  aOiuion  to  Lord  Eld— a>i  lachiynoM  i«nd«nciM 


2C1 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


To  pay  ready  money  you  sha'n't  be  distress' d, 
As  a  biU  at  lonff  date  suits  the  Chancellor  best._ 

Come,  Where's  the  next  Tool  ?  —  O,  'tis  here 

in  a  trice  — 
This  implement,  Ge'mmen,  at  first  was  a  Vice  ; 
(A  tenacious  and  close  sort  of  tool,  that  will  let 
Nothing  out  of  its  grasp  it  once  hajjpens  to  get ;) 
But  it  since  has  received  a  new  coating  of  Tin, 
Bright  enough  for  a  Prince  to  behold  himself  in. 
Come,  what  shall  we  say  for  it  ?  briskly  !  bid  on, 
We'll  the  sooner  get  rid  of  it  —  going  —  quite 

g5ne. 
God  be  -with  it,  such  tools,  if  not  quickly  knock' d 

down, 
Might  at  last  cost  their  owner  —  how  much  ? 

why,  a  Crown! 

The  next  Tool  I'll  set  up  has  hardly  had  hand- 
sel or 
Trial  as  yet,  and  is  also  a  Chancellor  — 
Such  dull  things  as  these  should  be  sold  by  the 

gross ; 
Yet,  dull  as  it  is,  'twill  be  found  to  shave  close. 
And  like  other  close  shavers,  some  courage  to 

gather, 
This  blade  first  began  by  a  flourish  on  leather.^ 
You  shall  have  it  for  nothing  —  then,  marvel 

with  me 
At  the  terrible  tinkering  work  there  must  be. 
Where  a  Tool  such  as  this  is  (I'U  leave  you  to 

judge  it) 
Is  placed  by  ill  luck  at  the  top  of  the  Budget ! 


LITTLE  MAN  AND  LITTLE  SOUL. 

A  DALX,AD. 

To  t\t  lur.t  of  "  There  teas  a  little  laan,  and  ft«  loooV  a  little 
maid." 

DEDICATED    TO    THE    HT.  HON.  CH KL S    ABB — T. 

Arcades  ambo 
Et  cant-are  pares. 

I8I3. 
I'hebi!  was  a  little  Man,  and  he  had  a  little  Soul, 
i^nd  he  said,  "  Little  Soul,  let  us  try,  try,  try, 
*«  Whether  it's  within  our  reach 
"  To  make  up  a  little  Speech, 
•  Just  between  little  you  and  Uttle  I,  I,  I, 
«•  Just  between  little  you  and  little  I !  " 


1  "  Of  tl'.e  taxes  proposed  by  Mr.  Vansittart,  that  princi- 
^Uy  opix)sed  in  Parliament  was  tlie  additional  duty  on 
Wither '  — jSnn.  Rtgister. 


Then  said  his  little  Sotd, 
Peeping  from  her  little  hole, 
"  I  protest,  little  Man,  you  are  stout,  stout,  stoul 
"  But,  if  it's  not  uncivil, 
"  Pray  tell  me  what  the  devil 
<<  Must  OMX  little,  little  speech  be  about,  1  out, 
bout, 
"  Must  our  little,  little  speech  be  about  ? " 

The  little  Man  look'd  big. 
With  the  assistance  of  his  wig. 
And  he  call' d  his  little  Soul  to  order,  order,  order 
Till  she  fear'd  he'd  make  her  jog  in 
To  jail,  like  Thomas  Croggan, 
(As  she  wasn't  Duke  or  Earl)  to  reward  her, 
ward  her,  ward  her. 
As  she  wasn't  Duke  or  Earl,  to  reward  her. 

The  little  Man  then  spoke, 
"  Little  Soul,  it  is  no  joke, 
"  For  as  sure  as  J — cky  F — U — r  loves  a  sup 
sup,  sup, 
"  I  will  tell  the  Prince  and  People 
«« "What  I  think  of  Church  and  Steeple, 
"  And  my  little  patent  plan  to  prop  them  up; 
up,  up, 
"  And  my  little  patent  plan  to  prop  them  up.'' 

Away  then,  cheek  by  jowl. 
Little  Man  and  little  Soul 
Went  and  spoke  their  little  speech  to  a  little, 
tittle,  tittle. 
And  the  world  all  declare 
That  this  priggish  little  pair 
Never  yet  in  all  their  lives  look'd  so  little,  little 
little. 
Never  yet  in  all  their  lives  look'd  so  little ! 


REENFORCEMENIS  FOR  LORD 
WELLINGTON. 

Suosque  tibi  commendat  Troja  Penates 
IIos  cape  fatorura  coniites.  Vivai^ 

As  recruits  in  these  times  are  not  easily  got. 
And  the  Marshal  must  have  them  —  pray,  why 

should  we  not. 
As  the  last,  and,  I  grant  it,  the  worst  of  our  loam 

to  him, 
Ship  off  the  Ministry,  body  and  bones  t  ?  him  p 
There's  not  in  all  England,  I'd  venture  to  swear; 
Any  men  ab  could  half  so  conveniently  sprtr?  . 


SATIRICAL  AND   mJMOROUS  POEMS. 


20« 


And,  though  they've  leen  helping  the  French 

for  years  past. 
We  may  thas  make  'them  useful  to  England  at 

last. 
C — 8  3 — r — gh  in  our  sieges  might  save  some 

disgraces, 
Being  us'd  to  the  taking  and  keeping  of  placet; 
And  Volunteer  C — nn — g,  still  ready  for  joining, 
Might  show  oif  his  talent  for  sly  undermining. 
Could  the  Household  but  spare  us  its  glory  and 

pride, 
Old  H  — df — t  at  horn  tcorkt  again  might  be  tried, 
Antl  the  Ch — f  J  — st — o  make  a  bold  charge  at 

his  side  : 
While  V — ns — tt — t  could  victual  the  troops 

upon  tick. 
And  the  Doctor  look  after  the  baggage  and  sick. 

Nay,  I  do  not  see  why  the  great  K — g — t 
himself 

Should,  in  times  such  as  these,  stay  at  home  on 
the  shelf; 

Though  through  narrow  defiles  he's  not  fitted 
to  pass. 

Yet  who  could  resist,  if  he  bore  down  en  maate  t 

And  though  oft,  of  an  evening,  perhaps  he  might 
prove, 

Like  ou(  Spanish  confcd'rates,  "unable  to 
move,"  ' 

Yet  there's  one  thing  in  war  of  advantage  un- 
bounded, 

VVliich  is,  that  he  could  not  with  ease  be  sur- 
rounded. 

In  my  next  I  shall  sing  of  their  arms  and 
equipment ; 
At  present  no  more,  but  —  good   luck  to  the 
shipment ! 


HORACE,   ODE  I.   LIB.   lU. 

A    FBAGMEXT. 

Odi  pmfaniiin  vulgiu  et  arceo ; 
Favetfl  linRUif) :  carmiiia  iion  prius 
Audita  Miisariim  nacerdoa 
Virginilmg  piierisque  ranto. 
Regum  timendonim  in  proprioa  gregM, 
RegeH  in  ipaos  imperium  est  Jovia. 

1  The  rhararter  ^iven  to  the  Spaniah  aoldier,  in  Sir  John 
Murray's  menuiralile  despatch. 


1613 
I  HATE  thee,  O,  Mob,  as  my  Lady  hates  delf ; 
To  Sir  Francis  I'll  give  up  thy  claps  and  thj 
hisses. 
Leave  old  Magna  Cbarta  to  shift  for  itself; 
And,  like  O — dw — n,  write  books  for  younf 
masters  and  misses. 
O,  it  ia  not  high  rank  that  can  make  *\m  ^iMCt 
merry. 
Even  monarchs  themselves  are  not  fr(«  fioao 
mishap : 
Though  the  Lords  of  Westphalia  mntt  qntki 
before  Jerry, 
Poor  Jerry  himself  has  to  quake  before  Nap. 


HORACE.  ODE  XXXVIIL  LIB.  J 

A   FRAGMENT. 

PersircM  odi,  puer,  adparatus ; 
Displicent  nexc  phJIyra  curoiia ,  ' 

JUitU  tectari,  Rom  quo  locarum 
Sera  wtorttur. 

TBAN8LATED  BY  A  TRBAStTBT  CLEBJL,  WBIIK  WAi. 
INO  DIXNEa  FOR  TUB  BIOIIT  BON.  O — ROB  R — SB. 

BoT,  tell  the  Cook  that  I  hate  all  knickknack- 

eries. 
Fricassees,  vol  au  vents,  pufifs,  and  gimcrack* 

eries  — 
Six  by  the  Horse   Guards! — old  Georgy  J» 

late  — 
But  come  —  lay  the  tablecloth  —  zounds  !    do 

not  wait. 
Nor  stop  to  inquire,  while  the  dinner  is  staying. 
At  which  of  his  places  Old  R — e  is  delaying  '.  ' 


IMPROMPTU. 

PPON     BEIXO     OBLIGED     TO     LEAVE     A    PtEASAWT 

PARTY,  FROM  THE  WAST  OF  A  PAIR  CF  BRRBCHEf 

TO   DRBSS  FOB  DIXXEB  Dt. 

1810. 

Between  Adam  and  me  the  great  differeiice  », 

Though  a  paradise  each   has  been  forc'd  to 

resign, 

flndint:  Home  Political  Rjweo,  to  match  the  ppntlemiin  in  the 
text— bat  in  vain:  he  then  telU  <w  that  Cteero  •ecuaerf 
*  The  literal  clownexs  of  the  version  here  cannot  but  be  !  Verres  or  reposing  upon  a  cunhion  '  Melitenai  ri&  farbu*," 
•dmired.  The  Translator  has  added  a  long,  enidite,  and  j  which,  from  the  odd  mixture  of  worda,  he  mippntes  to  lie  ■ 
ipwery  note  ui»on  Roses,  of  which  I  can  merely  give  a  «p»-  I  kind  of  hUk  Bed  of  Rosea,  like  Lord  Cartlereagh**.  Ttm 
imen  at  present.  In  the  first  place,  he  ransacks  the  lUsa-  !  learned  Clerk  next  favors  lu  with  aome  remarks  uprm  t 
n».H  PolUxcum'ot  the  Persian  poet  Sadi,  with  the  hope  of     well  Ir^own  punning  epiuph  on  &ir  fUwamomi.  and  •> 


KM 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


rhat  he   never  wore   breeches,  tUl  txim'd  out 
of  his, 
While,  for  want  of  my  breeches,  I'm  banish'd 
from  mine. 


LORD    \VELLINGTON   AND  THE 
MINISTERS. 

1813. 
3o  gently  in  peace  Alcibiades  smil'd, 

"W^iile  in  battle   he  shone  forth  so  terribly 
grand, 


presses  a  most  loyal  hope,  that,  if  "  Rosa  itiunda  "  mean 
"  a  Rose  with  clean  hands,"  it  may  be  found  applicable  to 
tlie  Riglit  Honorable  Rose  in  question.  He  then  dwells  at 
some  length  upon  the  "  Rosa  aurca,"  which,  though  descrijv 
tive,  in  one  sense,  of  the  old  Treasury  Statesman,  yet,  as 
being  consecrated  and  worn  by  the  Pope,  must,  of  course, 


That  the  emblem  they  grav'd  on  his  seal,  w& 
a  child 
With   a  thunderbolt  plac'd  in  its  innoceni 
hand. 

O  Wellington,  long  as  such  Ministers  wield 
Your    magnificent    arm,   the   same  emblem 
win  do ; 
For  while  tJiey'xQ  in  the  Council  and  you  in  tn« 
Field, 
We've  the  babies  in  them,  and  the  thunder  in 
you! 


not  be  brought  into  the  same  atmosphere  win.  ilim.  Lastly, 
in  reference  to  the  words  "  old  Rose,"  he  winds  up  with  th« 
pathetic  lamentation  of  the  Poet  "  consenuisse  Rosas." 
The  whole  note  indeed  shows  a  knowledge  of  Ruses,  that 
is  quite  edifying. 


IRISH     MELODIES. 


DEDICATION. 

TO  THi:   MARCHIONESS   DOWAGER  OF 
DONEGAL. 

It  is  now  many  years  si  ice,  in  a  Letter  pre- 
fixed to  the  lliird  Number  of  the  Irish  Melo- 
tlies,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  mscribing  the  Poems 
of  that  work  to  your  Ladyship,  as  to  one  whose 
character  reflected  hoiior  on  the  country  to 
which  they  relate,  aud  whose  friendship  had 
long  been  the  pride  end  happiness  of  their 
Author.  With  tne  fame  feelings  of  affection 
and  respect,  ct/nfirmed  if  not  increased  by  the 
fxpcriencp  of  every  succeeding  year,  I  now 
place  those  Prems  in  their  present  new  form 
under  vjur  pro'.,ection,  and  am, 

Vlth  perfect  sincerity. 
Ye  .;r  I  adyship's  ever  attached  friend, 
THOMAS  MOORE. 


PREFACE 

Thoi'oh  an  edit'.o.'  of  the  Poetry  of  the  Irish 
\JclodiAs,  separnt',  from  the  Music,  has  long 
been  called  for,  ycf.,  having,  for  many  reasons, 
t  strong  objp'.ti-jji  to  this  sort  of  divorce,  I 
thoula  r-lkh  dl/Rculty  havR  consented  to  a  dis- 


union of  the  words  from  the  airs,  had  it  de- 
pended solely  upon  me  to  keep  them  quietly 
and  indissolubly  together.  But,  besides  th« 
various  shapes  in  which  these,  as  well^  as  my 
other  IjTical  writings,  have  been  published 
throughout  America,  they  are  included,  of 
course,  in  all  the  editions  of  my  Morks  printed 
on  the  Continent,  and  have  also  appeared,  in  a 
volume  full  of  typographical  errors,  in  Dublin. 
I  have  therefore  readily  acceded  to  the  wish 
expressed  by  the  Proprietor  of  the  Irish  Melo- 
dies, for  a  revised  and  complete  edition  of  the 
poetry  of  the  Work,  though  well  aware  that 
my  verses  must  lose  even  more  than  the 
"  animte  dimidium  "  in  being  detached  from  the 
beautiful  airs  to  which  it  was  their  good  fortune 
to  be  associated. 

The  Advertisements  which  were  prefixed  to 
the  different  numbers,  the  Prefat?ry  Lettoi 
upon  Music,  &c.  will  be  found  in  an  Appendij 
at  the  end  of  the  Volume. 


GO   WHERE  GLORY   WAITS  THEB 

Go  where  glory  waits  thee  ; 
But,  while  fame  elates  thee. 


O,  still  remember  me. 
When  the  praise  thou  meetest 
To  thine  ear  is  sweetest, 

O,  then  remember  me. 
C  ther  arms  may  press  thee, 
Dearer  friends  caress  thee, 
All  the  joys  that  bless  thee. 

Sweeter  far  may  be  ; 
But  when  friends  are  nearest. 
And  when  joys  are  dearest, 

O,  then  remember  me  ! 

Wlien,  at  eve,  thou  rovest 
By  the  star  thou  lovest, 

O,  then  remember  me. 
Think,  when  home  returning, 
Uright  we've  seen  it  burning, 

O,  thus  remember  me. 
Oft  as  summer  closes, 
AV'hen  thine  eye  reijoset 
On  its  lingering  roses, 

Once  so  lov'd  by  thee, 
Think  of  her  who  wove  them, 
Ilcr  who  made  thee  love  them, 

O,  then  remember  me. 

When,  around  thee  dying, 
Autumn  leaves  are  Ijing, 

O,  then  remember  me. 
And,  at  night,  when  gazing 
On  the  gay  hearth  blazing, 

O,  still  remember  me. 
Then  should  music,  stealing 
All  the  soul  of  feeling. 
To  thy  heart  appealing, 

Draw  one  tear  from  thee ; 
Then  let  memory  bring  thee 
Strains  I  us'd  to  sing  thee,  — 

<).  then  remember  me. 


WAR  SONG. 

REMEMBER   THE    GLORIES    OF    BRIEN   TIIE 
BRAVE.1 

Rkvkmbeb  the  glories  of  Brien  the  brave. 
Though  the  days  of  the  hero  are  o'er ; 

1  Briva  Borotnlie,  the  ipvat  monarch  o(  Ireland,  who  waa 
kiUf.  at  the  battle  ot  Clr>nt<irf,  in  the  bepnniiig  of  the  IIUi 
tentury,  atler  having  defeated  the  Danea  in  twenty-flve 
angagemenls. 

*  Miin.'^ler. 

»  The  palace  of  Brien. 

*  Tlii.i  alludes  to  an  intereirting  clreuni!!tanre  related  of 
•he  Dalaais,  the  fai  )rife  troops  of  Brien,  when  they  were 

it^rniptul  in  'Jieir  return  fruui  'Jie  iMittle  of  Clbotari^  oy 


Though  lost  to  Mononia*  and  cold  in  the  gr&T% 

lie  returns  to  Kinkora  '  no  more. 
That  star  of  the  held,  which  so  often  hath  pour'4 

Its  beam  on  the  battle,  is  set ; 
But  enough  of  its  glory  remains  on  earh  sword, 

To  light  us  to  victory  yet. 

Mononia!  when  Nature  embcUishd  the  tit* 

Of  thy  fields,  and  thy  mountains  so  fair. 
Did  she  ever  intend  that  a  tyrant  should  piut 

The  footstep  of  slavery  there  ? 
No !  Freedom,  whose  smile  we  shall  never  resign, 

Go,  tell  our  invaders,  the  Danes, 
That  'tis  sweeter  to  bleed  for  an  age  at  thy  shrine. 

Than  to  sleep  but  a  moment  in  chains. 

Forget  not  our  wounded  companions,  who  stood  • 

In  the  day  of  distress  by  our  side ; 
"WTiile  the  moss  of  the  valley  grew  red  with  their 
blood. 

They  stirr'd  not,  but  conqucr'd  and  died. 
That  sun  which  now  blesses  our  arms  with  hil 
light. 

Saw  them  fall  upon  Ossorj-'s  plain  ; 
O,  let  him  not  blush,  when  he  leaves  us  to-nignt 

To  find  that  they  fell  there  in  vaio. 


ERIN!    THE  TEAR  AND   THE  SMILB 
IN  TIIINE  EYES. 

EuiN,  the  tear  and  the  smile  in  thine  eyes. 
Blend  like  the  rainbow  that  hangs  in  thy  skie»  I 
Shining  through  sorrow's  stream. 
Saddening  through  pleasure's  beam 
Thy  suns  with  doubtful  gleam, 
Weep  while  they  rise. 

Erin,  thy  silent  tear  never  shall  cease, 
Erin,  thy  languid  smile  ne'er  shall  increoM^ 

Till,  like  the  rainbow's  light, 

ITiy  various  tints  unite, 

And  form  in  heaven's  si^t 
One  arch  of  peace  ! 


Fitspatrick,  prinr«  of  Oaoiy.  The  wounded  men  eniraa 
ed  that  they  niiftht  be  allowed  to  fight  with  the  reau  —  *■  tM 
ttakm  (they  said)  bi  ttudt  in  tht  ground,  and  nf^  tmik  tf 
%i,  tied  to  and  supported  bf  one  qf  thrM  gtaktt,  to  be  placid  m 
ku  nnk  by  the  tide  (tf  a  sound  m '«."  '*  B<>tween  reran  aa4 
eight  hundred  wounded  men  (adds  O'Hallnran)  p»le,  «B«- 
dated,  and  aupported  in  thia  manner,  uppeafwl  mixed  wWb 
the  foremost  of  the  troops ;  —  never  wao  audi  another  alth* 
exhibited."  -  tSMmy  rf  Irdamd  'ma*  itt.  ebac  t. 


108 


miSH  MELODIEL 


O,  BREATHE  NOT  HIS  NAME. 

0,  BREATHE  not  his  name,  let  it  sleep  in  the 

shade, 
\Vhere  cold  and  unhonor'd  his  relics  .are  laid  : 
Sad,  silent,  and  dajk,  be  the  tears  that  we  shed, 
A?  the  night  dew  that  falls  on  the  grass  o'er  his 

head. 

But  the  night  dew  that  falls,  though  in  silence 

it  weeps, 
Shall  brighten  with  verdure  the  grave  where  he 

bleeps ; 
And  the  tear  that  we  shed,  though  in  secret  it 

rolls. 
Shall  long  keep  hi""  memory  green  in  our  souls. 


WHEN  HE,  WHO  ADORES  THEE. 

When  he,  who  adores  thee,  has  left  but  the 
name 

Of  his  fault  and  his  sorrows  behind, 
0.  say,  wilt  thou  weep  wlien  they  darken  the 
fame 

Of  a  life  that  for  thee  was  resign'd  ? 
Yes,  weep,  and  however  my  foes  may  condemn, 

Thy  tears  shall  efface  their  decree ; 
For  Heaven  can  witness,  though  guilty  to  them, 

I  have  been  but  too  faithful  to  thee. 

With  thee  were  the  dreams  of  my  earliest  love  ; 

Every  thought  of  my  reason  was  thine  ; 
In  my  last  humble  prayer  to  the  Spirit  above. 

Thy  name  shall  be  mingled  with  mine. 
O,  blest  are  the  lovers  and  friends  who  shall 
live 

The  days  of  thy  glory  to  see ; 
But  the  next  dearest  blessing  that  Heaven  can 
give 

Is  the  pride  of  thus  dying  for  thee. 


THE  HARr  THAT  ONCE  THROUGH 
TARA'S  HALLS. 

The  harp  that  once  through  Tara's  halls 

The  soul  of  music  shed, 
Now  hangs  as  mute  on  Tara's  walls, 

As  if  that  soul  were  fled.  — 
So  sleeps  the  pride  of  former  days. 

So  glory's  thrill  is  o'er. 
And  hearts,  that  once  beat  high  for  praise, 

Now  fee'  that  pulse  no  more. 


No  more  to  chiefs  and  ladies  bright 

The  harp  of  Tara  swells ; 
The  chord  alone,  that  breaks  at  night. 

Its  tale  of  ruin  tells. 
Thus  Freedom  now  so  seldom  wakes. 

The  only  throb  she  give;. 
Is  when  some  heart  indignant  breaks, 

To  show  that  still  she  lives. 


FLY  NOT  YET. 

Fly  not  yet,  'tis  just  the  hour 
When  pleasure,  like  the  midnight  flofvi* 
That  scorns  the  eye  of  vulgar  light. 
Begins  to  bloom  for  sons  of  night. 

And  maids  who  love  the  moon. 
'Twas  but  to  bless  these  hours  of  shad© 
That  beauty  and  the  moon  were  made  ; 
'Tis  then  their  soft  attractions  glowing 
Set  the  tides  and  goblets  flowing. 

O,  stay,  —  O,  stay,  — 
Joy  so  seldom  weaves  a  chain 
Like  this  to-night,  that,  0,  'tis  pain 

To  break  its  links  so  soon. 

Fly  not  yet,  the  fount  that  play'd 

In  times  of  old  through  Ammon's  shade,' 

Though  icy  cold  by  day  it  ran. 

Yet  still,  like  souls  of  mirth,  begav 

To  bum  when  night  was  near. 
And  thus,  should  .woman's  heart  and  lo^k> 
At  noon  be  cold  as  winter  brooks. 
Nor  kindle  till  the  night,  returning, 
Biings  their  genial  hour  for  burning. 

O,  stay,  —  0,  stay,  — 
When  did  morning  ever  break. 
And  find  such  beaming  eyes  awake 

As  tho»2  that  sparkle  here  ? 


O,   THINK    NOT  MY  SPIRITS  ARE   Au 
WAYS  AS  LIGHT. 

O,  THINK  not  my  spirits  are  always  as  light. 
And  as  free  from  a  pang  as  they  seem  to  you 
now ; 
Nor  expect  that  the  heart-beaming  smile  ol  to- 
night 
Will  return  with  to-morrow  to  l^ighten  my 
brow. 
No  :  —  life  is  a  waste  of  wearisome  hours, 
Which  seldom  the  rose  of  enjoyment  adon.i  , 

1  Soils  FobB,  neat  the  Temple  3f  Ammon 


I 

i 


"RICH   AND   RARE  WERE  THE   GEMS   SHE  WORE.' 


A.n'1  the  heart  that  is  soonest  awake  to  the 
flowers, 
Is  always  the  first  to  be  touch'd  by  the  thonis. 
But  send  round  the  bowl,  and  be  happy  a  while  ; 
May  we  never  meet  worse  in  our  pilgrimage 
here, 
Than  the  tear  that  enjoyment  may  gild  with  a 
smile, 
&.nd  the  smile  that  compassion  can  turn  to  a 
tear. 

Ihe  thread  of  our  life  woxild  be  dark,  Heaven 
knows  I 
If  it  were  not  with  friendship  and  love  in- 
tertwin'd ; 
And  I  care  not  how  soon  I  may  sink  to  repose. 
When  these  blessings  shall  cease  to  be  dear 
to  my  mind. 
Dut  they  who  have  lov'd  the  fondest,  the  purest, 
Too  often  have  wept  o'er  the  dream  they  be- 
licv'd ; 
And  the  heart  that  has  sluinber'd  in  friendship 
securest. 
Is  happy  indeed  if  'twas  never  deceiv'd. 
But  send  round  the  bowl ;  while  a  relic  of  truth 
Is  in  man  or  in  woman,  this  prayer  shall  be 
mine,  — 
That   the   sunshine  of  love  may  illumine  our 
youth. 
And  the  moonlight  of  friendship  console  our 
dccUnc. 


THOUGH  THE  LAST  GLIMPSE  OF  ERIN 
WITH  SOkliOW  I  SEE. 

Though  the  last  glimpse  of  Erin  with  sorrow  I 

see. 
Yet  wherever  thou  art  shall  seem  Erin  to  me ; 
In  exile  thy  bosom  shall  still  be  my  home. 
And  thine  eyes  *make  my  climate  wherever  we 

roam. 

1  "  In  the  twenfy-«ighth  year  of  the  reipi  of  Henry  VIII. 
in  Art  wna  made  recppcting  the  habits,  and  dressi  in  gen- 
■»nl,  of  the  Irish,  whereby  all  persons  were  restrained  from 
being  shorn  nr  shaven  above  the  ears,  or  from  wearing 
Glililiex,  or  Coulim  (U)ng  locks),  on  their  head.«,  or  hair  on 
Uieir  up|ier  lip,  called  Croinnieal.  On  thia  occasion  a  song 
wag  written  by  one  of  our  bards,  in  which  an  Irish  rirgin  is 
made  to  give  the  preference  tn  her  dear  Coulin  (or  the  youth 
with  (he  (liiwing  locks)  to  all  strangers  (by  which  tlie  Eng- 
lish were  meant),  or  those  who  wore  Oicir  habits.  Of  this 
M'ng.  the  air  alone  has  reached  us,  and  Is  universally  ad- 
miltHl."  —  Walker' a  Hi  torical  .Memoirs  of  [risk  BanU,p.  134. 
Mr.  Walker  infurms  us  also,  that,  about  the  Mine  period, 
there  were  tome  hetrsh  measure*  taken  against  ttie  Iriali 
MiHstreh. 

27 


To  the  gloom  of  some  desert  or  cold  rocky 
shore, 

"Where  the  eye  of  the  stranger  can  haunt  xu  no 
more, 

I  will  fly  with  my  Coulin,  and  think  the  r.^ugli 
wind 

Less  rude  than  the  foe*  we  leave  frowning  be- 
hind. 

And  I'll  gaze  on  thy  gold  hair  as  graeeAi.  h 

wreathes. 
And   hang    o'er   thy  soft  harp,  as  wildly  I* 

breathes ; 
Nor  dread  that  the  cold-hearted  Saxon  will  tear 
One  chord  from  that  harp,  or  one  lock  from  that 

hair." 


RICH    AND    RARE    "VN^ERE    THE    GEMS 
SHE  WORE.« 

Rich  and  rare  were  the  gems  she  wore. 

And  a  bright  gold  ring  on  her  wand  she  bore ; 

But  O,  her  beauty  was  far  beyond 

Her  sparkling  gems,  or  snow-white  wand 

*'  Lady  !  dost  thou  not  fear  to  stray, 

"  So  lone  and  lovely  through  this  bleak  way » 

••  Are  Erin's  sons  so  good  or  so  cold, 

"  As  not  to  be  tempted  by  woman  or  gold  ?" 

"  Sir  Knight !  I  feel  not  the  least  alarm, 
••  No  son  of  Erin  will  offer  me  harm  :  — 
"For  though    they  lovo  woman   and    gold«B 

store, 
"  Sir  Knight !  they  love  honor  and  virtue  more  I  ** 

On  she  went,  and  her  maiden  smile 
In  safety  lighted  her  round  the  green  isle  ; 
And  blest  forever  is  she  who  relied 
Upon  Erin's  honor  and  Erin's  pride. 


»  This  ballad  is  founded  jpon  the  'olli-wing  aneoh  Ut  — 
"  Tlie  people  were  Inspired  with  siirh  a  spirit  of  bniKir,  vif 
tne,  and  relicion,  by  the  great  example  of  Urien,  aud  by  bil 
excellent  administration,  that,  as  a  prmrf  of  it,  we  are  in- 
formed  tlial  a  youIlg^ady  of  great  beauty,  aaonied  with  jew 
els  and  a  f  «tly  dress,  undertook  a  Jciumey  alune.  ftom  om 
end  of  the  kingdom  to  the  other,  witJi  a  wand  only  in  ne« 
band,  at  U'o  top  of  which  was  a  rinf  of  exceeding  grM 
value ;  aifi  such  an  iropreation  had  the  laws  and  goveni 
ment  of  this  Monarch  made  on  the  minds  of  all  lb*  penfito 
that  no  attempt  was  made  up<in  ner  n<>nor,  nor  ws»  •■» 
rubbed  of  her  clothes  or  jewels."-  -H'tmer't  BtMnnf^  tt  ^» 
louf ,  vol  I  book  Jl 


!10 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


A.S   A  BEAM  O'ER  THE  FACE   OF  THE 
WATERS  MAY   GLOW. 

As  a  beam  o'er  the  face  of  the  waters  may  glow 
While  the  tide  runs'  in  darkness  and  coldness 

•     below, 
So  the  cheek  may  be  ting'd  with  a  warm  sunny 

smile, 
TLotigh  the  cold  heart  to  min  runs  darkly  the 
while. 

One  fatal  remembrance,  one  sorrow  that  throws 
Its  bleak  shade  alike  o'er  our  joys  and  our  woes. 
To  which  life  nothing  darker  or  brighter  can 

bring. 
For  which  joy  has  no  balm  and  affliction  no 

sting  — 

O,  this  thought  in  the  midst  of  enjoyment  will 

stay, 
Like  a  dead,  leafless  branch  in  the  summer's 

bright  ray ; 
The  beams  of  the  warm  sun  play  around  it  in  vain, 
It  may  smile  in  his  light,  but  it  blooms  not  again. 


THE  MEETING  OF  THE  WATERS.* 

There  is  not  in  the  wide  world  a  valley  so  sweet 
As  that  vale  in  whose  bosom  the  bright  waters 

meet ;  * 
0,  the  last  rays  of  feeling  and  life  must  depart, 
Ere  the  bloom  of  that  vaUey  shall  fade  from  my 

heart. 

Yet  it  was  not  that  nature  had  shed  o'er  the  scene 
Her  purest  of  crystal  and  brightest  of  green  ; 
'Twas  not  her  soft  magic  of  streamlet  or  hill, 
0,  no,  it  was  something  more  exquisite  still. 

'Twas  that  friends,  the  belov'd  of  my  bosom, 

were  near, 
V\1  0  made   every  dear  scene   of  enchantment 

more  dear, 
A.nd  who  felt  how  the  best  charms  of  nature 

improve, 
\S'Tien  we  see  them  reflected  &om  looks  that  we 

love. 

Bweet  vale  of  Avoca  !  how  calm  could  I  rest 
In  thy  bosom  of  shade,  with  the  friends  I  love 
best, 

1  "  l-n»  Meeting  of  the  Waters  ♦*  forms  a  part  of  that 
Mautifiji  scenery  which  lies  brtween  Rathdrum  and  Ark- 
Inw,  in  Uie  county  of  W  iicktow,  aiii  ttaes«  lines  were  sug- 


WTiere  the  storms  that  we  feel  in  this  cold  world 

should  cease. 
And  our  hearts,  like  thy  waters,  be  mingled  m 

peace. 


HOW  DEAR  TO  ME  THE  HOUR. 

How  dear  to  me  the  hour  when  daylight  dies. 
And  sunbeams  melt  along  the  silent  sea 

For  then  sweet  dreams  of  other  days  arise, 
And  memory  breathes    her  vesper    sigh   tc 
thee. 

And,  as  I  watch  the  line  of  light,  that  plays 
Along  the  smooth  wave  toward  the  burning 
f  west, 
I  long  to  tread  that  golden  path  of  rays. 

And  think  'twould  lead  to  some  bright  isia 
of  rest. 


TAKE    BACK   THE    VIRGIN    PAGE. 

WRITTEN  ON  RETURNING  A  BLANK  BOOK. 

Take  back  the  virgin  page. 

White  and  unwritten  still ; 
Some  hand,  more  calm  and  sago, 

The  leaf  must  fill. 
Thoughts  come,  as  pure  as  light. 

Pure  as  even  you  require  ; 
But,  O,  each  word  I  write 

Love  turns  to  fire. 

Yet  let  me  keep  the  book. : 
Oft  shall  my  heart  renew, 

When  on  its  leaves  I  look, 
Dear  thoughts  of  you. 

Like  you,  'tis  fair  and  bright ; 
'      Like  you,  too  bright  and  fail 

To  let  wild  passion  write 
One  ^Tong  wish  there. 

Haply,  when  from  those  eyes 

Far,  far  away  I  roam. 
Should  calmer  thoughts  arise 

Towards  you  and  home  ; 
Fancy  may  t*ace  some  line, 

Worthy  those  eycte  to  meet. 
Thoughts  that  not  burn,  but  shine, 

Pure,  calm,  and  sweet. 

gested  by  a  visit  to  this  romantic  spot,  in  the  BURHbtr  ot  Oim 
year  1807. 
*  The  rivers  Ayon  >nd  Avoca. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


81' 


And  as,  o'er  ocean  far, 

Seamen  their  records  kcer, 
Led  by  some  hidden  star 

Throagh  the  cold  deep  ; 
So  may  the  words  I  write 

Tell  through  what  storms  I  stray  — 
You  still  the  unseen  light, 

0  aiding  my  way. 


THE  LEGACY. 

97hen  in  death  I  shall  calmly  recline, 

O,  bear  my  heart  to  my  mistress  dear ; 
Tell  her  it  liv'd  upon  smiles  and  wine 

Of  the  brightest  hue,  while  it  linger'd  here. 
Bid  her  not  shed  one  tear  of  sorrow 

To  sully  a  heart  so  brilliant  and  light ; 
But  balmy  drops  of  the  red  grape  borrow, 

To  bathe  the  relic  from  morn  till  night. 

When  the  light  of  my  song  is  o'er. 

Then  take  my  harp  to  your  ancient  hall ; 
Hang  it  up  at  that  friendly  door. 

Where  weary  travellers  love  to  call.* 
Then  if  some  bard,  who  roams  forsaken, 

llevive  its  soft  note  in  passing  along, 
O,  let  one  thought  of  its  master  waken 

Your  warmest  smile  for  the  child  of  song. 

]^eep  this  cup,  which  is  now  o'erflowing. 

To  grace  your  revel,  when  I'm  at  rest ; 
Never,  O,  never  its  balm  bestowing 

On  lips  that  beauty  hath  seldom  blest. 
But  when  some  warm  devoted  lover 

To  her  he  adores  shall  bathe  its  brim, 
Then,  then  my  spirit  around  shall  hover. 

And  hallow  each  drop  that  foams  for  him. 


UOW  OFl'  HAS  THE  BENSHEE  CRIED. 

How  oft  has  the  Benshee  cried. 
How  oft  has  death  untied 
Bright  links  that  Glory  wove. 
Sweet  bonds  entwin'd  by  Love  I 

I  '*  In  every  house  was  one  or  two  harps,  free  to  all  trav- 
rilers,  who  were  the  more  caressed,  the  more  they  ext«lled 
to  music" —  O'fiaUoran, 

<  I  have  endeavored  here,  without  losing  that  Irish  cbar- 
leter,  which  it  is  roy  object  to  preserve  throughout  this 
worJt,  to  allude  to  the  sad  and  ominous  faulity,  br  which 
Bofitand  has  been  deprir/K*.  "f  so  many  sreat  and  goou  men, 
n  a  piouient  wneu  Hue  mcMt  tettuires  all  tlM  aids  of  talent 
jtd  integfitj) 


Peace  to  each  manly  soul  that  sleepeth ; 
Rest  to  each  faithful  eye  that  weei>eth ; 

Long  may  the  fair  and  brave 

Sigh  o'er  the  hero's  grave. 

We're  fall'n  upon  gloomy  day*  !  • 
Star  after  star  decays. 
Every  bright  name,  that  shed 
Light  o'er  the  land,  is  fled. 
Dark  falls  the  tear  of  him  who  mouriM^ 
Lost  joy,  or  hope  that  ne'er  returneth ; 
But  brightly  flows  the  tear, 
Wept  o'er  a  hero's  bier. 

Quench'd  arc  our  beacon  lights  — 
Thou  of  the  Hundred  Fights  ! ' 
Thou,  on  whose  burning  tongue 
Truth,  peace,  and  freedom  hung  !  * 
Both  mute,  —  but  long  as  valor  shincth. 
Or  mercy's  soul  at  war  repincth. 
So  long  shall  Erin's  pride 
Tell  how  they  liv'd  and  died. 


WE  MAY  ROAM  THROUGH  THIS 
WORLD. 

Wb  may  roam  through  this  world,  like  a  child 
at  a  feast. 
Who  but  sips  of  a  sweet,  and  then  flics  to  the 
rest ; 
And,  when  pleasure  begins  to  grow  dull  in  tba 
east. 
We  may  order  our  wings  and  be  off  to  the 
west; 
But  if  hearts  that  feel,  and  eyes  that  smile. 

Are  the  dearest  gifts  that  heaven  supplies, 
We  never  need  leave  our  own  green  isle. 

For  sensitive  hearts,  and  for  sun-bright  eyes. 
Then    remember,    wherever    your    goblet    is 
crown' d. 
Through   this  world,   whether  eastward   or 
westward  you  roam. 
When  a  cup  to  the  smile  of  dear  woman  goet 
round, 
O,  remember  the  smile  which  adorns  her  at 
home. 

t  This  designation,  which  ha*  been  beibra  ippiM  to  Lor< 
Neimn,  is  the  title  given  to  a  celebrated  Irish  Hero,  in  • 
Poem  by  O'Guive,  the  bard  of  O'NIel,  wbicb  ia  quoted  le 
tke  "  Philosophical  Survey  of  the  South  of  Ireland,"  page 
433.  "  Con,  of  the  Hundred  Fights,  sleep  in  Iby  I*** 
gtt^wn  tomb,  and  upbraid  not  oar  difcili  witli  thy  vt* 
tories" 

*  Foi,  "  Romanonun  ultimuB," 


212 


IRISH  MELODIES 


In  England  the  garden  of  Beauty  is  kept 

By  a  dragon  of  prudery  placed  within  call ; 
But  so  oft  this  unamiable  dragon  has  slept, 
That  the  garden's  but  carelessly  watch'd  after 
all. 
O,  they  want  the  wild  sweet-briery  fence, 

Which  round  the  flowers  of  Erin  dwells ; 
Which  warns   the   touch,  while  winning   the 
sense, 
Nor  enarms  us  least  when  it  most  repels. 
Ihen    remember,    wherever    your    goblet     is 
crown' d, 
Through   this   world,    whether   eastward   or 
westward  you  roam, 
When  a  cup  to  the  smile  of  dear  woman  goes 
round, 
O,  remember  the  smile  that  adorns   her  at 
home. 

Is.  France,  when  the  heart  of  a  woman  sets  sail. 

On  the  ocean  of  wedlock  its  fortune  to  try. 
Love  seldom  goes  far  in  a  vessel  so  frail, 
But  just   pilots  her  off,  and  then  bids  her 
good  by. 
WMle  the  daughters  of  Erin  keep  the  boy, 

Ever  smiling  beside  his  faithful  oar, 
Through  billows  of  woe,  and  beams  of  joy. 

The  same  as  he  look'd  when  he  left  the  shore. 
Then    remember,    wherever    your    goblet    is 
crown' d, 
Through  this  world,  whether   eastward    or 
westward  you  roam. 
When  a  cup  to  the  smile  of  dear  woman  goes 
round, 
O,  remember  the  smile  that  adorns  her  at 
home. 


EVELEEN'S  BOWER. 

O,  WEEP  for  the  hour. 

When  to  Eveleen's  bower 
Yhe  Ijord  of  the  Valley  with  false  vows  came  ; 

The  moon  hid  her  light 

From  the  heavens  that  night. 
And  wept  behind  her  clouds  o'er  the  maiden's 
shame. 


1  "This  brought  on  an  encounter  between  Malachi  (the 
monarch  of  Ireland  in  the  tenth  century)  and  the  Danes,  in 
which  Malachi  defeated  two  of  their  champions,  whom  he 
•ncountered  successively,  hand  to  hand,  taking  a  collar  of 
gold  from  the  neck  of  one,  and  carrj'ing  off  the  sword  of 
Ibe  other,  as  trophies  of  his  victory." —  Warner's  History  of 
frdand,  vol.  i.  boo]c  ix. 

*  "  Military  orders  of  knights  were  very  early  established 
in  Ireland    long  bs'are  the  birth  of  Christ  we  find  an  hered- 


The  clouds  pass'd  soon 

From  the  chaste  cold  moon. 
And  heaven  smil'd  again  v^ith  her  vestal  flame; 

But  none  will  see  the  day, 

When  the  clouds  shall  pass  away. 
Which   that    dark    hour    left  upon   Eveleen's 
fame. 

llie  white  snow  lay 
On  the  narrow  pathway, 
"SVhen  the  Lord  of  the  Valley  cross'd  over  the 
moor ; 
And  many  a  deep  print 
On  the  wliite  snow's  tint 
Show'd  the  track  of  his  footstep  to  ETeken'i 
door. 

The  next  sun's  ray 

Soon  melted  away 
Every  trace  on  the  path  where  the  false  Lord 
came ; 

But  there's  a  light  above, 

Which  aione  can  remove 
That  stain  upon  the  snow  of  fair  Eveleen's  fame 


LET    ERIN    RE^fEMBER    THE    DAYS 
OF    OLD. 

Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old. 

Ere  her  faithless  sons  betray' d  her ; 
When  Malachi  wore  the  collar  of  gold,' 

Which  he  won  from  her  proud  invader. 
When  her  kings,  with  standard  of  green  un* 
furl'd, 

Led  the  Red-Branch  Knights  to  danger  ; '  — 
Ere  the  emerald  gem  of  the  western  world 

Was  set  in  the  crown  of  a  stranger. 

On    Lough    Ncagh's    bank    as   the  fisherman 
strays. 

When  the  clear  cold  eve's  declining,. 
He  sees  the  round  towers  of  other  days 

In  the  wave  beneath  him  shining  ; 
Thus  shall  memory  often,  in  dreams  sublime, 

Catch  a  glimpse  of  the  days  that  are  over ; 

itary  order  of  Chivalry  in  Ulster,  called  Curaldhe  na  Cray 
obhe  ruadh,  or  the  Knights  of  the  Red  Branch,  from  theii 
chief  seal  in  Emania,  adjoining  to  the  palace  of  the  L/lst©» 
kings,  called  Teagk  na  Craiobhe  ruadh,  or  the  Academy  of 
the  Red  Branch  ;  and  contiguous  to  which  was  a  large  hot  pi 
tal,  founded  for  the  sick  knights  and  soldiers,  called  Bronk 
hearg,  or  the  House  of  the  Sorrowful  Soldier." —  C  Hello 
ran's  Introduction,  S^c.,  part  i.  chap.  5. 


IRISH  itELODIES. 


21i 


IhuB,  sigliing,  look  through  the  waves  of  time 
For  *he  long-faded  glories  they  cover.' 


THE  SONG   OF  FIONNUALA.' 

8-LF.N'T,  O  Moyle,  be  the  roar  of  thy  water, 

Break  not,  ye  breezes,  your  chain  of  repose, 
WliiJe,    munnuring    mournfully,    Lir's    lonely 
daughter 

TeUs  to  the  night  star  her  tale  of  woes. 
When  shall  the  swan,  her  death  note  singing, 

Sleep,  with  ■wings  in  darkness  furl'd  ? 
When  will  heaven,  its  sweet  bell  ringing. 

Call  my  spirit  from  this  stormy  world  ? 

Badly,  O  Moyle,  to  thy  winter  wave  weeping, 

Fate  bids  me  languish  long  ages  away ; 
Yet  still  in  her  darkness  doth  Erin  lie  sleeping. 

Still  doth  the  pure  light  its  dawning  delay. 
When  will  that  daystar,  mildly  springing, 

Warm  our  isle  with  peace  and  love  ? 
When  will  heaven,  its  sweet  bell  ringing, 

Call  my  spirit  to  the  fields  above  ? 


OOME,  SEND  ROUND  THE  "WINE. 

Come,  send  round  the  wine,  and  leave  points  of 
belief 
To  simpleton  sages,  and  reasoning  fools ; 
This  moment's  a  flower  too  fair  and  brief, 
To  be  wither'd  and  stain'd  by  the  dust  of  the 
schools. 
Your  glass  may  be  purple,  and  mine  may  be 
blue, 
Butj  while  they  are  fiU'd  from  the  same  bright 
bowl, 
The  fcol  who  would  quarrel  for  difference  of  hue. 
Deserves  not  the  comfort  they  shed  o'er  the 
soul. 

Shall  I  ask  the  brave  soldier,  who  fights  by  my 
side 
In  the  cause  of  mankind,  if  our  creeds  agree  ? 

>  It  was  an  old  tradition,  in  tb«  time  of  Giraldiu,  that 
(iOn;h  Neagli  had  been  originally  a  fountain,  by  whose  8ud- 
&en  ovurflow-ing  the  country  was  inunilale<l,  and  a  whole 
region,  like  the  Atlantis  of  Plato,  overwhelmed.  He  says 
that  the  fishermen,  in  clear  weather,  used  to  point  out  to 
•trangers  the  tall  ecclexiastical  towers  under  the  water. 
PitcatortJi  aqua  Ulius  titrrta  ceclesiasticas,  qua  more  patricc 
trcOa  sunt  et  uIUb,  nfcnon  et  rotunda,  tub  undit  mantfutt 
terrpo  ttmpore  conjpiciunt,  et  eztraneU  transeuntibue,  rdque 
tnusas  admirantibuSf  frequentir  oatendunL  —  Topogr.  Ilib, 
iisL  3,  c  9. 

•  To  make  thia  story  iftellieible  in  a  song  would  require  a 


Shall  I  give  up  the  friend  I  have  valued  and  tried 
K  he  kneel  not  before  the  same  altar  witli  me 

From  the  heretic  girl  of  my  soul  should  I  fly. 
To  seek  somewhere  eke  a  more  orthodox  kisa  ' 

No  !  perish  the  hearts,  and  the  laws  tlat  try 
Truth,  valor,  oi  love,  by  a  standard  like  thif 


SUBLIME  WAS  THE  WARNIXG. 

Sublime  was  the  warning  that  Lihcrty  tpcka. 
And  grand  was  the  moment  wLen  bpaniardi 

awoke 
Into  life  and  revenge  from  the  conqueror'* 

chain. 
O,  Liberty  !  let  not  this  spirit  hove  rest, 
TUl  it  move,  like  a  breeze,  o'er  tlie  waves  of  ths 

west  — 
Give  the  light  of  your  look  to  each  sorrowing 

spot. 
Nor,  O,  be  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  forgot 

While  you  add  to  your  garland  the  Olive  of 

Spain! 

If  the  fame  of  our  fathers,  bequcath'd  Tt-ith  theii 

rights. 
Give  to  country  its  charm,  and  to  home  ita 

delights. 
If  deceit  be  a  wound,  and  suspicion  a  stain. 
Then,   ye  men   of   Iberia,   our    cause    is    the 

same  ! 
And  O,  may  his  tomb  want  a  tear  and  a  name. 
Who  would  ask  for  a  nobler,  a  holier  death. 
Than  to  turn  his  last  sigh  into  \'ic  lory's  breath. 
For  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  and  Olive  of  Spain  t 

Ye  Blakes  and  O'Donncls,  whoso  fathers  resign'd 
The  green  hills  of  their  youth,  among  strangers 

to  find 
That  repose  which,  at  home,  they  had  sigh'd 

for  in  vain. 
Join,  join  in  our  hope  that  the  flame,  which  you 

light. 
May  be  felt  yet  in  Erin,  as  calm,  and  as  bright, 

ranch  greater  number  of  verse*  than  any  one  is  authnr.sed  m 
inflict  upon  an  audience  at  cmce  ;  the  reader  must  tJierefiire 
be  content  to  learn,  in  a  note,  (hat  Fionniiala,  the  uaufhtei 
of  Lir,  was,  by  some  suiwrnatnrnl  |K)wcr,  iransf  irni-d  int^ 
a  swan,  and  condemned  to  wander,  for  many  hiindre<l  yean, 
overcenain  lakes  and  rivers  in  Ireland,  till  ihe  coming  el 
Chridtianity,  when  the  first  .•«)UM<I  of  llie  maiw  bell  was  k, 
be  the  signal  of  her  release. —  I  found  thio  fanciful  dctioa 
among  some  manuscript  translations  frum  the  Iriah,  wb'et 
were  begun  under  tlie  direction  of  that  enlightened  fneoi  of 
Ireland,  the  late  Counteas  uf  Muira. 


814 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


And  forgive  even  Albion  M'hile  blushing  she 

draws, 
f  ike  a  truant,  her  sword,  in  the  long-slighted 

cause 
Of  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  and  Olive  of  Spain  ! 

fiod.  prosper  the  cause  !  —  O,  it  cannot  but  thrive, 
While  the  pulse  of  one  patriot  heart  is  alive. 

Its  devOvion  to  feel,  and  its  rights  to  maintain ; 
then,  how  sainted  by  sorrow,  its  martyrs  will 

die! 
The  finger  of  Glory  shall  point  where  they  lie  ; 
While,  far  from  the  footstep  of  coward  or  slave, 
The  young  spirit  of  Freedom  shall  shelter  their 
grave 
Beneath   Shamrocks  of  Erin  and  OHves  of 
Spain  ! 


13elie\:e  me,  if  all  those  endear- 
ing YOUNG  CHARMS. 

Believe  me,  if  all  those  endearing  young  charms, 

Which  I  gaze  on  so  fondly  to-day. 
Were  to  change  by  to-morrow,  and  fleet  in  my 
arms, 

Like  fairy  gifts  fading  away. 
Thou  wouldst  stiU.  be   ador'd,  as  this  moment 
thou  art, 

Let  thy  loveliness  fade  as  it  will. 
And  around  the  dear  ruin  each  wish  of  my  heart 

Would  intwine  itself  verdantly  still. 

It  is  not  while  beauty  and  youth  are  thine  own. 

And  thy  cheeks  unprofan'd  by  a  tear. 
That  the  fervor  and  faith  of  a  soul  can  be  known. 

To  which  time  will  but  make  thee  more  dear  ; 
No,  the  heart  that  has  truly  lov'd  never  forgets. 

But  as  truly  loves  on  to  the  close, 
As  the  sunflower  turns  on  her  god,  when  he  sets, 

The  same  look  which  she  turn'd  when  he  rose. 


ERIN,   O  ERIN. 

LIS.B  the  bright  lamp,  that  shone  in  KQdare's 
holy  fane,* 
And  burn'd  through  long  ages  of  darkness 
and  storm. 


1  The  inextinguishable  fire  of  St.  Bridget,  at  Kildare 
Iviiich  Giraldus  mentions :-—«' Apiid  Kildariam  occurrit 
Ignis  SnncttB,  Brigide,  quern  inextingiiibilem  vocant ;  non 
^uod  extinpui  non  possit,  sed  quod  tain  solicite  moniales  et 
«ancta;  mulieres  igne  u,  suppctente  materia,  lovent  et  nutri- 


Is  the  heart  that  sorrows  have  frown' d  on  in  vaiiv 
Whose   spirit  outlives  them,   unfading   and 
warm. 
Erin,  O  Erin,  thus  bright  through  the  tears 
Of  a  long  night  of  bondage,  thy  spirit  appears, 

The  nations  have  fallen,  and  thou  still  art  yonng^ 
Thy  sun  is  but  rising,  when  others  are  set ; 
And  though  slavery's  cloud  o'er  thy  "liOmini 

hath  hung. 
The  full  noon  of  freedom  shall  beam  ri>%j.id 

thee  yet. 
Erin,  O  Erin,  though  long  in  the  shade. 
Thy  star  will  shine  out  when  the  proudest  sn&U 

fade. 

Unchill'd  by  the  rain,  and  unwak'd  by  the  wini. 
The  lily  lies  sleeping  through  winter's  coid 
hour, 
Till  Spring's  light  touch  her  fetters  unbind. 
And   daylight   and   liberty  bless  the   young 
flower.* 
Thus  Erin,  O  Erin,  thy  winter  is  past. 
And  the  hope  that  liv'd  through  it  shall  blo»« 
som  at  last. 


DRINK  TO  HER. 

Drink  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh. 
The  girl,  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy. 
O,  woman's  heart  was  made 

For  minstrel  hands  alone  ; 
By  other  fingers  play'd. 

It  yields  not  half  the  tone. 
Then  here's  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  wak'd  the  poet's  sigh, 
The  girl  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy. 

At  Beauty's  door  of  glass, 

When  Wealth  and  Wit  once  stood. 
They  ask'd  her,  "which  might  ]>ass?" 

She  answer' d,  "  he,  who  could." 
With  golden  key  Wealth  thought 

To  pass  —  but  'twould  not  do  : 
While  Wit  a  diamond  brought. 

Which  cut  his  bright  way  through. 


unt,  ut  a  tempore  virginis  per  tot  annonim  curncuia  sempe 
mansit  iiiextinctus." — Oirald.  Camh.  de  MirabiL  Htberx 
dist.  2,  c  34. 

2  Mrs.  H.  TIghe,  in  her  exquisite  lines  on  the  Lily,  hal 
applied  this  image  to  a  still  more  important  object. 


miSH  MELODIES. 


su 


So  here's  to  her,  who  long 
Hath  wak'd  the  poet's  sigh. 

The  girl,  who  gave  to  song 
What  gold  could  never  buy. 

The  love  that  seeks  a  home 

Where  wealth  or  grandeur  shines. 
Is  like  the  gloomy  gnome, 

Tliat  dwells  in  dark  gold  mines. 
But  O,  the  poet's  love 

Can  boast  a  brighter  sphere  ; 
Its  native  home's  above, 

Though  woman  keeps  it  here. 
Then  drink  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  wak'd  the  poet's  sigh, 
The  girl,  who  gave  to  song 

"What  gold  could  never  buy. 


O,  BLAME  NOT  THE  BARD.» 

0,  BLAME  not  the  bard,  if  he  fly  to  the  bowers, 
^^'hc^e  Pleasure  lies,   carelessly  smiling   at 
Fame ; 
He  was  bom  for  much  more,  and  in  happier 
hours 
His  soul  might  have   bum'd  with  a  holier 
flame. 
The  string,  that  now  languishes  loose  o'er  the 
lyre, 
flight  have  bent  a  proud  bow  to  the  warrior's 
dart ; » 
And  the  lip,  which  now  breathes  but  the  song 
of  desire, 
Might  have  pour'd  the  full  tide  of  a  patriot's 
heart. 

But  alas  for  his  country !  —  her  pride  is  gone 

by. 

And  that  spirit  is  broken,  which  never  would 
Lend  ; 
O'er  the  ruin  her  children  in  secret  must  sigh, 

For  'tis  treason  to  love  her,  and  death  to  de- 
fend. 


1  W«  may  mppoM  this  apolofty  to  have  be«n  uttpred  by 
on*  •){  thfiM  wandering  bardit,  whom  Spenser  bo  geverely, 
tnd,  perhapa  truly,  describes  in  hia  State  of  Ireland,  and 
irboae  poems,  he  tells  us,  "  were  sprinkled  with  some  pretty 
InweiM  of  their  natural  device,  which  have  giiod  mrace  and 
Mmeliiiea  unto  them,  tlie  which  it  is  great  pity  to  see 
tbttsed  to  the  gracing  of  wickedness  and  vice,  which,  with 
(nod  usage,  would  servo  to  adorn  and  beautify  virtue." 

*  It  is  conjectured  by  Wonuius,  that  the  naine  of  Ireland 


Unprix'd   are  her  sons,  till  they've  leumed  t« 
betray; 
Undistinguish'd  they  live,  if  they  shame  not 
their  sires ; 
And  the  torch,  that  would  light  them  through 
dignity's  way. 
Must  be  caught  from  the  pile,  where  their 
country  expires. 

Then  blame  not  the  bard,  if  in  pleasure's  soft 
dream, 
He  should  try  to  forget,  what  he  never  can 
heal : 
O,  give  but  a  hope  —  Iqt  a  vista  but  gleam 
Through  the  gloom  of  his  country,  and  mark 
how  he'll  feel ! 
Tliat  instant,  his  heart  at  her  shrine  would  lay 
down 
Ever)-  passion  it  nurs'd,  every  bliss  it  silor'd ; 
While  the  myrtle,  now  idly  intwiu'd  with  hia 
crown, 
Like  the  WTcath  of  Harmodius,  shotild  cnrei 
his  sword.' 

But  though  glory  be  gone,  and  though  hope 
fade  away, 
I'hy  name,  loved  Erin,  shall  live  in  liis  songs  | 
Not  ev'n  in  the  hour,  when  his  heart  is  most 

gay. 

Will  he  lose  the  remembrance  of  thee  and  thy 
wrongs. 
The  stranger  shall  hear  thy  lament  on  his  plains 
The  sigh  ol  thy  harp  shall  be  sent  o'er  the 
deep. 
Till  thy  masters  themselves,  as  they  rivet  thy 
chains. 
Shall  pause  at  the  song  of  their  captive,  and 
weep ! 

WHILE  GAZING   ON  THE  MOON'S 
LIGHT. 

While  gazing  on  the  moon's  light, 
A  moment  from  her  smile  I  tum'd. 

To  look  at  orbs,  that,  more  bright. 
In  lone  and  distant  glory  burn'tL 


is  derived  from  Tr,  the  Buiilc  fcr  a  be»,  In  the  use  of  wtaek 
weapon  the  Irish  wer»  'wce  very  expert.  This  derivstkia 
is  certainly  mure  creditable  to  us  than  the  following:  **8a 
that  Ireland,  called  the  land  of  lit,  fn>m  the  consunt  teoUt 
tlierein  for  400  years,  was  now  become  the  land  of  coneurd." 
Utr^d'M  StaU  H'ortfiiu,  art.   The  L>rd  Orandimn. 

*  See  tlte  Ilymn,  attributed  to  Alccus,  E*  tivpT*v  «Aali 
re  (i^o(  <^opit<ru  —  "I  will  carry  my  sword,  bidden  B 
myillM,  lik*  Ilarinodiua,  and  Aristotfitoa,"  tu. 


216                                                        IKISH  MELODIES. 

But  too  far 

Enrag'd  with  the  insect  for  hiding  her  giaces. 

Each  proud  star, 

She  brush'd  him  —  he  fell,  alas  !  never  to  rise : 

For  me  to  feel  its  wanning  flame  ; 

"  Ah  !  such,"  said  the  girl,  *«  is  the  pride  of  ou» 

Much  more  dear 

faces. 

That  mild  sphere, 

"  For  which  the  soul's  innocence  too  often  dies  ** 

Whicli  near  our  planet  smiling,  came  ;  * 

"D-us,  M  ary,  be  but  thou  my  own  ; 

While  she   stole  through  tho  garden,   whera 

While  brighter  eyes  unheeded  play, 

heartsease  was  growing. 

m  Jove  those  moonlight  looks  alone, 

She  cull'd  some,  and  kiss'd  off'  its  night-fall- 

That bless  my  home  and  guide  my  way. 

en  dew ; 

And  a  rose,  farther  on,  looked  so  tempting  and 

nie  day  had  sunk  in  dim  showers. 

glowing. 

But  midnight  now,  with  lustre  meet, 

That,  spite  of  her  haste,  she  must  gather  it 

Ulumin'd  all  the  pale  flowers. 

too: 

T.ike  hope  upon  a  mourner's  cheek. 

But  while  o'er  the  roses  too  carelessly  leaning. 

I  said  (while 

Her  ione  flew  in  two,  and  the  heai-tsease  was 

ITie  moon's  smile 

lost: 

Piay'd  o'er  a  stream,  in  dimpling  bliss,) 

"  Ah  !  this  means,"  said  the  girl  ^and  she  sigh'd 

"  The  moon  looks 

at  its  meaning,) 

•'  On  many  brooks, 

"  That  love  is  scarce  worth  he  repose  it  will 

"  The  brook  can  see  no  moon  but  this  ; "  • 

cost !  " 

And  thus,  I  thought,  our  fortunes  run, 

, 

For  many  a  lover  looks  to  thee, 



While  0,  I  feel  there  is  but  one. 

Oiie  Mary  in  the  world  for  me. 

BEFORE  THE  BATTLE, 

By  the  hope  within  us  springing. 

Herald  of  to-morrow's  strife ; 

ILL  OMENS. 

By  that  sun,  whose  light  is  bringing 

Chains  or  freedom,  death  or  life  — 

When  daylight  was  yet  sleeping  under  the  bil- 

0, remember  life  can  be 

low. 

No  charm  for  him,  who  lives  not  free  : 

And  stnrs  in  the  heavens  still  lingering  shone, 

Like  the  daystar  in  the  wave. 

Young   Kitty,  all  blushing,  rose  up  from  her 

Smks  a  hero  in  his  grave. 

pillow. 

Midst  the  dewfall  of  a  nation's  tears. 

The  last  time  she  e'er  was  to  press  it  alone. 

For  the  youth  whom  she  treasured  her  heart 

Happy  is  he  o'er  whose  decline 

and  her  soul  in. 

The  smiles  of  home  may  soothing  shine 

Had  promised  to  link  the  last  tie  before  noon ; 

And  light  him  down  the  steep  of  years  :  — 

And  when  once  the  young  heart  of  a  maiden  is 

But  0,  how  blest  they  sink  to  rest. 

stolen, 

Who  close  their  eyes  on  victory's  breast  I 

The  maiden  herself  will  steal  after  it  soon. 

O'er  his  watchfire's  fading  embeis 

/is  sbD  look'd  in  the  glass,  which  a  woman  ne'er 

Now  the  foeman's  cheek  turns  white, 

misses. 

When  his  heart  that  field  remembers, 

Nor  ever  wants  time  for  a  sly  glance  or  two. 

Where  we  tamed  his  tyrant  might. 

A  butterfly,'  fresh  from  the  night-flower's  kisses, 

Never  let  him  bind  again 

P\avf  over  the  mirror  and  shaded  her  view. 

A  chain,  like  that  we  broke  from  then. 

1  "  Of  sncT)  celestial  bodies  as  are  visible,  the  sun  except- 

2  This  image  was  susrgested  by  the  following  tbcugliv 

•■t,  the  sing's  moon,  as  despicable  as  it  is  in  comparison  to 

which  occurs  somewhere  in  Si':  William  Jones's  \«'vrk4 

M>ost  of  the  others,  is  much  more  beneficial  than  they  all  put 

"  The  moon  looks  upon  many  night  fl-vers,  the  night  tjow 

Vogpther." —  IVhiston''s  Tlieory,  S[c. 

er  sees  but  one  moon." 

in  tne  Entretiens  dKlriste,  among  other  ingenious  em- 

3 An  emblem  of  the  aouL 

blems,  we  find  a  starry  sky  without  a  moon,  with  these 

words.  A'on  rrxLli',  quod  absens. 

IRISH  MELODIES. 


21? 


Hark  !  the  horn  of  comctJ.  calls  — 
Ere  the  golden  evening  falls, 
May  we  pledge  that  horn  in  triumph  roxuid !  * 

Many  a  heart  that  now  beats  high. 
In  slumber  cold  at  night  shall  lie, 
Nor  waken  even  at  victory's  sound  :  — 
But  O,  how  blest  that  hero's  sleep, 
O'er  whom  ft  wond'ring  world  shall  weep  ! 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 

NiOHT  clos'd  around  the  conqueror's  way, 

And  lightnings  show'd  the  distant  hill. 
Whore  those  who  lost  that  dreadful  day. 

Stood  few  and  faint,  but  fearless  still. 
He  soldier's  hope,  the  patriot's  zeal. 

Forever  dimm'd,  forever  cross'd  — 
O,  who  shall  say  what  heroes  feel, 

\Mien  all  but  life  and  honor's  lost  ? 

The  last  sad  hour  of  freedom's  dream. 

And  valor's  task,  moved  slowly  by, 
»>niile  mute  they  watch'd,  till  morning's  beam 

Should  rise  and  give  them  light  to  die. 
There's  yet  a  world,  where  souls  are  free, 

Where  tjTants  taint  not  nature's  bliss  ;  — 
If  death  that  world's  bright  opening  be, 

O,  who  would  live  a  slave  in  this  ? 


'TIS  SWEET  TO  THINK. 

Tib  sweet  to  think,  that,  where'er  we  roye. 
We  are  sure  to  find  something  blissful  and 
dear, 
Lad  that,  when  we're  far  from  the  lips  we  love. 
We've  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  wo  are 
near.* 
The  heart,  like  a  tendril,  accustom'd  to  cling, 

Lot  it  grow  where  it  will,  carmot  flourish  alone, 

But  will  lean  to  the  nearest,  and  loveliest  thing, 

I   can  twine  with  itse^X  &nd  make  closely  its 

own. 

rt*i  O,  what  pleasure,  where'er  we  rore, 

T«.  be  sure  to  find  something,  stUl,  that  ia  dear. 


t  '*  The  Iriflh  Coma  was  not  entirely  devoted  to  martial 
yiirpnttes.  In  the  iicntic  ages,  our  ancestont  qua/Ted  Meadh 
•u(  of  them,  as  tbe  Daninh  iiiuiters  du  their  beverage  at  this 
dav."—  IVatker. 

>  1  hclieve  it  is  Mannontel  who  aay*,  "  Quand  an  n'a  pag 

te  que  Ton  aime,  il  faut  aimer  ee  que  t'on  a."  —  There  are  so 

•nany  nintter-of  fact  people,  wtio  lake  such  jeiu  d'esprit  aa 

't\M  <iefciic«  o(  iiicoDstajicv,  to  be  tiie  actual  and  f("autii* 

28 


And  to  know,  when  far  from  the  aps  we  love. 
We've  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  we  are  near 

"Twere  a  shame,  when  flowers  around  tu  rise. 
To  make  light  of  the  rest,  if  the  rose  isn't 
there ; 
And  the  world's  so  rich  in  resplendent  eyes, 
'Twere  a  pity  to  limit  one's  love  to  a  pair. 
Love's  wing  and  the  peacock's  are  nearly  alike. 
They  are  both  of   thorn  bright,  but  thcy'r* 
changeable  too. 
And,  wherever  a  new  beam  of  beauty  can  strike. 
It  will  tincture  Love's  plume  with  a  different 
hue. 
Then  O,  what  pleasure,  where'er  we  rove. 

To  be  sure  to  find  something,  still,  that  is  dear 
And  to  know,  when  far  frfem  the  lips  we  love. 
We've  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  we  wr 
near. 


THE  IRISH  PEASANT  TO  HIS  MISTRESS.' 

Thbouoh  grief  and  through  danger  thy  smile 

hath  cheer'd  my  way. 
Till  hope  scem'd  to  bud  from  each  thorn  that 

round  me  lay  ; 
The  darker  our  fortune,  the  brighter  our  pure 

love  bum'd. 
Till  shame  into  glory,  till  fear  into  seal  WM 

tum'd; 
Tea,  slave  aa  I  was,  in  thy  arms  my  spirit  felt 

free. 
And  bless' d  even  the  sorrows  that  made  me 

more  dear  to  thee. 

Thy  rival  was  honor'd,  while  thou  wert  wrong'd 

and  scom'd. 
Thy  crown  was  of  briers,  while  gold  her  browi 

adorn' d ; 
She  woo'd  me  to  temples,  while  thou  lay's!  hid 

in  caves, 
Her  friends  were  all  masters,  while  thine,  alas  I 

were  slaves ; 
Yet  cold   in  the  earth,  at  thy  feet,  I  womd 

rather  be. 
Than  wed  what  I  lov'd  not.  or  torn  one  thought 

from  thee. 


lentimentB  of  him  who  write*  them,  that  they  compel  Oua^ 
in  felf-defence,  to  be  as  matter-of-fact  as  ihemselvM,  and  M 
remind  them,  Uiat  I)em(>crltu8  was  noi  tbe  won*  pbysiuhv 
Cist,  for  haviog  playfully  contended  that  snow  wu  black 
nor  Erasmus,  in  any  degree,  the  lass  wis*,  for  baring  wiil 
ten  an  ingenious  encomium  of  folly. 
«  Meaning,  allegoricaUy,  th*  ancl*nl  Ctmrch  cf  Ireland 


218                                                        IRISH  MELODIES. 

They  slander  thee  sorely,  who  say  thy  tows  are 

'Tis  the  tear,  through  many  a  long  day  wept, 

frail  — 

'Tis  life's  whole  path  o'ershaded ; 

Hadst  thou   been  a  false  one,  thy  cheek  had 

'Tis  the  one  remembrance,  fondly  kept, 

look'd  less  pale. 

When  all  lighter  griefs  have  faded. 

ITiey  say,  too,  so  long  thou  hast  worn   those 

lingering  chains, 

Thus  his  memory,  like  some  holy  light. 

riiat  deep  in  thy  heart  they  have  printed  their 

Kept  alive  in  our  hearts,  will  improve  theno., 

servile  stains  — 

For  worth   shall  look   fairer,   and  truth   mor< 

t  >  foul  is  the  slander,  —  no  chain  could  that 

bright. 

soul  subdue  — 

When  we  think  how  he  liv'd  but  to  love  them 

Wbere  shineth  thy  spirit,  there  liberty  shineth 

And,  as  fresher  flowers  the  sod  perfume 

-*o!» 

Where  buried  saints  are  lying, 

So  our  hearts  shall  borrow  a  sweet'ning  bloom 

ON  MUSIC. 

From  the  image  he  left  there  in  dying  ! 

Whex  through  life  unblest  we  rove, 

Losing  all  that  made  life  dear, 

Should  some  notes  we  used  to  love, 
In  days  of  boyhood,  meet  our  ear, 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE    HARP. 

0,  how  welcome  breathes  the  strain  ! 

Tis  believ'd  that  this  Harp,  which  I  wake  now 

Wakening  thoughts  that  long  have  slept ; 

for  thee. 

Kindling  former  smiles  again 

Was  a  Siren  of  old,  who  sung  under  the  sea ; 

In  faded  eyes  that  long  have  wept. 

And  who    often,   at   eve,   through  the  bright 

waters  rov'd. 

Like  the  gale,  that  sighs  along 

To  meet,  on  the  green  shore,  a  youth  whom  she 

Beds  of  oriental  flowers, 

lov'd. 

Is  the  grateful  breath  of  song. 

That  once  was  heard  in  happier  hours  ; 

But  she  lov'd  him  in  vain,  for  he  left  her  to  weep. 

FUl'd  with  balm,  the  gale  sighs  on. 

And  in  tears,  all  the  night,  her  gold  tresses  to 

Though  the  flowers  have  sunk  in  death ; 

steep ; 

So,  when  pleasure's  dream  is  gone. 

Till  heav'n  look'd  with  pity  on  true  .ove  so 

Its  memory  lives  in  Music's  breath. 

warm. 

And  chang'd  to  this  soft  Harp  the  sea-maiden'i 

Music,  0  how  faint,  how  weak. 

form. 

Language  fades  before  thy  spell ! 

Why  should  Feeling  ever  speak, 

Still    her    bosom  rose  fair  —  still  her    cheeks 

When  thou  canst  breathe  her  soul  so  well? 

smil'd  the  same  — 

Friendship's  balmy  words  may  feign, 

While  her  sea  beauties  gracefully  form'd  the 

Love's  are  ev'n  more  false  than  they  ; 

light  frame ; 

0,  'tit  only  music's  strain 

And  her  hair,  as,  let  loose,  o'er  her  white  arqi  it 

Can  sweetly  soothe,  and  not  betray. 

fell, 

Was  chang'd  to  bright  chords  utt'ring  melody's 

spell. 

n  IS  NOT  THE  TEAR  AT  THIS  MOMENT 
SHED.* 

Hence  it  came,  that  this  soft  Harp  so  long  hath 
been  known 

It  is  not  the  tear  at  this  moment  shed. 

To  mingle  love's  language  with  sorrow's  saj 

W^hen  the  cold  turf  has  just  been  laid  o'er 

tone ; 

him. 

Till  t/iou  didst  divide  them,  and  teach  the  fond 

rhat  can  tell  how  belov'd  was  the  Mend  that's 

lay 

fled. 

To  speak  love  when  I'm  near  thee,  and  grief 

Or  how  deep  in  our  hearts  we  deplore  him. 

when  away. 

>  "Where  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is,  there  is  liberty."— 

*  These  lines  were  occasioned  by  the  loss  of  a  T«ry  neu 

ft.  Patd,  9  CorinAiani,  uL  17. 

and  dear  relative,  who  had  died  lately  at  Madeira. 

LOVES   YOUNG  DREAM. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


SU 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM. 

O,  THE  days  are  gone,  when  Beauty  bright 

My  heart's  chain  wove  ; 
When  my  dream  of  life,  from  mom  till  night, 
Was  love,  still  love. 
New  hope  may  bloom. 
And  days  may  come, 
Of  milder,  calmer  beam, 
But  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 

As  love's  young  dream : 
No,  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 
As  love's  young  dream. 

Though  the  bard  to  purer  fame  may  soar, 

When  wild  youth's  past ; 
Though  he  M-in  the  wise,  who  frown'd  before, 
To  smile  at  last ; 
He'll  never  meet 
A  joy  so  sweet. 
In  all  his  noon  of  fame. 
As  when  first  he  sung  to  woman's  ear 

His  soul-felt  flame. 
And,  at  every  close,  she  blush'd  to  hear 
The  one  lov'd  name. 

No,  —  that  hallow'd  form  is  ne'er  forgot 

Whi?h  first  love  trac'd  : 
Still  it  lingering  haunts  the  greenest  spot 
On  memory's  waste. 
'Twos  odor  fled 
As  soon  as  shed ; 
'Twas  morning's  winged  dream  ; 
'Twas  a  light,  that  ne'er  can  shine  again 

On  life's  dull  stream  : 
O,  'twas  light  that  ne'er  can  shine  again 
On  life's  dull  stream. 


THE  PRINCE'S  DAY.> 

rnoroH  dark  are  our  sorrows,  to-day  we'll  for- 
get them. 
And  smile  through  our  tears,  like  a  sunbeam 
in  showers : 
There  never  were  hearts,  if  our  rulers  would 
let  them. 
More  form'd  to  be  grateful  and  blest  than  ours. 
But  just  when  the  chain 
Has  ceas'd  to  pain, 


»  Pili»  Kon?  was  written  for  »  (?te  in  honor  of  the  Prince 
•t  Wales's  Birthday,  i;iren  by  my  friend,  M;^or  Bryan,  at 
kM  Mat  in  the  county  of  Kilkenny. 


And    hope  has  enwreath'd    it    ronid  with 
lowers. 

There  comes  a  new  link 
Our  spirits  to  sink  — 
O,  the  joy  that  we  taste,  like  the  light  of  th« 
poles. 
Is  a  flash  amid  darkness,  too  brilliant  to  star 
But,  though  'twere  the  last  little  spark  in  cm 
souls, 
We  must  light  it  up  now,  on  our  Prince's  Day 

Contempt  on  the  minion  who  calls  you  disloyal ! 
Though  fierce  to  your  foe,  to  your  friends  you 
are  true ; 
And  the  tribute  most  high  to  a  head  that  ii 
royal, 
Is  love  from  a  heart  that  loves  liberty  too 
WTiile  cowards,  who  blight 
Your  fame,  your  right. 
Would  shrink  from  the  blnze  of  the  battle  array. 
The  Standard  of  Green 
In  front  would  bo  seen,  — 
O,  my  life  on  your  faith  !  were  you  summon'd 
this  minute, 
You'd  cast  every  bitter  remembrance  away. 
And  show  what  the  arm  of  old  Erin  has  in  it. 
When  rous'd  by  the  foe,  on  her  Prince's  Day. 

He  love's  the  Green  Isle,  and  his  love  is  recorded 
In  hearts,  which  have  suflcr'd  too  much  to 
forget; 
And  hope  shall  be   crown' d,  and  attachmer* 
rewarded, 
And  Erin's  gay  jubilee  shine  out  yeL 
The  gem  may  be  broke 
By  many  a  stroke. 
But  nothing  can  cloud  its  native  ray ; 
Each  fragment  will  cast 
A  light,  to  the  last,  — 
And  thus,  Erin,  my  cotintry,  though  broken  thon 
art. 
There's  a  lustre  within  thee,  that  ne'er  wiL 
decay, 
A  spirit,  which  beams  through  each  suffering  par^ 
And  now  smiles  at  all  pain  on  the  Prince's  Day 


WEEP   ON,  AVEEP  ON. 

Weep  on,  weep  on,  your  hour  is  past  { 
Your  dreams  of  pride  are  o'ei , 

The  fatal  chain  is  round  you  cast, 
And  you  are  men  no  more. 

In  vain  the  hero's  heart  hath  bled ; 
The  sage's  tongue  hath  wam'i  in  vaiB :  — 


■ — . — ■ ■ . — . — . — ♦ 

lao                                                         miSH  MELODIES. 

0,  Freedom !  once  thy  flame  hath  fled, 

Lesbia  hath  a  wit  reiin'd. 

It  never  lights  again. 

'     But,  when  its  points  are  gleaming  round  at 

Who  can  tell  if  they're  design'd 

Weep  on  —  perhaps  in  after  days, 

To  dazzle  merely,  or  to  wound  us  ? 

They'll  learn  to  love  your  name  ; 

Pillow'd  on  my  Nora's  heart. 

When  many  a  deed  may  wake  in  praise 

In  safer  slumber  Love  repostJ  — 

That  long  hath  slept  in  blame. 

Bed  of  peace  !  whose  roughest  part 

And  when  they  tread  the  ruin'd  isle, 

Is  but  the  crumpling  of  the  roses. 

Where  rest,  at  length,  the  lord  and  slave, 

0,  my  Nora  Creina  dear. 

They'll  wondering  ask,  how  hands  so  vile 

My  mild,  my  artless  Nora  Creina ! 

Could  conquer  hearts  so  brave  ? 

Wit,  though  bright, 

Hath  no  such  light, 

"  'Twas  fate,"  they'll  say,  "  a  wayward  fate 

As  warms  your  eyes,  my  Nora  Creina. 

"  Your  web  of  discord  wove ; 

. 

•'  And  whUe  your  tyrants  join'd  in  hate, 

"You  never  join'd  in  love. 

I    SAW   THY    FORM    IN    YOUTHFUL 

"  But  hearts  fell  off,  that  ought  to  twine, 

PRIME. 

"  And  man  profan'd  what  God  had  given ; 

*«  TiU  some  were  heard  to  curse  the  shrine, 

I  SAW  thy  form  in  youthful  prime, 

"  WTiere  others  knelt  to  heaven  ! " 

Nor  thought  that  pale  decay 

Would  steal  before  the  steps  of  Time, 

And  waste  its  bloom  away,  Mary  ! 

LESBIA  HATH  A  BEAMING  EYE. 

Yet  still  thy  ft.itures  wore  that  light, 
Wlxich  fleets  not  with  the  breath  ; 

Lesbia  hath  a  beaming  eye. 

And  life  ne'er  look'd  more  truly  bright 

But  no  one  knows  for  whom  it  beamcth  ; 

Than  in  thy  smile  of  death,  Mary  ! 

Right  and  left  its  arrows  fly, 

But  what  they  aim  at  no  one  dreameth. 

As  streams  that  run  o'er  golden  mines, 

Sweeter  'tis  to  gaze  upon 

Yet  humbly,  calmly  glide. 

My  Nora's  lid  that  seldom  rises ; 

Nor  seem  to  know  the  wealth  that  shines 

Few  its  looks,  but  every  one, 

Within  their  gentle  tide,  Mary  ! 

Like  unexpected  light,  surprises  ! 

So  veil'd  beneath  the  simplest  guise, 

0,  my  Nora  Crcina,  dear, 

Thy  radiant  genius  shone, 

My  gentle,  bashful  Nora  Creina, 

And  that,  which  charm'd  all  other  eyes. 

Beauty  lies 

Seem'd  worthless  in  thy  own,  Mary ! 

In  many  eyes, 
But  Love  in  yours,  my  Nora  Creina. 

If  souls  could  always  dwell  above, 

Thou  ne'er  hadst  left  that  sphere  ; 

Lesbia  wears  a  robe  of  gold, 

Or  could  we  keep  the  souls  we  love, 

But  all  so  close  the  nymph  hath  lac'd  it. 

AVe  ne'er  had  lost  thee  here,  Mary 

Not  a  charm  of  beauty's  mould 

Though  many  a  gifted  mind  we  meet. 

Presumes  to  stay  where  nature  plac'd  it. 

Though  fairest  forms  we  see. 

O,  my  Nora's  gown  for  me, 

To  live  with  them  is  far  less  sweet, 

That  floats  as  wild  as  mountain  breezes. 

Than  to  remember  thee,  Mary  ! ' 

Leaving  every  beauty  free 

To  sink  or  swell  as  Heaven  pleases. 

Yes,  my  Nora  Creina,  dear, 
My  simple,  graceful  Nora  Creina, 

BY    THAT    LAKE,    WHOSE    GLOOMY 
SHORE." 

Nature's  dress 

Is  loveliness  — 

By  that  Lake,  whose  gloomy  shore 

The  dress  you  wear,  my  Nora  Creina. 

Skylark  never  warbles  o'er,^ 

I  have  here  made  a  feeble  effort  to  imitate  that  exquisite 

Glendalough,  a  most  gloomy  and  romantic  spot  In  the  cooft 

fiscription  of  Sheiistone's,  "  Heu  !  qiianto  minus  est  cum 

ty  of  Wicklnw. 

»eliquis  versari  quam  tui  meminisso  !  " 

«  There  are  many  other  curious  traditions  concerning  tlui 

t  This  ba  lad  is  founded  upon  one  of  the  many  Btories  re- 

Lake, which  may  be  found  in  Giraldus,  Colgan,  &.c 

tted  if  St.  Kfvin,  wliose  bed  in  the  rock  is  to  be  seen  at 

miSH  MELcDIES.                                                        22 

Wliere  the  cliff  hangs  high  and  steep, 

Ah  !  little  they  think  who  delight  In  her  strains 

Young  Saint  Kevin  stole  to  sleep. 

How  the  heart  of  the  Minstrel  is  breaking. 

'•  Here,  at  least,"  he  calmly  said, 

«'  Woman  ne'er  shall  find  my  bed." 

He  had  liv'd  for  his  love,  for  his  country  he  diH, 

Ah !  the  gooa  Saint  little  knew 

They  were  all  that  to  life  had  int^vin'd  him  ; 

WTiat  that  wily  sex  can  do. 

Nor  soon  shall  the  tears  of  his  country  be  dried, 

Nor  long  will  his  love  stay  behind  him. 

'Twas  from  Kathleen's  eyes  he  flew,  — 

Eyes  of  most  unholy  blue  ! 

0,  make  her  a  grave  where  the  sunbeams  reat» 

She  had  lov'd  him  well  and  long, 

^^'^len  they  promise  a  gloribus  morrow ; 

"NVish'd  him  hers,  nor  thought  it  wrong. 

They'll  shine  o'er  her  sleep,  like  a  smile  from 

,           "Wliercsoo'cr  the  Saint  would  fly. 

the  West, 

Still  he  heard  her  light  foot  nigh  ; 

From  her  own  lov'd  island  of  sorrow. 

East  or  west,  where'er  he  tum'd. 

Still  her  eyes  before  him  burn'd. 

NAY,  TELL  ME  NOT,  DEAR. 

On  the  bold  cliff's  bosom  cast, 

Tranquil  now  he  sleeps  at  last; 

NXT,  tell  me  not,  dear,  that  the  goblet  drowns 

Dreams  of  heav'n,  nor  thinks  that  e'er 

One  charm  of  feeling,  one  fond  regret : 

Woman's  smile  can  haunt  him  there 

Believe  me,  a  few  of  thy  angry  frowns 

Bxit  nor  earth  nor  heaven  is  free 

Are  all  I've  sunk  in  its  bright  wave  yet- 

From  her  power,  if  fond  she  be : 

Ne'er  hath  a  beam 

Evpn  now,  while  calm  he  sleeps, 

Been  lost  in  the  stream 

Kathleen  o'er  him  leans  and  weeps. 

That  ever  was  shed  from  thy  form  or  soul ; 

The  spell  of  those  eyes. 

Fearless  she  had  track'd  his  feet 

The  balm  of  thy  sighs. 

To  this  rocky,  wild  retreat ; 

Still  float  on  the  surface,  and  hallow  my  howL 

And  when  morning  met  his  view, 

Then  fancy  not,  dearest,  that  wine  can  steal 

Her  mild  glances  met  it  too. 

One  blissful  dream  of  the  heart  from  me  | 

Ah,  your  Saints  have  cruel  hearts  ! 

Like  founts  that  awaken  the  pilgrim's  seal. 

Sternly  from  his  bed  he  starts. 

The  bowl  but  brighten*  my  love  for  thee. 

And  with  rude,  repulsive  shock, 

Hurls  her  from  the  beetling  rock. 

They  tell  us  that  Love  in  his  fairy  bower 

Had  two  blush  roses,  of  birth  divine  ; 

Glendalough,  thy  gloomy  wave 

He  sprinkled  the  one  with  a  rainbow's  shower, 

Soon  was  gentle  Kathleen's  grave  ! 

But  bath'd  the  other  with  mantling  wine. 

Soon  the  saint  (yet  ah  !  too  late,) 

Soon  did  the  buds 

Felt  her  love,  and  moum'd  her  fate. 

That  drank  of  the  floods 

"When  he  said,  "  Ilcav'n  rest  her  soul !" 

DistiH'd  by  the  rainbow,  decline  and  fade  . 

Round  the  I-ake  light  music  stole  ; 

While  those  which  the  tide 

And  her  ghost  was  seen  to  glide, 

Of  ruby  had  dy'd 

Smiling  o'er  the  fatal  tide. 

All  blush'd  into  beauty,  like  thee,  swc«^  ro»i J 

' 

Then  fancy  not,  dearest,  that  wine  can  sttnl 

One  blissful  dream  of  the  heart  fron.  me : 

Like  founts,  that  awaken  the  pilyim's  loal, 

The  bowl  but  brightens  my  lor«  for  thee. 

8HE  IS  FAR  FROM  THE  LAND. 

Sbo  is  far  from  the  land  where  her  young  here 

sleeps. 

AVENGING  AND  J^RIGHT. 

And  lOvcrs  ire  round  her,  sighing: 

AvENOiNO  and  bright  fall  the  iwift  sword  of  Erin  • 

But  coldly  she  turns  from  their  gaze,  and  weej)*, 

On  him  who  the  brave  sons  of  Usns  betray'd  1 

For  her  heart  in  his  grave  is  lying. 

' 

1  The  worrts  of  thfa  xonf  were  wf  fwrtwl  by  the  veiy  Ul- 

8h«  sings  the  w'ld  song  of  her  dear  native  plains. 

cient  Irifh  «i<>ry  called  "  Delrdri,  or  the  Uimentahle  Kn* 

Every  note  which  he  lov'd  awaking ;  — 

of  the  SoM  of  U«n«ch."  whW-h  ha*  been  tranalatM  itteralt* 

222 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


For  ev'ry  fond  eye  lie  hath  waken'd  a  tear  in, 
A  drop  from  hia  heart  wounds  shall  weep  o'er 
ner  blade. 

By  the  red  cloud  that  hung  over  Conor's  dark 
dwelling,' 
When  Ulad's  *  three  champions  lay  sleeping 
In  gore  — 
By   the  billows  of  war,  which  so  often,  high 
swelling, 
Hare  wafted  these  heroes  to  victory's  shore  — 

We  swear  to  revenge  them  !  — no  joy  shall  be 
tasted. 
The  harp  shall  be  silent,  the  maiden  unwed. 
Our  halls  shall  be  mute  and  our  fields  shall  lie 
wasted. 
Till  vengeance  is  wreak'd  on  the  murderer's 
head. 

Yes,  monarch  I  though  sweet  are  our  home  rec- 
ollections, 

Though  sweet  are  the  tears  that  from  tenderness 
fall; 

Though  sweet  are  our  friendships,  our  hopes, 
our  affections, 
Revenge  on  a  tyrant  is  sweetest  of  all ! 


WHAT  THE  BEE  IS  TO  THE  FLOWERET. 

He.  —  What  the  bee  is  to  the  floweret, 
"Wlien  he  looks  for  honey  dew, 
Through  the  leaves  that  close  embower  it. 
That,  my  love,  I'll  be  to  you. 

She. — What  the  bank,  with  verdure  glowing. 
Is  to  waves  that  wander  near, 
Whispering  kisses,  while  they're  going. 
That  I'll  be  to  you,  my  dear. 


om  tho  Gaelic,  by  Mr.  O'FlanaRan  (see  vol.  i.  of  Transac- 
ctcns  of  the  Gaelic  Society  of  Dublin),  and  upon  which  it  ap- 
pears that  the  "  Dartliula  of  Macpherson  "  is  founded.  The 
treachery  of  Conor,  KiiiR  of  Ulster,  in  putting  to  death  the 
tnree  sons  of  Usna,  was  the  cause  of  a  desolating  war 
ftfrainst  Ulster,  which  terminated  in  the  destniction  of 
Eman.  "This  story  (says  Mr.  O'Flanagan)  has  been,  from 
time  immemorial,  lield  in  high  repute  as  one  of  the  three 
tragic  stories  of  the  Irish.  These  are,  'The  death  of  the 
th  Idren  of  Touran  ;'  '  The  death  of  the  children  of  Lear ' 
(both  regarding  Tuatha  de  Danans) ,  and  this,  '  The  death 
of  the  children  of  Usnach,'  which  is  a  Milesian  story."  It 
will  b<)  recollected,  that  in  the  Second  Number  of  these  Mel- 


She.  —  But  they  say,  the  bee's  a  rover, 

Who  wUl  fly,  when  sweets  are  gone ; 
And,  when  once*  the  kiss  is  over. 
Faithless  brooks  will  wander  on. 

He.  —  Nay,  if  flowers  will  lose  their  locks, 
If  sunny  banks  icill  wear  away, 
'Tis  but  right,  that  bees  and  brooks 
Should  sip  and  kiss  them,  while  thej 
may. 


LO^^E  AND  THE  NOVICE. 

"  Here  we  dwell,  in  holiest  bowers, 

"  Where  angels  of  light  o'er  our  orisons  bend  ; 
"  Where  sighs  of  devotion  an  I  breathings  of 
flowers 
'•  To  heaven  in  mingled  odor  ascend. 
"  Do  not  disturb  our  calm,  O  Love  ! 
"  So  like  is  thy  form  to  the  cherubs  above, 
"  It  well  might  deceive  such  hearts  as  ours." 

Love  stood  near  the  Novice  and  listen'd, 

And  Love  is  no  novice  in  taking  a  hint ; 
His  laughing  blue  eyes  soon  with  piety  glisten'd  ; 
His  rosy  wing  turn'd  to  heaven's  own  tint. 
"  "Who  would  have  thought,"    the  urchin 

cries, 
"  That  Love  could  so  well,  so  gravely  dis- 
guise 
"  His  wandering  wings,  and  wounding  eyes  ? " 

Love  now  warms  thee,  waking  and  sleeping, 
Young  Novice,  to  him  all  thy  orisons  rise. 
He  tinges  the  heavenly  fount  with  his  weeping. 
He  brightens  the  censer's  flame  with  his  sighs. 
Love  is  the  Saint  enslirin'd  in  thy  oreast, 
And  angels  themselves  would  admit  such  < 
guest. 
If  he  came  to  them  cloth'd  in  Piety's  vest. 


odies,  there  is  a  ballad  upon  the  stoiy  ol  the  children  of  Leai 
or  Lir;  "  Silent,  O  Movie  !  "  &c. 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  those  sanpiine  claims  to 
antiquity,  which  Mr.  O'Flanagan  and  others  advance  foi 
the  literature  of  Ireland,  it  would  he  a  lasting  repro.icl5 
upon  our  nationality,  if  the  Gaelic  researches  of  this  gentle- 
man did  not  meet  with  all  the  liberal  encouragement  th«y 
BO  well  merit. 

1  "  O  Nasi !  view  that  cloud  that  I  here  see  in  the  sky  1 
see  over  Eman  Green  a  chillinf,  cloud  of  blood-tinged  red ' 
—  Deirdri's  Song. 

«  Ulster. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


121 


rms  LIFE  IS   ALL  CHECK  ER'D  WITH 
PLEASURES   AND   WOES. 

This  life  is  all  checker'd  with  pleasures  and  woes, 

That  cha^e  one  another  like  waves  of  the 
deep,  — 
Each  brightly  or  darkly,  as  onward  it  flows, 

Reflecting  our  eyes,  as  they  sparkle  or  weep. 
So  closely  our  whims  on  our  miseries  tread, 

That  the  laugh  is  awak'd  ere  the  tear  can  be 
dried ; 
^nd,  as  fast  as  the  raindrop  of  Pity  is  shed. 

The  goose  plumage  of  Folly  can  turn  it  aside. 
But  pledge  me  the  cup  — if  existence  would  cloy. 

With  hearts  ever  happy,  and  heads  ever  wise. 
Be  ours  the  light  Sorrow,  half-sister  to  Joy, 

And  the  light,  brilliant  Folly  that  flashes  and 
dies. 

W  nen  Ilylas  was  sent  with  his  urn  to  the  fount. 
Through  flelds  full  of  light,  and  with  heart 
full  of  play, 
Light  rambled  the  boy,  over  meadow  and  mount, 
And  neglected  his  task  for  the  flowers  on  the 
way.' 
Thus  many,  like  me,  who  in  youth  should  have 
tasted 
The  fountain  that  runs  by  Philosophy's  shrine, 
Iheir  time  with  the  flowers  on  the  margin  have 
wasted. 
And  left  their  light  urns  all  as  empty  as  mine. 
But  pledge  me  the  goblet ;  —  while  Idleness 
weaves 
These  flowerets  together,  should  Wisdom  but 
see 
Cne  bright  drop  or  two  that  has  fall'n  on  the 
leaves 
From  her  fountain  divine,  'tis  sufficient  for  me. 


O  THE  SHAMROCK. 

Through  Erin's  Isle, 

To  sport  a  while. 
As  Love  and  Valor  wander' d. 

With  Wit,  the  sprite, 

Whose  quiver  bright 
A  tnousand  arrows  squander'd. 

Where'er  they  pass, 

A  triple  grass* 

1  Propnmt  °.  flotein  prctulit  ofllcia 

pBorEMT.  lib.  i.  eleg.  SO. 

•  It  13  said  tiiat  Sf  Patrick,  when  preactiing  the  Trinity  to 
liie  Pagan  Irish,  ii!)«(i  to  iltiiHtrale  his  subject  by  reference  to 
Hat  fpecies  uf  trefoil  callH  in  Ireland  by  the  name  of  the 


Shoots  up,  with  dewdrops  streaming 
As  softly  green 
As  emeralds  seen 
Through  purest  crystal  gleaming. 
O  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamrock 
Chosen  leaf 
Of  Bard  and  Chief; 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock  * 

Says  Valor,  "  See, 

••  They  spring  for  me, 
"  Those  leafy  gems  of  morning  I  "  — 

Says  Love,  "  No,  no, 

"  For  me  they  grow, 
"  My  fragrant  path  adorning." 

But  Wit  perceives 

The  triple  leaves. 
And  cries,  «*  O,  do  not  sever 

•'  A  type,  that  blends 

"  Three  godlike  friends, 
"  Love,  Valor,  Wit,  forever  !  " 
O  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamro^ 

Chosen  loaf 

Of  Bard  and  Chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock  I 

So  firmly  fond 

2Iay  last  the  bond. 
They  wove  that  mom  together, 

And  ne'er  may  fall 

One  drop  of  gall 
On  Wit's  celestial  feather. 

May  I>ove,  as  twine 

His  flowers  divine. 
Of  thorny  falsehood  weed  'em ; 

May  Valor  ne'er 

His  standard  rear 
Against  the  cause  of  Freedom ! 
O  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamr<K:k 

Chosen  leaf 

Of  Bard  and  Chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock  t 


AT  THE  MID  HOUR  OF  NIGHT. 

At  the  mid  hour  of  night,  when  stars  are  weep- 
ing, I  fly 

To  the  lone  vale  we  loVd,  when  life  shone  wana 
in  thine  eye ; 

Shamrock  ;  and  hence,  perhapa,  theIalandor8aiiitia4o|Ma4 
this  plant  as  her  national  emhlent.  Hope,  amonf  tlM  aactoati, 
waa  auinetimes  rcprewnted  as  a  beantiful  child,  wandim 
upon  tiptoes,  and  a  infoU  or  three-colorMi  graM  u  t» 
band 


124 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


And  I  trunk  oft,  if  spirits  can  steal  from  the 

regions  of  air, 
To  revisit  past  scenes  of  delight,  thou  wilt 
conae  to  me  there. 
And  tell  me  our  love  is  remember' d,  even  in  the 
sky. 

Then  I  sing  the  wild  song  'twas  once  such  pleas- 
ure to  hear ! 

When  our  voices   commingling  breath' d,  like 
one,  on  the  ear ; 
And,  as  Echo  far  off  though  the  vale  my  sad 

orison  rolls, 
I  think,  O  my  love  !  'tis  thy  voice  from  the 
Kingdom  of  Souls,' 

Faintly  answering  still  the  notes  that  once  were 
so  dear. 


CNE  BUMPER  AT  PARTING. 

One  bumper  at  parting  !  — though  many 

Have  circled  the  board  since  we  met, 
The  fullest,  the  saddest  of  any 

Remains  to  be  crown'd  by  us  yet. 
The  sweetness  that  pleasure  hath  in  it, 

Is  always  so  slow  to  come  forth. 
That  seldom,  alas,  till  the  minute 

It  dies,  do  we  know  half  its  worth. 
But  come,  —  may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Be  all  of  such  moments  made  up  ; 
They're  born  on  the  bosom  of  Pleasure, 

They  die  'midst  the  tears  of  the  cup. 

As  onward  we  journey,  how  pleasant 

To  pause  and  inhabit  a  while 
Those  few  sunny  spots,  like  the  present. 

That  'mid  the  dull  wilderness  smile  ! 
Bat  Time,  like  a  pitiless  master. 

Cries  "  Onward  !  "  and  spurs  the  gay  hours  ■ 
Ah,  never  doth  Time  travel  faster. 

Than  when  his  way  lies  among  flowers. 
But  come  —  may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Be  all  of  such  moments  made  up  ; 
They're  born  on  the  bosom  of  Pleasure, 

They  die  'midst  the  tears  of  the  cup. 

e  saw  how  the  sun  look'd  in  sinking, 
The  waters  beneath  him  how  bright ; 


1  "  There  are  countries,"  says  Montaigne,  "  where  they 
uetieve  the  souls  of  tlie  happy  live  in  all  manner  of  liberty, 
tn  delightful  fields ;  and  that  it  is  those  souls,  repeating  the 
words  we  utter,  which  we  call  EcJio." 


'  Steals  silently  to  Moma's  grt  ve  "  —  See,  in  Mr.  Bunt-  '  plary, 


And  now,  let  our  farewell  of  drinking 

Resemble  that  farewell  of  light. 
You  saw  how  he  finish' d,  by  darting 

His  beam  o'er  a  deep  billow's  brim  — 
So  fill  up,  let's  shine  at  our  parting, 

In  full  liquid  glory,  like  him. 
And  O,  may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Of  moments  like  this  be  made  up, 
'Twas  born  on  the  bosom  of  Pleasure, 

It  dies  'mid  the  tears  of  the  cup. 


'TIS  THE  LAST  ROSE  OF  SUMMER 

'Tis  the  last  rose  of  summer 

Left  blooming  alone ; 
All  her  lovely  companions 

Are  faded  and  gone  ; 
No  flower  of  her  kindred, 

No  rosebud  is  nigh, 
To  reflect  back  her  blushes. 

Or  give  sigh  for  sigh. 

I'll  not  leave  thee,  thou  lone  one  f 

To  pine  on  the  stem  ; 
Since  the  lovely  are  sleeping. 

Go,  sleep  thou  with  them. 
Thus  kindly  I  scatter 

Thy  leaves  o'er  the  bed, 
Where  thy  mates  of  the  garden 

Lie  scentless  and  dead. 

So  soon  may  I  follow. 

When  friendships  decay, 
And  from  Love's  shining  circle 

The  gems  drop  away. 
When  true  hearts  lie  withcr'd. 

And  fond  ones  are  flown, 
O,  who  would  inhabit 

This  bleak  world  alone  ? 


THE  YOUNG  MAY  MOON. 

The  young  May  moon  is  beaming,  love, 
The  glowworm's  lamp  is  gleaming,  love. 
How  sweet  to  rove 
Through  Morna's  grove,' 
When  the  drowsy  world  is  dreaming,  love ! 


ing's  collection,  a  poem  translated  from  the  Irish,  by  the  :»tt 
John  Brown,  one  of  my  earliest  college  companions  anj 
friends,  whose  death  was  as  singularly  melancholy  and  uo 
tortunate  as  his  life  had  been  amiable,  honorable,  and  ezere 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


3U 


rhen  awake !  —  the  heavens  look  bright,  my  dear, 
Tis  never  too  late  for  delight,  my  dear, 

And  the  best  of  all  ways 

To  lengthen  our  days, 
Is  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night,  my  dear ! 

How  all  the  world  is  sleeping,  love, 

But  the  Sage,  his  star  watch  keeping,  love. 

And  I,  whose  star. 

More  glorious  far, 
Is  the  eye  from  that  casement  peeping,  love. 
Then  awake  !  —  till  rise  of  sun,  my  dear. 
The  Sage's  glass  we'll  shun,  my  dear. 

Or,  in  watching  the  flight 

Of  bodies  of  light. 
He  might  happen  to  take  thee  for  one,  my  dear. 


THE  MINSTREL  BOY. 

Thb  Minstrel  Boy  to  the  war  is  gone. 
In  the  ranks  of  death  yoi**ll  find  him  ; 

His  father's  sword  he  haa  girded  on. 
And  liis  wild  harp  slung  behind  him.  — 
Land  of  song  ! "  said  the  warrior  bard, 
"  Though  all  the  world  betrays  thee, 

'  One  sword,  at  least,  thy  rights  shall  guard, 
*'  One  faithful  harp  shall  praise  thee  !  " 

The  Minstrel  fell !  —  but  the  foeman's  chaiK 

Could  not  bring  his  proud  soul  under  ; 
The  harp  he  lov'd  ne'er  rpoke  again, 

For  he  tore  its  chords  asunder ; 
And  said,  '*  Xo  chains  shall  sully  thee, 

'•  Thou  soul  of  love  and  bravery  ! 
•*  Thy  songs  were  made  for  the  pure  and  free, 

"  They  shall  never  sound  in  slavery." 


THE  SONG  OF  O'RUARK, 

PKmCE   OF  BllEFPNI.** 

The  valley  lay  smiling  before  me, 
^Vhe^e  lately  I  left  her  behind  ; 

1  TTiese  stanzas  are  founded  upon  an  event  of  most  mel- 
encholy  imponance  to  Ireland  ;  if,  as  we  are  told  by  our 
Irish  historians,  it  |;ave  Enghind  the  first  opportunity  of 
imifiting  by  our  divisions  and  subduing  us.  The  following 
are  tlie  cirrumstances,  as  related  by  O'Halloran  :  —  "The 
king  of  Leinster  had  long  conceived  a  violent  afTection  for 
Dearbhoreil,  daughter  to  the  king  of  Meath,  and  though  she 
Had  been  for  some  time  married  to  O'Ruark,  prince  of 
Breffni,  yet  it  could  not  restrain  his  passion.  They  carried 
on  a  private  correspondence,  and  she  infonned  him  that 
O'Ruark  intended  noon  to  go  on  a  pilgrimage  (an  act  of  piet^ 
frequent  in  tlxxie  days),  and  conjured  him  to  embrace  tltat 
30 


Yet  I  trembled,  and  something  hung  o'er  me. 
That  saddened  the  joy  of  my  mind. 

I  look'd  for  the  lamp  which,  she  t-^ld  me. 
Should  shine,  when  her  Pilgrim  retum'd  ; 

But,  though  darkness  began  to  infold  me. 
No  lamp  from  the  battlements  bom'd  ! 

I  flew  to  her  chamber  —  'twas  lonely. 

As  i'  :he  lov'd  tenant  lay  dead  ;  — 
Ah,  would  it  were  death,  and  death  only ! 

But  no,  the  young  false  one  had  fled. 
And  there  hung  the  lute  that  cotdd  ■often 

My  very  worst  pains  into  bl'AS  ; 
While  the  han''.,  that  had  wak'd  it  so  often. 

Now  throbb'd  to  a  proud  rival's  kiss. 

There  was  a  time,  falsest  of  women. 

When  Breff"ni's  good  sword  would  have  soagll! 
That  man,  through  a  million  of  foemen, 

'V\'Tio  dar'd  but  to  wrong  thee  in  thought ' 
Wliile  now  —  O  degenerate  daugltter 

Of  Erin,  how  fall'n  is  thy  fame  ! 
And  through  ages  of  bondage  and  slaughter. 

Our  countrj'  shall  bleed  for  thy  shama 

Already,  the  curse  is  upon  her. 

And  strangers  her  valleys  profane ; 
They  come  to  divide,  to  dishonor. 

And  tyrants  they  long  wiU  remain. 
But  onward  !  —  the  green  banner  rearing, 

Go,  flesh  every  sword  to  the  hilt ; 
On  our  side  is  Virtup  and  Erin, 

On  theirs  is  the  Saxon  and  Guilt. 


O,  HAD  WE  SOME  BRIGHT  LTTTLE  ISU 
OF  OUR  OWN. 

O,  HAD  we  some  bright  little  isle  of  our  own, 
In  a  blue  summer  ocean,  far  off  and  alojie. 
Where  a  leaf  never  dies  in  the  still  blooming 

bowers. 
And  the  bee  banquets  on  through  a  whole  ye*» 

of  flowers ; 

opportunity  of  conveying  her  from  a  hiiMMUid  she  !*«»<•• 
to  a  lover  she  adored.  Mac  Miirchad  ton  punctiiali}  nb«>v«d 
the  summons,  and  hart  the  Indy  conveyed  in  Mt  capital  ol 
Ferns."  —  The  monarch  Roderick  espfxmed  the  riniie  d 
O'Ruark,  while  .Mac  Murchad  (led  to  England,  ajid  ohulnV 
the  assistance  of  Henry  II. 

"Such,"  adds  GiraldiiiCambrensla  (ail  And  htm  in  ai 
old  translation),  "  is  the  variab^t  and  f,rk\e  nature  of  wo 
man,  by  whom  all  mischief  in  the  world  (for  th*  Wf»:  par* 
do  happen  and  come,  as  may  appear  by  Marrua  A"^ 
and  by  the  deatructinn  of  Tkw  " 


22  i 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


Where  the  sun  loves  to  pause 

With  so  fond  a  delay, 
That  the  night  only  draws 
A  thin  veil  o'er  the  day ; 
Where  simply  to  feel  that  we  breathe,  that  we 

live. 
Is  worth  the  best  joy  that  life  elsewhere  can  give. 

i  here,  with  souls  ever  ardent  and  pure  as  the 

clime, 
We  should  love,  as  they  lov'd  in  the  first  golden 

time ; 
The  glow  of  the  sunshine,  the  balm  of  the  air. 
Would  steal  to  our  hearts,  and  make  all  sum- 
mer there. 

With  affection  as  free 

From  decline  as  the  bowers, 
And,  with  hope,  like  the  bee, 
Living  always  on  flowers, 
Usr  life  should  resemble  a  long  day  of  light. 
And  our  death  come  on,  holy  and  calm  as  the 
night. 


FAREWELL  !  -  BUT  WHENEVER  YOU 
WELCOME  THE  HOUR. 

Farewell  !  —  but  whenever  you  welcome  the 

hour. 
That  awakens  the  night  song  of  mirth  in  your 

bower, 
Then  think  of  the  friend  who  once  welcom'd 

it  too, 
And  forgot  his  own  griefs  to  be  happy  with  you. 
His  griefs  may  return,  not  a  hope  may  remain 
Of  the  few  that  have  brighten'd  his  pathway 

of  pain, 
But  he  ne'er  will  forget  the  short  vision,  that 

threw 
Its  enchantment   around   him,  while  ling'ring 

with  you. 

Antl  still  on  that  evening,  when  pleasure  fills  xip 
To  Ine  highest  top  sparkle  each  heart  and  each 

cup, 
V^'here'er  my  path  lies,  be  it  gloomy  or  bright, 
Hy  soul,  happy  friends,  shall  be  with  you  that 

night ; 
bhaU  join  in  your  revels,  your  sports,  and  your 

wiles, 
A.nd  return  bo  me,  oeaming  all  o'er  with  your 

smiles  — 
Too  blest,  if  it  tells  me  that,  'mid  the  gay  cheer, 
lome  kind  voice  had  murmiur'd,  "I  wish  he 

were  here  ! " 


Let  Fate  do  her  worst,  tlieie  are  relics  of  joy. 
Bright  dreams  of  the  past,  which  she  cannol 

destroy ; 
TS  hich  come  in  the  nighttime  of  sonowand  care 
And  bring  back  the  features  that  joy  used  to 

wear. 
Long,  long  be  my  heart  with  bvlcz  memories 

fill'd ! 
Like  the  vase,  in  which  roses  have  once  beer 

distill' d  — 
You  may  break,  you  may  shatter  tne  vase   U 

you  will. 
But  the  scent  of  the  roses  will  hang  round  it 

stiU. 


0,  DOUBT  ME  NOT. 

O,  DOUBT  me  not  —  the  season 

Is  o'er,  when  Folly  made  me  rove, 
And  now  the  vestal.  Reason, 

Shall  watch  the  fire  n-'.'ak'd  by  Love. 
Although  this  heart  was  early  blo-vvn. 

And  fairest  hands  disturb'd  the  tree. 
They  only  shook  some  blossoms  down 
Its  fruit  has  all  been  kept  for  thee 
Then  doubt  me  not  —  the  season 

Is  o'er,  when  Folly  made  me  rovo. 
And  now,  the  vestal.  Reason, 

Shall  watch  the  fire  awak'd  by  Lo70. 

And  though  my  lute  no  longer 

May  sing  of  Passion's  ardent  speD. 
Yet,  trust  me,  all  the  stronger 

I  feel  the  bliss  I  do  not  tell. 

The  bee  through  many  a  garden  roves, 

And  hums  his  lay  of  courtship  o'er. 

But  when  he  finds  the  flower  he  loves. 

He  settles  there,  and  hums  no  more. 

Then  doubt  me  not  —  the  season 

Is  o'er,  when  Folly  kept  nie  free. 
And  now.tho  vestal,  Reason, 

Shall  guard  the  flame  awak' J.  cy  thet:. 


YOU  REMEMBER  ELLE^.' 

You  remember  Ellen,  our  hamlet's  pride. 
How  meekly  she  blessed  her  humble  lot, 

When  the  stranger,  William,  had  made  her  hJ 
bride. 
And  love  was  the  light  of  their  lowly  cot. 

1  This  ballad  was  suggested  by  a  well-known  and  intei 
eating  story  told  of  a  certain  noble  family  iii  England. 


IRISH  MELODIES.                                                         22. 

r  gether  they  toil'd  through  winds  and  rains, 

Thus,  when  the  lamp  that  lighted 

Till  William,  at  length,  in  sadness  said. 

The  traveller  at  first  goes  out. 

♦  We  must  seek  our  fortune  on  other  plains ; "  — 

He  feels  a  while  benighted. 

Then,  sighing,  she  left  her  lowly  shed. 

And  looks  round  in  fear  and  doabt. 

But  soon,  the  prospect  clearing, 

n«eT  roam'd  a  long  and  a  weary  way, 

By  cloudless  starlight  on  ho  tresda, 

Nor  much  was  the  maiden's  heart  at  ease, 

And  thinks  no  lamp  so  cheering 

When  now,  at  close  of  one  stormy  day. 

As  that  light  which  Heaven  shedt. 

They  see  a  proud  castle  among  the  trees 

■  To-night,"  said  the  youth,  "  we'll  shelter  there ; 

••  The  wind  blows  cold,  the  hour  is  late  :  " 

COME  O'ER  THE  SEA. 

io  he  blew  the  horn  with  a  chieftain's  air, 

And  the  Porter  bow'd  as  they  pass'd  the  gate. 

Comb  o'er  the  sea. 

Maiden,  with  me. 

••  Now,  welcome,  Lady,"  exclaira'd  the  youth,  — 

Mine  through  sunshine,  storm,  and  snows : 

"This  castle  is  thine,  and  these  dark  woods 

Seasons  may  roll. 

aU!" 

But  the  true  soul 

She  believ'd  him  crazed,  but  his  words  were 

Bums  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 

truth. 

Let  fate  frown  on,  so  we  love  and  i)art  not ; 

For  Ellen  is  Lady  of  Rosna  Hall ! 

'Tis  life  where  thou  art,  'tis  death  where  thn 

A.nd  dearly  the  liord  of  Rosnt^  loves 

art  not. 

WTiat  William  the  stranger  woo'd  and  wed ; 

Then  come  o'er  the  aea, 

/Ind  the  light  of  bliss,  in  these  lordly  groves, 

Maiden,  with  me. 

Shines  pure  as  it  did  in  the  lowly  shed. 

Come  wherever  the  wild  wind  blow* 

Seasons  may  roll. 

But  the  true  soul 

Bums  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 

TD  MOURN  THE  HOPES. 

Was  not  the  sea 

Pd  mourn  the  hopes  that  leave  me. 

Made  for  the  Free, 

If  thy  smiles  had  left  me  too  ; 

Land  for  courts  and  chains  alone  ? 

I'd  weep  when  friends  deceive  me. 

Here  we  are  slaves. 

If  thou  wert,  like  them,  untrue. 

But,  on  the  waves. 

But  while  I've  thee  before  me. 

Love  and  Liberty's  all  our  own. 

With  heart  so  warm  and  eyes  so  oright* 

No  eye  to  watch,  and  no  tongue  to  wound  us, 

"No  clouds  can  linger  o'er  me. 

All  earth  forgot,  and  all  heaven  around  us  — 

That  smile  turns  them  all  to  light. 

Then  come  o'er  the  sea, 

Maiden,  with  me. 

'Tis  not  in  fate  to  harm  me. 

Mine  through  sunshine,  storm,  and  snows 

While  fate  leaves  thy  love  to  me  ; 

Seasons  may  roll. 

'  Tis  not  in  joy  to  charm  me, 

But  the  true  soul 

Unless  joy  be  shared  with  thee. 

Bums  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 

One  minute's  dream  about  thee      * 

Were  worth  a  long,  an  endless  year 

Of  waking  bliss  without  thee, 

HAS  SORROW  THV   YOUNG    DAW 

~My  own  love,  my  only  dear ! 

SHADED 

And  though  the  hope  be  gone,  love, 

Has  sorrow  thy  young  days  shaded. 

That  long  sparkled  o'er  our  way, 

As  clouds  o'er  the  morning  fleet? 

O,  we  shall  journey  on,  love. 

Too  fast  have  those  young  dajrs  faded. 

More  safely,  without  its  ray. 

That,  even  in  sorrow,  were  sweet ' 

Far  belter  lights  shall  win  me 

Does  Time  with  his  cold  wing  wither 

Alung  the  path  I've  yet  to  rtnun  :  — 

F.arh  feeling  that  once  was  dear  ?  — 

The  mind  that  burns  within  me, 

Then,  child  of  misfortune,  come  hiths*. 

And  pi-je  smiles  from  thee  at  home 

I'U  weep  with  thee,  tew  tot  tear. 

i2S                                                          IRISH  MELODIES. 

Has  love  to  that  soul,  so  ttrnder, 
Been  ike  our  Lagenian  mine,' 

WHEN  FIRST  I  MET  THEE. 

Where  sparkles  of  golden  splendor 

When  first  I  met  thee,  warm  and  young. 

All  over  the  surface  shine  — ' 

There  shone  such  truth  about  thee. 

But,  if  in  pursuit  vce  go  deeper, 

And  on  thy  lip  such  promise  hung. 

Allur'd  by  the  gleam  that  shone, 

I  did  not  dare  to  doubt  thee. 

A.h  !  false  as  the  dream  of  the  sleeper, 

I  saw  thee  change,  yet  still  relied. 

Like  Love,  the  bright  ore  is  gone. 

Still  clung  with  hope  the  fonder, 

And  thought,  though  false  to  all  beside, 

Has  Hope,  like  the  bird  in  the  story," 

From  me  thou  couldst  not  wander. 

That  flitted  from  tree  to  tree 

But  go,  deceiver  !  go, 

"With  the  talisman's  glittering  glory  — 

The  heart,  whos*-  hopes  could  make  il 

Has  Hope  been  that  bird  to  thee  > 

Trust  one  so  false,  so  low. 

On  branch  after  branch  alighting, 

Deserves  that  thou  shouldst  break  it 

The  gem  did  she  still  display. 

And  when  nearest  and  most  inviting. 

When  every  tongue  thy  foUies  nam'd, 

Then  waft  the  fair  gem  away  ? 

I  fled  the  unwelcome  story  ; 

Or  found,  in  ev'n  the  faults  they  blam'd. 

If  thus  the  young  hours  have  fleeted. 

Some  gleams  of  future  glory. 

When  sorrow  itself  looked  bright ; 

/  still  was  true,  when  nearer  friends 

If  thus  the  fair  hope  hath  cheated, 

Conspired  to  wrong,  to  slight  thee  ; 

That  led  thee  along  so  light ; 

The  heart  that  now  thy  falsehood  rends, 

If  thus  the  cold  world  now  wither 

Would  then  have  bled  to  right  thee. 

Each  feeling  that  once  was  dear  ;  — 

But  go,  deceiver  !  go,  — 

Dome,  chUd  of  misfortune,  come  hither, 

Some  day,  perhaps,  thou'lt  waken 

rU  weep  with  thee,  tear  for  tear. 

From  pleasure's  dream,  to  know 

The  grief  of  hearts  forsaken. 

Even    now,    though    youth    its    bloom  hal 

NO,  NOT  MORE  WELCOME. 

shed, 
No  lights  of  age  adorn  thee  : 

Vo,  not  more  welcome  the  fairy  numbers 

The  few,  who  lov'd  thee  once,  have  fled. 

Of  music  fall  on  the  sleeper's  ear. 

And  they  who  flatter  scorn  thee. 

^^^len  half  awaking  from  fearful  slumbers, 

Thy  midnight  cup  is  pledg'd  to  slaves, 

He  thinks  the  full  quire  of  heaven  is  near,  — 

No  genial  ties  inwreathe  it ; 

Than  came  that  voice,  when,  all  forsaken, 

Tlie  smiling  there,  like  light  on  graves, 

This  heart  long  had  sleeping  lain. 

Has  rank  cold  hearts  beneath  it. 

Nor  thought  its  cold  pulse  would  ever  waken 

Go —  go  —  though  worlds  were  thine, 
I  would  not  now  surrender               ' 

To  such  benign,  blessed  sounds  again. 

One  taintless  tear  of  mine 

Sweet  voice  of  comfort !  'twas  like  the  stealing 

For  all  thy  guilty  splendor  ! 

Of   summer  wind  through   some   wreathed 

shell— 

And  days  may  come,  thou  false  one  !  yet. 

Each  secret  -winding,  each  inmost  feeling 

^Vhen  even  those  ties  shall  sever  ; 

Of  all  my  soul  echoed  to  its  spell. 

When  thou  wilt  call,  with  vain  regret, 

1  was  whisper'd  balm,  'twas  sunshine  spoken ! 

On  her  thou'st  lost  forever  ; 

I'd  live  years  of  grief  and  pain 

On  her  who,  in  thy  fortune's  fall, 

To  have  my  long  sleep  of  sorrow  broken 

With  smiles  had  still  r«ceiv'd  thee. 

By  such  benign,  blessed  sounds  again. 

And  gladly  died  to  prove  thee  all 

Her  fancy  first  believ'd  thee. 

1  Our  Wicklow  Gold  Mines,  to  which  this  verse  alludes, 

the  talisman  in  his  mouth.     1  ne  prmce  drew  near  it  nopinj 

toeerve,  I  fear,  but  too  well  the  character  here  given  of  them. 

It  wo\ild  drop  it ;  but,  as  he  approached,  the  bird  took  nrinff 

•  '  The  bird,  having  got  its  prize,  settled  not  far  off  with 

and  settled  again,"  &c.  —  Arabian  J\riffkts. 

miSH  MELODIES. 


XII 


Go  —  go  —  'tia  vain  to  curse, 
'Tis  weakness  to  upbraid  thee ; 

Hate  cannot  wish  thee  worse 
Than  guilt  and  shame  have  made  thee. 


WHILE  HISTORY'S  MUSE. 

While  History's  Muse  the  memorial  was  keeping 
Of  all  that  the  dark  hand  of  Destiny  weaves, 
Beside  her  the  Genius  of  Erin  stood  weeping, 

For  hers  was  the  story  that  blotted  the  leaves. 
B  at  O,  how  the  tear  in  her  eyelids  grew  bright. 
When,  after  whole  pages  of  sorrow  and  shame, 
She  saw  History  write. 
With  a  pencil  of  light 
rhat  illum'd  the  whole  volume,  her  Wellington's 
name. 

**  Hail,  Star  of  my  Isle  ! "  said  the  Spirit,  all 
sparkling 
With  beams,  such  as  break  from  her   own 
dewy  skies  — 
«*  Through  ages  of  sorrow,  deserted  and  darkling, 
"J've  watch' d  for  some  glory  like  thine  to 
arise. 
■  For.  though  Heroes  I've  number'd,  unblest 

was  their  lot, 
*'  An<I  unhallow'd  they  sleep  in  the  cross  ways 
of  Fame ;  — 

"But  O,  there  is  not 
"  One  dishonoring  blot 
•*  On  *he  wreath  that  encircles  my  Wellington's 
name. 

•*  Ye*,  still  the  last  crown  of  thy  toils  is  remaining, 
*'  rhe  grandest,  the  purest,  ev'n  thou  hast  yet 
known ; 
*  Though  proud  was  thy  task,  other  nations  un- 
chaining, 
••  Far  prouder  to  heal  the  deep  wounds  of 
thy  o%vn. 
»•  At  the  f.  ot  of  that  throne,  for  whose  weal 

thou  hast  stood, 
"  Or    plead  for  the  land  that  first  cradled  thy 
fame,  / 

"And,  bright  o'er  the  flood 
"Of  her  tears  and  her  blood, 
•♦  Let  the  rainbow  of  Hope  be  her  Wellington's 
name !  " 

1  Tliiii  alludes  to  a  kind  of  Irish  Tairv,  wh'ic'  to  to  be  met 
wiib,  they  m}  ,  in  tlio  fields  at  dusk.  As  long  as  you  keep 
70UT  eycD  upon  him,  he  is  died,  and  in  your  nc  wer ;  —  but 
Hw  Bonient  ynu  l(»k  away  (and  he  in  ingenious  it  furnishing 
•uiuo  induceinent)  he  vaui^Jies     I  had  tlKHi^h.  Uuit  Ifaii 


THE  TIME  I'VE  LOST  IN  WOOING 

The  time  I've  lost  in  wooing. 
In  watching  and  pursuing 

The  light,  that  lies 

In  woman's  eyes. 
Has  been  my  heart's  undoing. 
Though  Wisdom  oft  has  sought  bm^ 
I  scorn' d  the  lore  she  brought  me. 

My  only  books 

Were  woman's  looks, 
And  folly's  all  they've  taught  me. 

Her  smile  when  Beauty  granted* 
I  hung  with  gaze  enchanted, 
Like  him  the  Sprite,' 

Whom  maids  by  night 
Oft  meet  in  glen  that's  haunted. 
Like  him,  too.  Beauty  won  me. 
But  while  her  eyes  were  on  ma. 

If  once  their  ray 

Was  tum'd  away, 
O,  winds  could  not  outrun  m*. 

And  arc  those  follies  going  ? 
And  is  my  proud  heart  Rowing 

Too  cold  or  wise 

For  brilliant  eyes 
Again  to  set  it  glowing  ? 
No,  vain,  alas  !  th'  endeavor 
From  bonds  so  sweet  to  sev**  • 

Poor  Wisdom's  chance 

Against  a  glance 
Is  now  as  weak  as  ever. 


WTIERE  IS   mE  SLAVB. 

O,  WHEILB  8  the  sAive  sc  lowly. 
Condemn  d  u-  chains  unholy. 

Who,  oould  he  burst 

HLs  bonds  at  first. 
Would  pine  beneath  them  slowly  I 
What  soul,  wriose  wrongs  degratu  tt, 
Would  wait  till  time  decay'd  it. 

When  thus  its  wing 

At  once  may  spring 
To  the  throne  of  Him  who  made  it } 

wu  the  Rprite  which  we  cali  (ne  l<eprrchaun  ;  bit  a  M|t 
authority  upon  such  subjects.  I.ady  Morgan,  (ma  tnm»tl$n 
her  national  and  inicionting  U'>vel,  O'Uwniwi,}  bai  (:*•■ 
veiy  different  accuunt  if  that  gotilin. 


190 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


Farewell,  Erin,  —  farewell,  all, 
Who  live  to  weep  our  fall ! 

Less  dear  the  laurel  growing, 
Ahve,  untouch'd  and  blowing, 

ITian  that,  whose  braid 

Is  pluck'd  to  shade 
The  brows  with  victory  glowing. 
We  tread  the  land  that  bore  us, 
Her  green  flag  glitters  o'er  us, 

The  friends  we've  tried 

Aie  by  our  eide. 
And  the  foe  we  hate  before  us. 

Farewell,  Erin,  —  farewell,  all, 
Who  I've  to  weep  our  fall ! 


COME,  REST  IN  THIS  BOSOM. 

Comb,  rest  in  this  bosom,  my  own  stricken  deer, 
Though  the  herd  have  fled  from  thee,  thy  home 

is  still  here ; 
Here  still  is  the  smile,  that  no  cloud  can  o'ercast. 
And  a  heart  and  a  hand  all  thy  own  to  the  last. 

0,  what  was  love 'made  for,  if  'tis  not  the  same 
Through  joy   and   through   torment,    through 

glory  and  shame  r 
I  know  not,  I  ask  not,  if  guilt's  in  that  heart, 
I  but  know  that  I  love  thee,  whatever  thou  art. 

Thou  hast  call'd  me  thy  Angel  in  moments  of 

bliss, 
And  thy  Angel  I'll  be,  'mid  the  horrors  of  this,  — 
Through  the  furnace,  unshrinking,  thy  steps  to 

pursue, 
A.nd   shield   thee,   and  save  thee,  —  or  perish 

there  too  ! 


"nS   GONE.  AND  FOREVER. 

til  =  )ne,  and  forever,  the  light  we  saw  breaking 
Like  Heaven's  first  dawn  o'er  the  sleep  of  the 
dead  — 
When  Man,  from  the  slumber  of  ages  awaking, 
Looi'd  upward,  and  bless'd  the  pure  ray,  ere 
it  fled. 
"Tis  gone,  and  the  gleams  it  has  left  of  its  burning 
Bill   deepen   the   long   night   of  bondage   and 

mourning, 
rhat  dark  o'er  the  kingdoms  of  earth  is  returning. 
And  darkest  of  all,  hapless  Erin,  o'er  thee. 


For  high  was  thy  hope,  when  those  gJcties  wen 
darting 
Around  thee,  through  all  the  gross  clouds  of 
the  world ; 
When    Truth,    from    her    fetters    indignantly 
starting. 
At  once,  like  a  Sun-burst,  her  banner  unfurl'd. ' 
O,  never  shall  earth  see  a  moment  so  splendid  ! 
Then,  then  —  had  one  Hymn  of  Deliverfjjr* 

blenc^d 
The  tongues   of  all  nations  —  how  sweet  L&d 
ascended 
The  first  note  of  Liberty,  Erin,  from  the^  ! 

But,  shame  on  those  tyrants,  who  envied  the 
blessing  ! 
And  shame  on  the  light  race,  unworthy  its 
good. 
Who,  at  Death's  reeking  altar,  like  furies,  ca- 
ressing 
The  young  hope  of  Freedom,  baptiz'd  it  in 
blood. 
Then  vanish'd  forever  that  fair,  sunny  vision. 
Which,  spite  of  the   slavish,  the  cold  heart's 

derision. 
Shall  long  be  remember' d,  pui;e,  bright,  and 
elysian. 
As  first  it  arose,  my  lost  Erin,  on  thee 


I  SAW  FROM  THE  BEACH. 

I  SAW  from  the  beach,  when  the  morning  waa 
shining, 
A  bark  o'er  the  waters  move  gloriously  on  ; 
I  came  when  the  sun  o'er  that  beach  was  de- 
clining. 
The  bark  was-  still  there,  but  the  w  aters  were 
gone 

And  such  is  the  fate  of  our  life's  early  promise 

So   passing   the   springtide   of  joy  w?    havf 

known  ; 

Each  wave,  that  we  danc'd  on  at  morning,       * 

from  us. 

And  leaves  us,  at  eve,  on  the  bleak  shore  alone 

Ne'er  tell  me  of  glories,  serenely  adorning    • 
The  close  of  our   day,  the  calm  eve  of  oai 
night ;  — 


1  "  The  Sun-burst "  was  the  fanciful  name  given  by  tbt 
ancient  Irish  to  the  Royal  Banner. 


miSH  MELODIES. 


Ut 


GKve  me  back,  give  me  back  the  wild  freshness 
of  Morning, 
Her  clouds  and  her  tears  are  worth  Eyening't 
best  light. 

0,  who  would  no*  welcome  that  moment's  re- 
turning, 
When  passion  f  rst  wak'd  a  new  life  through 
Us  fra»n<». 
Ina  nis  soul,  'i>.e  the  wood,  that  grows  precious 
in  bumirg. 
Gave  out  ail  its  sweets  to  love's  exquisite  flame. 


PILL  THE  BUMPER  FAIR. 

Fill  che  bumper  fair  ! 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 
O'er  the  brow  of  Care 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 
Wit's  electric  flame 

Ne'er  so  swiftly  passes, 
As  when  through  the  frame 

It  shoots  from  brimming  glasses. 
FL'l  the  bumper  fair  ! 

Every,  drop  we  sprinkle 
O'er  the  brow  of  Care 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 

Sages  can,  they  say. 

Grasp  the  lightning's  pinions. 
And  bring  down  its  ray 

From  the  starr'd  dominions  :  — 
So  we.  Sages,  sit. 

And,  'mid  bumpers  bright'ning, 
From  the  Heaven  of  Wit         ^ 

Draw  down  all  its  lightning. 

Wouldst  thou  know  what  first 

Made  our  souls  inherit 
This  ennobling  thirst 

For  wine's  celestial  spirit  ? 
It  chanc'd  upon  that  day, 

^^'hcn,  as  bards  inform  us, 
Prometheus  stole  away 

I  he  living  fires  that  warm  us  : 

Thi;  careless  Youth,  when  up 
To  Glory's  fount  aspiring, 

i  In  that  rebellious  but  beautiful  aong,  "  When  Erin  Aral 
IPM,"  there  is,  if  I  recollect  right,  the  followinn  line :  — 

"  rbe  dack  chain  c,f  Silence  was  thrown  o'er  the  deep." 

Hie  chain  of  Silence  was  a  wirt  of  practical  figure  of 
(Mtonc  atnong  the  annnn.'   Iri!<h.     Walker  tells  us  of  "a 


Took  nor  urn  nor  cup 

To  hide  the  pilfer'd  &n  in.  — 
But  O  his  joy,  when,  round 

The  halls  of  Heaven  spsring, 
Among  the  stars  he  found 

A  bowl  of  Bacchus  lying  ! 

Some  drops  were  in  that  bowl. 

Remains  of  last  night's  pleasure* 
With  which  the  Sparks  of  Soul 

Mix'd  their  bumij  g  treasure. 
Hence  the  goblet's  shower 

Hath  such  spells  to  win  us ; 
Hence  its  mighty  power 

O'er  that  flame  within  us. 
Fill  the  bumper  fair  ! 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 
O'er  the  brow  of  Care 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 


DEAR  HARP  OF  MY  COUNTRY. 

Deab  Harp  of  my  Country !  in  darkness  I  found 
thee. 
The  cold  chain  of  silence  had  hung  o'er  the* 
long,' 
When  proudly,  my  own   Island  Harp,  I  un- 
bound thee, 
And  gave  all  thy  chords  to  light,  freedom, 
and  song  ! 
The  warm  lay  of  love  and  the  light  note  of 
gladness 
Have  waken'd  thy  fondest,  thy  liveliest  thrill ; 
But,  so  oft  hast  thou  echoed  the  deep  sigh  of 
sadness, 
That  cv'n  in  thy  mirth  it  wUl  steal  from  the* 
still. 

Dear  Ilnrp  of  my  country  !    farewell   to  thj 
numbers, 
This  sweet  wreath  of  song  is  the  last  we  shall 
twine  ! 
Go,  sleep  with  the  sunshine  of  Fame  on  thy 
slumbers. 
Till  touch'd  by  some  hand  less  unworthy  tiuva 
mine ; 
If  the  pulse  of  the  patriot,  soldier,  or  lover. 
Have  throbb'd  at  our  lay,  'tis  thy  glory  alor.e  : 

celebrated  contention  for  precedence  between  Finn  ta< 
Gaul,  near  Finn's  palace  at  Almhaim,  when  Um  allMMlInf 
Bards,  anxious,  if  poasible,  to  produce  a  eoMatiun  nf  biMUi 
ties,  shook  the  chain  of  Silence,  and  (lung  ibeoiaehrw 
among  the  ranks."  See  also  the  CkU  U  Otmt,  Ik*  $0^  it 
Mami,  in  Miss  Brooke's  SHiquet  of  ln»k  PtHrf 


I'd2 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


L  wa8  but  as  the  wind,  passing  heedlessly  over, 
And  all  the  wild  sweetness  I  wak'd  was  thy 
own. 


PREFACE 
TO  THE  FOUHTH  VOLUME. 

The  recollections  connected,  in  my  mind,  with 
tnat  earlj'  period  of  my  life,  when  I  first  thought 
of  interpreting  in  Verse  the  touching  language 
of  my  country's  music,  tempt  me  again  to  ad- 
rert  to  those  long  past  days ;  and,  even  at  the 
risk  of  being  thought  to  indulge  overmuch  in 
what  CoUey  Gibber  calls  '<  the  great  pleasure  of 
writing  about  one's  self  all  day,"  to  notice  briefly 
some  of  those  impressions  and  influences  under 
which  the  attempt  to  adapt  words  to  our  ancient 
Melodies  was  for  some  time  meditated  by  me, 
and,  at  last,  undertaken. 

There  can  oc  no  doubt  that  to  the  zeal  and 
industry  of  Mr.  Bunting  nis  country  is  indebted 
for  the  preservation  of  Jier  old  national  airs. 
During  the  prevalence  of  the  Penal  Code,  the 
music  of  Ireland  was  made  to  share  m  the 
fate  of  its  people.  Both  were  alike  shut  out 
from  the  pale  of  civilized  life  ;  and  seldom  any 
where  but  in  the  huts  of  the  proscribed  race 
could  the  sweet  voice  of  the  songs  of  other  days 
be  heard.  Even  of  that  class,  the  itinerant 
harpers,  among  whom  for  a  long  period  our 
ancient  music  had  been  kept  alive,  there  re- 
mained but  few  to  continue  the  precious  tra- 
dition ;  and  a  great  music  meeting  held  at 
Belfast  in  tne  year  1792,  at  which  the  two  or 
three  still  remaining  of  the  old  race  of  wander- 
hag  harpers  assisted,  exiiibited  the  last  public 
effort  made  by  the  lovers  of  Irish  music,  to  pre- 
serve to  their  country  the  only  grace  or  orna- 
ment left  to  her,  out  of  the  wrecK  of  all  her 
liberties  and  hopes.  Thus  what  the  fierce 
legislature  of  the  Pale  had  endeavored  vamly 
'.hrough  so  many  centuries  to  effect,  —  the  utter 
extinction  of  Ireland's  Minstrelsy,  — the  deadly 
pressure  of  the  Penal  Laws  had  nearly,  at 
the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century,  accom- 
plished ;  and,  but  for  the  zeal  and  inteUigent 
research  of  Mr.  Bunting,  at  that  crisis,  the 
greater  part  of  our  musical  treasures  would 
probably  have  been  lost  to  the  world.  It  was 
in  the  year  1796  that  this  gentleman  published 
ixis  first  volume ;  and  the  national  spirit  and 
liopp   then  wakened  in   IrelaAd,  by  the  rapid 


spread  of  the  democratic  principle  throughou 
Europe,  could  not  out  msure  a  most  cordia. 
reception  for  such  a  work ;  —  flattering  as  it 
was  to  the  fond  dreams  of  Erin's  early  days, 
and  containing  in  itself,  indeed,  remarkable  testi- 
mony to  the  truth  of  her  claims  to  an  early  late 
of  civilization. 

It  was  in  the  year  1797  that,  through  the 
medium  of  Mr.  Bunting's  book,  I  was  first  made 
acquainted  with  the  beauties  of  our  native 
music.  A  young  friend  of  our  family,  Edward 
Hudson,  the  nephew  of  an  eminent  dentist  of 
that  name,  who  played  with  much  taste  and 
feeling  on  the  flute,  and,  unluckily  for  him- 
self, was  but  too  deeply  warmed  with  the  pa- 
triotic ardor  then  kindling  around  him,  was  the 
first  who  made  known  to  me  this  rich  mine  of 
our  country'  s  melodies  ;  —  a  mine,  from  the 
working  of  which  my  humble  labors  as  a  poet 
have  since  derived  their  sole  lustre  and  value. 
About  the  same  period  I  formed  an  acquaint- 
ance, which  soon  grew  into  intimacy,  with 
young  Robert  Emmet.  He  was  my  senior,  I 
think,  by  one  class,  in  the  university ;  for 
when,  in  the  first  year  of  my  course,  I  bee  ame 
a  member  of  the  Debating  Society,  —  a  sort  of 
nursery  to  the  authorized  Historical  Society  — 
I  found  him  in  full  reputation,  not  only  for 
nis  ^earning  and '  eloquence,  but  also  for  :he 
Ulamelessness  of  his  life,  and  the  grave  suavity 
of  nis  manners. 

Of  the  political  tone  of  this  minor  school 
of  oratory,  waich  was  held  weekly  at  the 
rooms  of  lifferent  resident  members,  some 
notion  may  je  formed  from  the  nature  of  the 
questions  «  proposed  for  discussion,  —  one  of 
which,  I  recollect,  was,  "  Whether  an  Aris- 
tocracy or  a  Democracy  is  most  favorable  to 
the  advancement  of  sconce  and  .iterature  ? " 
while  another,  bearmg  even  more  pointedly 
on  the  relative  position  of  the  government  and 
the  people,  at  this  crisis,  was  thus  significantly 
propounded  :  —  "  W  lother  a  soldier  was  bound, 
on  all  occasions,  to  ooey  the  orders  of  his  com- 
manding oflRcer?"  On  the  former  of  tlies* 
questions,  the  effect  of  Emmet's  eloqutnce  upois 
his  young  auditors  was,  I  recollect,  most  sti  iking 
The  proi.ibition  against  touching  upon  modern 
politics,  wnich  it  was  suosequently  found  neces- 
sary to  enforce,  had  not  yet  been  introduced ; 
and  Emmet,  who  took  of  course  ardently  the 
side  of  democracy  :n  the  debate,  after  a  brief 
review  of  the  repui/.ics  of  antiquity,  showing 
how  much  they  had  a.  done  for  the  advance^ 
ment  of  science  and  tnt  arts,  proceeded,  lastly 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


231 


/)  the  grand  and  perilous  example,  then  passing 
before  all  eyes,  the  young  Republic  of  France, 
deferring  to  the  circumstance  told  of  Caesar, 
uhat,  m  swimming  across  the  Rubicon,  he  con- 
trived to  carry  with  him  his  Commentaries  and 
his  sword,  the  young  orator  said,  "  Tlius  France 
wades  tlirough  a  sea  of  storm  and  blood ;  but 
while,  in  one  hand,  she  wields  the  sword  against 
ner  aggressors,  with  the  other  she  upholds  the 
jiories  of  science  and  literature  unsullied  by  the 
ensanguined  tide  through  which  she  struggles." 
In  another  of  his  remarkable  speeches,  I  remem- 
ber his  saying,  "  \\nien  a  people  advancing  rap- 
idly in  knowledge  and  power,  perceive  at  last 
how  far  their  government  is  lagging  behind 
them,  what  then,  I  ask,  is  to  be  done  in  such  a 
case  ?  What,  but  to  pull  the  government  up  to 
the  people  ? " 

In  a  few  months  after,  both  Emmet  and  my- 
self were  admitted  members  of  the  greater  and 
recognized  institution,  called  the  Historical  So- 
ciety ;  and,  even  here,  the  political  feeling  so 
rife  abroad  contrived  to  mix  up  its  restless 
spirit  with  all  our  debates  and  proceedings  ; 
notwithstanding  the  constant  watchfulness  of 
the  college  authorities,  as  well  as  of  a  strong 
party  within  the  Society  itself,  devoted  adher- 
ents to  the  policy  of  the  government,  and  taking 
Invariably  part  with  the  Provost  and  Fellows  in 
all  their  restrictive  and  inquisitorial  measures. 
The  most  distinguished  and  eloquent  of  these 
supporters  of  power  were  a  young  man  named 
Sargent,  of  whose  fate  in  after  days  I  know 
nothing,  and  Jebb,  the  late  Bishop  of  Limerick, 
who  was  then,  as  he  continued  to  be  through 
lil'e,  much  respected  for  his  private  worth  and 
earning. 

Of  the  popular  side,  in  the  Society,  the  chief 
champion  and  ornament  was  Robert  Emmet ; 
and  though  every  care  was  taken  to  exclude 
from  the  subjects  of  debate  all  questions  ver- 
gmg  towards  the  politics  of  the  day,  it  was 
aiways  easy  enough,  by  a  side  wind  of  digres- 
lion  or  allusion,  to  bring  Ireland  and  the  pros- 
pects then  opening  upon  her  within  the  scope 
cf  the  orator's  view.  So  exciting  and  powerful, 
m  this  respect,  were  Emmet's  speeches,  and 
BO  little  were  even  the  most  eloquent  of  the 
adverse  party  able  to  cope  with  his  powers, 
that  it  was  at  length  thought  advisable,  by 
the  higher  authorities,  to  send  among  us  a 
»»>an  of  more  advanced  standing,  as  well  as  be- 
ongmg  to  i  former  race  of  renowned  speakers, 
'ji  that  So»  iety,  in  order  that  he  might  answer 
'Ao  speeches  of  Emmet,  and  endeavor  to  ob- 
30 


viate  the  mischievous  impression  they  wert 
thought  to  produce.  The  name  of  thb  mature 
champion  of  the  higher  powers  it  is  not  necea 
sary  here  to  record  ;  but  the  object  of  his  mi<* 
sion  among  us  was  in  some  respect  gained ;  M 
it  was  in  replying  to  a  long  oration  of  his, 
one  night,  that  Emmet,  much  to  the  mortifi- 
cation of  us  who  gloried  in  him  as  our  leader, 
became  suddenly  embarrassed  in  the  mi  Idle  of 
his  speech,  and,  to  use  the  parliamentary  phrase, 
broke  do^vn.  Whether  from  a  momentary  con- 
fusion in  the  thread  of  his  argiunent,  or  possibly 
from  diffidence  in  encountering  an  adversary  sc 
much  his  senior,  —  for  Emmet  was  as  modest  m 
he  was  high  minded  and  brave,  —  he  began,  in 
the  full  career  of  his  eloquence,  to  hesitate  and 
repeat  his  words,  and  then,  after  an  effort  or 
two  to  recover  himself,  sat  down. 

It  fell  to  my  own  lot  to  be  engaged,  about  the 
same  time,  in  a  brisk  struggle  with  the  domi- 
nant party  in  the  Society,  in  consequence  of  p 
burlesque  poem  which  I  gave  in,  as  candidate 
for  the  Literary  Medal,  entitled  *•  An  Ode  upon 
Nothing,  with  Notes,  by  Trismegistus  Rusti- 
fustius,  D.  D."  &c.  &c.  For  this  squib  against 
the  great  Dons  of  learning,  the  medal  wae 
voted  to  me  by  a  triumphant  majority.  But 
a  motion  was  made  in  the  following  week  to 
rescind  this  vote  ;  and  a  fierce  contett  between 
the  two  parties  ensued,  which  I  at  last  put  an 
end  to  by  voluntarily  withdrawing  my  compo- 
sition from  the  Society's  Book. 

I  have  already  adverted  to  the  period  when 
Mr.  Bunting's  valuable  volume  first  became 
known  to  me.  There  elapsed  no  very  long 
time  before  I  was  myself  the  happy  proprictof 
of  a  copy  of  the  work,  and,  though  never  regu- 
larly instructed  in  music,  could  play  over  the 
airs  with  tolerable  facility  on  the  piano  forte. 
Robert  Emmet  used  sometimes  to  sit  by  me, 
when  I  was  thus  engaged ;  and  I  remember 
one  day  his  starting  up  as  from  a  revery,  when 
I  had  just  finished  playing  that  spirited  tunt 
called  the  Red  Fox,'  and  exclaiming,  "  O  that 
I  were  at  the  head  of  twenty  thousand  m<m^ 
marching  to  that  air  !  " 

How  little  did  I  then  think  that  in  one  ot 
the  most  touching  of  the  sweet  airs  I  used  to 
play  to  him,  his  o\vn  dying  words  would  find  u. 
interpreter  so  worthy  of  their  sad,  but  proud 
feeling;*  or  that  another  of  those  moumfu' 
strains  ^  would  long  be  associated,  in  the  hearts 

I  "  Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old." 

1  "  O.  breathe  nut  hU  name." 

*  "Sne  is  fiu  Drum  tiM  land  wtam  bar  jrouBgtoMbileepr 


a 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


af  his  countryiT.en,  with  the  memory  of  her' 
who  shared  with  Ireland  his  last  blessing  and 
Drayer. 

Though  fully  alive,  of  course,  to  the  feelings 
rt'hich  such  music  could  not  but  inspire,  I  had 
not  yet  undertaken  the  task  .of  adapting  words 
o  any  of  the  airs  ;  and  it  was,  I  am  ashamed 
JO  say,  in  dull  and  turgid  prose,  that  I  made  my 
Irst  aj^pearance  in  print  «s  a  champion  of  the 
popular  cause.  Towards  the  latter  end  of  the 
rear  1797,  the  celebrated  newspaper  called 
'  The  Press  "  was  set  up  by  Arthur  O'Connor, 
Thomas  Addis  Emmet,  and  other  chiefs  of  the 
United  Irish  conspiracy,  with  the  view  of  pre- 
oaring  and  ripening  the  public  mind  for  the 
treat  crisis  then  fast  approaching.  This  mem- 
Dtable  journal,  according  to  the  impression  I  at 
Dresent  retain  of  it,  was  far  more  distinguished 
for  earnestness  of  purpose  and  intrepidity,  than 
for  any  great  display  of  literary  talent  ;  —  the 
Dold  letters  written  by  Emmet  (the  elder),  un- 
der the  signature  of  "  Montanus,"  being  the 
only  compositions  I  can  now  call  to  mind,  as 
entitled  to  praise  for  their  literary  merit.  It 
required,  however,  but  a  small  si^rinkling  of 
talent  to  make  bold  writing,  at  that  time,  pal- 
atable; and,  from  the  experience  of  my  own 
home,  I  can  answer  for  the  avidity  with  which 
every  line  of  this  daring  journal  was  devoured. 
It  used  to  come  out,  I  think,  twice  a  week,  and, 
on  the  evening  of  publication,  I  always  read  it 
aloud  to  our  small  circle  after  supper. 

It  may  easily  be  conceived  that,  what  with 
my  ardor  for  **he  national  cause,  and  a  growing 
consciousne&«'  of  some  little  turn  for  authorship, 
I  was  naturally  eager  to  become  a  contributor 
to  those  patriotic  and  popular  columns.  But 
vhe  constant  anxiety  about  me  which  I  knew 
my  own  family  felt,  —  a  feeling  more  wakeful 
far  than  even  tlieir  zeal  in  the  public  cause,  — 
withheld  me  from  hazarding  any  step  that  might 
iduse  them  alarm.  I  had  ventured,  indeed, 
»ne  evening,  to  pop  privately  into  the  letter  box 
of  The  Press,  a  short  Fragment  in  imitation  of 
Ossian.  Lut  this,  though  inserted,  passed  off 
quietly ,  and  nobody  was,  in  any  sense  of  the 


1  Miss  Currao, 

*  So  thought  also  higher  authorities  ;  for  among  the  ex- 
tracts from  The  Press  brought  forward  by  the  Secret  Com- 
mittee of  the  House  of  Commons,  to  show  how  formidable 
had  been  the  designs  of  the  United  Irishmen,  there  are  two 
•r  three  paragraphs  cited  from  this  redoubtable  Letter. 

»  t)f  the  depth  and  extent  to  which  Hudson  had  involved 
himself  in  the  conspiracy,  none  of  our  family  had  harbored 
Ibe  leas$  notion;  till,  on  the  seizure  of  the  thirteen  Leinster 


phrase,  the  wiser  for  it.  I  was  soon  tomjited, 
however,  to  try  a  more  daring  flight.  "Without 
communicating  my  secret  to  any  one  but  Ed-- 
ward  Hudson,  I  addressed  a  long  Letter,  ii 
prose,  to  the  *****of****,  in  whiel, 
a  profusion  of  bad  flowers  of  rhetoric  was  m- 
wreathed  plentifully  with  that  weed  which 
Shakspeare  calls  '<  the  cockle  of  rebelHon,"  and, 
in  the  same  manner  as  before,  commlued  it 
tremblingly  to  the  chances  of  the  letter  box.  1 
hardly  expected  my  prose  would  be  honored 
with  insertion,  when,  lo,  on  the  next  evening 
of  publication,  when,  seated  as  usual  in  my  lit- 
tle corner  by  the  fire,  I  unfolded  the  paper  for 
the  purpose  of  reading  it  to  my  select  auditory, 
there  was  my  own  Letter  staring  me  full  in  the 
face,  being  honored  with  so  conspicuous  a  place 
as  to  be  one  of  the  first  articles  my  audience 
would  expect  to  hear.  Assuming  an  outward 
appearance  of  ease,  while  every  nerve  within 
me  was  trembling,  I  contrived  to  accomplish 
the  reading  of  the  Letter  without  raising  it. 
either  of  my  auditors  a  suspicion  that  it  was  my 
own.  I  enjoyed  the  pleasure,  too,  of  hearing 
it  a  good  deal  praised  by  them  ;  and  might  have 
been  tempted  by  this  to  acknowledge  myself 
the  author,  had  I  not  found  that  the  language 
and  sentiments  of  the  article  were  considere-' 
by  both  to  be  ♦'  very  bold."  * 

I  was  not  destined,  however,  to  remain  lon^ 
undetected.  On  the  following  day,  Edward 
Hudson,'  —  the  only  one,  as  I  have  said,  in- 
trusted with  my  secret,  called  to  pay  us  a  morn- 
ing visit,  and  had  not  been  long  in  the  room, 
conversing  with  mj'  mother,  when  looking  sig- 
nificantly at  me,  he  said,  "  Well,  you  saw " 

Here  he  stopped  ;  but  the  mother's  eye  had  fol- 
lowed his,  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  to 
mine,  and  at  once  she  perceived  the  whole  truth. 
"  That  letter  was  yours,  then  ?  "  slie  asked  of 
me  eagerly ;  and,  without  hesitation,  of  course, 
I  acknowledged  the  fact ;  when  in  the  most 
earnest  manner  she  entreated  of  me  never  again 
to  have  any  connection  with  that  paper ;  and, 
as  every  wish  of  hers  was  to  me  law,  I  readily 
pledged  the  solemn  promise  she  required. 


delegates,  at  Oliver  Bond's,  in  tlie  month  of  March,  I7U8 
we  found,  to  our  astonishment  and  sorrow,  that  he  w&s  one 
of  the  number. 

To  those  unread  in  the  painful  history  of  this  periiid,  it  i» 
right  to  mention  that  almost  aH  the  leaders  of  the  United 
Irish  conspiracy  were  Pi  ^testants.  Among  those  compan 
ions  of  my  own  alluded  to  M  these  pages,  I  scarcelv  ion>ea 
ber  a  sin|^  tA^olic 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


SSI 


ITiouj^h  well  aware  how  easily  a  sneer  may 
oe  raised  at  the  simple  details  of  this  domestic 
scene,  I  have  yet  ventured  to  put  it  on  record, 
as  affording  an  instance  of  the  gentle  and  wo- 
manly watchfulness,  —  the  Providence,  as  it 
may  be  called,  of  the  little  world  of  home,  — 
b;  which,  although  placed  almoat  in  the  very 
current  of  so  headlong  a  movement,  and  living 
familiarly  with  some  of  the  most  daring  of  those 
who  propelled  it,  I  yet  was  guarded  from  any 
participatifm  in  their  secret  oaths,  counsels,  or 
plans,  and  thus  escaped  all  share  in  that  wild 
struggle  to  which  so  many  far  better  men  than 
myself  fell  victims. 

In  the  mean  while,  this  great  conspiracy  was 
hastening  on,  with  fearful  precipitancy,  to  its 
outbreak ;  .and  vague  and  shapeless  as  are  now 
known  to  have  been  the  views,  even  of  those 
who  were  engaged  practically  in  the  plot,  it 
is  not  any  wonder  that  to  the  young  and  unin- 
itiated like  myself  it  should  have  opened  pros- 
pects partaking  far  more  of  the  wild  dreams  of 
poesy  than  of  the  plain  and  honest  prose  of  real 
life.  But  a  crisis  was  then  fast  approaching, 
when  such  self-delusions  could  no  longer  be 
mdulged ;  and  when  the  mystery  which  had 
hitherto  hung  over  the  plans  of  the  conspira- 
tors was  to  be  rent  asunder  by  the  stem  hand 
of  power. 

Of  the  horrors  that  foreran  and  followed  the 
frightful  explosion  of  the  year  1798,  I  have 
neither  inclination,  nor,  luckily,  occasion  to 
speak.  But  among  those  introductory  scenes, 
which  had  somewhat  prepared  the  public  mind 
for  such  a  catastrophe,  there  was  one,  of  a  pain- 
ful description,  which,  as  having  been  myself  an 
actor  in  it,  I  may  be  allowed  briefly  to  notice. 

It  was  not  many  weeks,  I  think,  before  this 
crisis,  that,  owing  to  information  gained  by  the 
college  authorities  of  the  rapid  spread,  among 
the  students,  not  only  of  the  principles  but  the 
organization  of  the  Irish  Union,'  a  solemn  Vis- 
itation was  held  by  Lord  Clare,  the  vice  chan- 
cellor of  the  University,  with  the  view  of  in- 
quiring into  the  extent  of  this  branch  of  the 
plot,  and  dealing  summarily  with  those  engaged 
lr.it. 

Impvriouf  end  harsh  as  then  seemed  the  pol- 


1  In  tlie  Report  from  the  Secret  Committee  of  the  Irish 
Oouso  of  Lordii,  this  extension  of  the  plot  to  the  College  i« 
noticed  as  "  a  ile-<|)erate  project  of  tlie  same  faction  to  cor- 
rupt the  youtli  of  iho  country  by  intiuducing  their  organized 
^Btem  of  treason  into  the  University." 

s  One  of  these  brothers  has  long  been  a  genend  in  the 
flench  anuy  ;  having  taken  a  pan  in  all  thoee  great  enter- 


icy  of  thus  setting  up  a  sort  of  Liquisitoriik 
tribunal,  armed  with  the  power  of  examining 
■witnesses  on  oath,  and  in  a  place  devoteil  to  the 
instruction  of  youth,  I  cannot  but  confeu  that 
the  facts  which  came  out  in  the  course  of  the 
evidence,  went  far  towards  justifjing  even  tail 
arbitrary  proceeding;  and  to  the  many  wLi. 
like  myself,  were  acquainted  only  with  the  gen 
eral  views  of  the  Union  leaders,  without  eTcn 
knowing,  except  from  conjecture,  who  thoM 
leaders  were,  or  what  their  plans  or  objects,  it 
was  most  startling  to  hear  the  disclosures  which 
every  succeeding  witness  brought  forth.  There 
were  a  few,  —  and  among  that  number,  poor 
Robert  Emmet,  John  Brown,  and  the  two 
<••••♦  g^t  ^vhose  total  absence  from  the 
whole  scene,  as  well  as  the  dead  silence  that, 
day  after  day,  followed  the  calling  out  of  their 
names,  proclaimed  how  deep  had  been  their 
share  in  the  unlawful  proceedings  inquired  into 
by  this  tribunal. 

But  there  was  one  young  friend  of  mine, 
•  ••••«•  ^  whose  appearance  among  the 
suspected  and  examined  as  much  surprised  as 
it  deeply  and  painfully  interested  me.  He  and 
Emmet  had  long  been  intimate  and  attached 
friends  ;  —  their  congenial  fondness  for  mathe- 
matical studies  ha^'ing  been,  I  think,  a  far  more 
binding  sympathy  between  them  than  any  aris- 
ing out  of  their  political  opinions.  From  hia 
being  called  up,  however,  on  this  day,  when, 
as  it  appeared  afterwards,  all  the  most  important 
evidence  was  brought  forward,  there  could  be 
little  doubt  that,  in  addition  to  his  intimacy 
with  Emmet,  the  college  authorities  must  hav# 
possessed  some  information  which  led  them  to 
suspect  him  of  being  an  accomplice  in  the  con- 
spiracy. In  the  course  of  his  examination, 
some  questions  were  put  to  him  which  he  re- 
fused to  answer,  —  most  probably  from  theit 
tendency  to  involve  or  inculpate  others  ;  and 
he  was  accordingly  dismissed,  with  the  melan- 
choly certainty  that  his  future  prospects  in  lif» 
were  blasted  ;  it  being  already  known  that  th« 
punishment  for  such  contumacy  was  not  merely 
expulsion  from  the  University,  but  ex;ltuioo 
from  all  the  learned  professions. 

The  proceedings,  indeed,  of  this  whole  da^ 

prises  of  Napoleon  which  have  now  baei—s  tmaom  of  bi^ 
ry.    Should  these  pag«"  »••»  "»•  *7*  of  Ocneril  •••••• 

they  will  call  to  his  mind  the  days  we  pwaed  tofeiher  li 
Normandy,  a  few  cummers  since ;  —  mors  eepecially  our  »i 
ciirsion  to  Rayeuz,  when,  as  we  talked  on  the  way  of  oU 
college  times  and  friends,  all  the  eventful  and  i 
be  had  passed  through  since  seemed  bnootn. 


236 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


had  been  such  as  to  send  me  to  my  home  in  the 
evening  with  no  very  agreeable  feelings  or  pros- 
pects. I  had  heard  evidence  given  affecting 
even  the  lives  of  some  of  those  friends  whom  I 
had  long  regarded  with  admiration  as  well  as 
affection ;  and  what  was  still  worse  than  even 
their  danger,  —  a  danger  ennobled,  I  thought, 
by  the  cause  in  which  they  suffered,  —  was  the 
•hameful  spectacle  exhibited  by  those  who  had 
appeared  in  evidence  against  them.  Of  these 
witnesses,  the  greater  number  had  been  them- 
selves involved  in  the  plot,  and  now  came  for- 
ward either  as  voluntary  informers,  or  else  were 
driven  by  the  fear  of  the  consequences  of  re- 
fusal to  secure  their  own  safety  at  the  expense 
of  companions  and  friends. 

I  well  remember  the  gloom,  so  unusual,  that 
hung  over  our  family  circle  on  that  evening,  as, 
talking  together  of  the  events  of  the  day,  we 
discussed  the  likelihood  of  my  being  among 
those  who  would  be  called  up  for  examination 
on  the  morrow.  The  dcHberate  conclusion  to 
which  my  dear  honest  advisers  came,  was  that, 
overwhelming  as  the  consequences  were  to  all 
their  plans  and  hopes  for  me,  yet,  if  the  ques- 
tions leading  to  criminate  others,  which  had 
been  put  to  almost  all  examined  on  that  day, 
and  which  poor  «*•*««*  alone  had  re- 
fused to  answer,  I  must,  in  the  same  manner, 
and  at  all  risks,  return  a  similar  refusal.  I  am 
not  quite  certain  whether  I  received  any  inti- 
mation, on  the  following  morning,  that  I  was  to 
be  one  of  those  examined  in  the  course  of  the 
day ;  but  I  rather  think  some  such  notice  had 
been  conveyed  to  me ;  —  and,  at  last,  my  awful 
turn  came,  and  I  stood  in  presence  of  the  for- 
midable tribunal.  There  sat,  with  severe  look, 
the  vice  chancellor,  and,  by  his  side,  the  mem- 
orable Doctor  Duigenan,  —  memorable  for  his 
eternal  pamphlets  against  the  Catholics. 

The  oath  was  proffered  to  me.  '♦!  have  an 
objection,  my  Lord,"  said  I,  "to  taking  this 
oath."  "  What  is  your  objection  ? "  he  asked 
iternly.  "  I  have  no  fears,  my  Lord,  that  any 
tLing  I  miglit  say  would  criminate  myself ;  but 
it  mi^nt  tend  to  involve  others,  and  I  despise 

1  There  Iiad  been  two  questions  put  to  all  those  examined 
on  the  first  day,  — "  Were  you  ever  asked  to  join  any  of 
these  societies  ? "  —  and  "  By  whom  were  you  asked  ? "  — 
wliicli  I  should  have  refused  to  answer,  and  must,  of  course, 
have  abided  the  consequences. 

2  For  the  correctness  of  the  above  report  of  this  short  ex- 
amination, I  can  pretty  confidently  answer.  It  may  amuse, 
therefore,  my  readers,  —  as  showing  the  manner  in  which 
biographers  make  the  most  of  small  facts,  —  to  see  an  ex- 
tr{u>:a:  two  from  another  account  of  this  afiair,  published 


the  character  of  the  person  wno  cculd  be  led, 
under  any  such  circumstances,  to  inform  agains' 
his  associates." 

This  was  aimed  at  some  of  the  revelations  oi 
the  preceding  day;  and,  as  I  learned  after- 
wards, was  so  understood.  "  How  old  are  you, 
Sir  ?  "  he  then  asked.  «« Between  seventeen 
and  eighteen,  my  Lord."  He  then  turned  to 
his  assessor,  Duigenan,  and  exchanged  a  feyf 
words  with  him,  in  an  undertone  of  voice. 
"  We  cannot,"  he  resumed,  again  addressing 
me,  "  suffer  any  one  to  remain  in  our  Univer- 
sity, who  refuses  to  take  this  oath."  "  I  shall 
then,  my  Lord,"  I  replied,  "  take  the  oath,  — 
still  reserving  to  myself  the  power  of  refusing 
to  answer  any  such  questions  as  I  have  just  de- 
scribed." "  We  do  not  sit  here  to  argue  with 
you,  Sir,"  he  rejoined  sharply;  upon  which  I 
took  the  oath,  and  seated  myself  in  the  wit- 
nesses' chair. 

The  following  are  the  questions  and  answers 
that  then  ensued.  After  adverting  to  the 
proved  existence  of  United  Irish  Societies  in 
the  University,  he  asked,  "  Have  you  ever  be- 
longed to  any  of  these  societies  ? "  '« No,  my 
Lord."  "Have  you  ever  known  of  any  of  the 
proceedings  that  took  place  in  them?"  "No, 
my  Lord."  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  proposal 
at  any  of  their  meetings,  for  the  purchase  of 
arms  and  ammunition  ?  "  "  Never,  my  Lord." 
"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  proposition  made,  in 
one  of  these  societies,  with  respect  to  the  expe- 
diency of  assassination  ?  "  "  O  no,  my  Lord." 
He  then  turned  again  to  Duigenan,  and,  after  a 
few  words  with  him,  said  to  me :  —  "  When  such 
are  the  answers  you  are  able  to  give,'  pray  what 
was  the  cause  of  your  great  repugnance  to 
taking  the  oath  ? "  "I  have  alreadj'  told  youi 
Lordship  my  chief  reason ;  in  addition  to  which, 
it  was  the  first  oath  I  ever  took,  and  the  hesi- 
tation was,  J  think,  natural."  * 

I  was  now  dismissed  without  any  further 
questioning  ;  and,  however  trying  had  been 
this  short  operation,  was  amply  repaid  for  it  oy 
the  kind  zeal  with  «rnich  my  young  friendu  »aa 
companiouf   flocKed  to  congratidate  me ;  —  aoS 

not  many  ^ars  since  oy  an  old  and  zealous  friend  of  oui 
family.  After  stating  with  tolerable  correctness  one  >)r  twc 
of  my  answers,  the  writer  thus  proceeds:  —  "Upon  thin 
lord  Clare  repeated  the  question,  and  young  Moore  madi 
such  an  appeal,  as  caused  his  lordship  to  relax,  austere  anf 
ligid  4s  he  was.  The  words  I  cannot  exactly  remember 
the  substance  was  as  follows: — that  he  entered  college  to" 
receive  the  education  of  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman  ,  that  he 
knew  not  how  to  compromise  these  characters  by  infi.'rmin| 
against  his  college  companiou.s ;  that  his  own  speeches  u 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


2T) 


BO  muih,  I  was  inclined  to  hope,  on  my  acquit- 
tal by  the  court,  as  on  the  manner  in  which 
I  had  acquitted  myself.  Of  my  reception,  on 
•eturning  home,  after  the  fears  entertained  of 
o  very  different  a  result,  I  ^^'iU  not  attempt 
anv  description ;  —  it  was  all  that  auch  a  home 
•Jonc  oould  furnish. 

1  ';  ore  been  induced  thus  to  continue  down 
to  tne  very  verge  of  the  warning  outbreak  of 
1798,  the  slight  sketch  of  my  early  days  which 
I  ventured  to  commence  in  the  First  Volume  of 
this  Collection  :  nor  could  I  have  furnished  the 
Irish  Melodies  with  any  more  pregnant  illustra- 
tion, as  it  was  in  those  times,  and  among  the 
events  then  stirring,  that  the  feeling  which 
afterward  found  a  voice  in  my  country's  music, 
wua  born  and  nurt\ued. 

I  shall  now  string  together  such  detached 
notices  and  memoranda  respecting  this  work, 
as  I  think  may  be  likely  to  interest  my  readers. 

Of  the  few  songs  written  with  a  concealed 
political  feeling,  —  such  as  "When  he  who 
adores  thee,"  and  one  or  two  more,  —  the  most 
successful,  in  its  day,  was  '•  WTien  first  I  met 
thee  warm  and  young,"  which  alluded,  in  its 
hidden  sense,  to  the  Prince  Regent's  desertion 
of  his  political  friends.  It  was  little  less,  I  own, 
than  profanation  to  disturb  the  sentiment  of  so 
oeautiful  an  air  by  any  connection  with  such  a 
subject.  The  great  success  of  this  song,  soon 
after  I  wrote  it,  among  a  large  party  staying  at 
Chatsworth,  i"»  thus  alluded  to  in  one  of  Lord 
Byron's  letters  to  me  :  —  "I  have  heard  from 
London  that  you  have  left  Chatsworth  and  all 

there  full  of  '  entusymusy ' and,  in 

particular,  that  «  When  first  I  met  thee  '  has 
been  quite  overwhelming  in  its  effect.  I  told 
you  it  was  one  of  the  best  things  you  ever 
wrote,  though  that  dog  •  •  •  •  wanted  you 
to  omit  part  of  it." 

It  has  been  sometimes  supposed  that  "  O, 
breathe  not  his  name,"  was  meant  to  allude  to 
Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  :  but  this  is  a  mistake  ; 
the  song  having  been  su^^ested  by  the  well- 
kno-w-n    passage    in    Robert    Emmet's     dying 

the  debating  aociety  had  been  ill  eonstrued,  when  the  worrt 
that  could  be  said  of  them  was,  if  tnith  had  been  gpoken, 
tliat  tliey  were  patriolic  ....  tliat  he  waa  aware  of  tlie 
high-minded  nobleman  he  had  the  honor  of  appealing  to, 
and  if  his  lord.sliip  could  for  a  moment  condescend  to  step 
from  his  high  station  and  place  himsielf  in  his  situation,  then 
lay  how  he  would  act  under  auch  circumstances,  —  it  would 
\»  his  guidance." — HiaBKat'i  Irith  Varittiu.  London, 
1836. 

'  "  When,  in  consequence  of  the  compact  entered  into 
b«(w««n  government  and  the  chief  leaden  of  the  conspiracr. 


speech,  "  Let  no  man  write  my  epitaph  .... 
let  my  tomb   remain    uninscribed,    till    othe4 
times  and  other  men  shall  learn  to  do  justice  t« 
my  memory." 

ITie  feeble  attempt  to  commemorate  the  glory 
of  our  great  Duke  —  •'  ^Vhen  History's  Muse," 
&c.  —  is  in  so  far  remarkable,  that  it  made  up 
amply  for  its  want  of  poetical  spirit,  by  an  out- 
pouring, rarely  granted  to  bards  in  these  day*, 
of  the  spirit  of  prophecy.  It  was  in  the  yeai 
1815  that  the  following  lines  first  made  theiz 
appearance :  — 

And  still  the  last  crown  of  thy  toils  is  remaininfc. 
The  grandest,  the  purest,  ev'n  tiuni  hast  yet  known  ; 

Though  proud  was  thy  task,  other  nations  unrJiaining, 
Far  prouder  to  heal  tlie  deep  wounds  of  thy  own. 

At  the  foot  of  that  throne,  for  whose  weal  thou  hast  stood, 
Go,  plead  for  tlie  land  tliat  flnt  cradled  thy  fame,  &c. 

About  fourteen  years  after  these  lines  were 
written,  the  Duke  of  Wellington  recommended 
to  the  throne  the  great  measure  of  Catholic 
Emancipation. 

The  fancy  of  the  «•  Origin  of  the  Irish  Harp,', 
was  (as  I  have  elsewhere  acknowledged  ')  sug- 
gested, by  a  drawing  made  under  peculiarly 
painful  circumstances,  by  the  friend  so  often 
mentioned  in  this  sketch,  Edward  Hudson. 

In  connection  with  another  of  these  matchlesf 
airs,  —  one  that  defies  aU  poetry  to  do  it  justice 
—  I  find  the  following  singular  and  touching 
statement  in  an  article  of  the  Quarterly  Review. 
Speaking  of  a  young  and  promising  poetess,  Lu- 
cretia  Da\'idson,  who  died  very  early  from  ner- 
vous excitement,  the  Reviewer  says,  "  She  waa 
particularly  sensitive  to  music.  There  was  one 
song  (it  was  Moore's  Farewell  to  his  Harp)  to 
which  she  took  a  special  fancy.  She  wished  to 
hear  it  only  at  twilight,  —  thus  (•with  that  sam^ 
perilous  love  of  excitement  which  made  her 
place  the  ^olian  harp  in  the  window  when  she 
was  composing),  seeking  to  increase  the  effect 
which  the  song  produced  upon  a  nervotis  sys- 
tem, already  diseasedly  stisccptible ;  for  it  i« 
said  that,  whenever  ahe  heard  this  song,  the 
became  cold,  pale,  and  almost  faintirg ;  yir*.  it 

the  State  Prisoneis,  befiire  proceeding  mto  exile  irer*  aV 
lowed  to  see  their  friends,  I  paid  a  visit  to  Kdward  Ifiidsun 
in  the  Jail  of  Kilmainham,  where  ho  had  then  lain  immured 
for  four  or  five  months,  hearing  of  friend  after  friend  l»ln| 
led  out  to  death,  and  expecting  every  week  his  own  turn  tt 
come.  I  found  that  to  amuse  his  solitude  he  had  made  ( 
large  drawing  with  charcoal  on  the  wall  of  his  prteon,  Kpr» 
senting  that  fancied  origin  of  tlie  Irish  Harp  which,  mm» 
yem  aAor,  I  adopted  as  the  autject  of  one  of  |j»a  « IM 
diea.' "  —  Lif*  <otd  Dtath  of  Urd  Ed»mrd  PVtgtrM,  f»> 


225 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


tfrm  her  favorite  of  all  songs,  and  gave  occasion 
to  those  verses  addressed  in  her  fifteenth  year 
to  her  sister."  ' 

With  the  Melody  entitled  "  Love,  Valor,  and 
Wit,"  an  incident  is  connected,  which  awakened 
feelings  in  me  of  proud,  but  sad  pleasure,  to 
think  that  my  songs  had  reached  the  hearts  of 
gome  of  the  descendants  of  those  great  Irish 
families,  who  found  themselves  forced,  in  the 
■Jark  days  of  persecution,  to  seek  in  other  lands 
A  refuge  fiom  the  shame  and  ruin  of  their  own  ; 
■~- those,  -whose  story  I  have  thus  associated 
with  one  of  their  country's  most  characteristic 
airs  :  — 

Ye  Blakes  and  O'Donnels,  whose  fathers  resign'*! 
The  green  hills  of  their  youth,  among  strangers  to  find 
That  repose  which  at  home  Ihey  liad  sigli'd  (or  in  vain. 

From  a  foreign  lady,  of  this  ancient  extraction, 
—  whose  names,  could  I  venture  to  mention 
thorn,  would  lend  to  the  incident  an  additional 
Irish  charm,  —  I  received,  about  two  years  since, 
through  the  hands  of  a  gentleman  to  whom  it 
had  been  intrusted,  a  large  portfolio,  adorned 
inside  with  a  beautiful  drawing,  representing 
Love,  Wit,  and  Valor,  as  described  in  the  song. 
In  the  border  that  surrounds  the  drawing  are 
introduced  the  favorite  emblems  of  Erin,  the 
harp,  the  shamrock,  the  mitred  head  of  St. 
Patrick,  together  with  scrolls  containing  each, 
inscribed  in  letters  of  gold,  the  name  of  some 
favorite  melody  of  the  fair  artist. 

This  present  Avas  accompanied  by  the  follow- 
ing letter  from  the  lady  herself ;  and  her  Irish 
race,  I  fear,  is  but  too  discernible  in  the  gener- 
ous indiscretion  with  which,  in  this  instance,  she 
allows  praise  so  much  to  outstrip  desert :  — 

"Le  25  Aodt,  183G. 
**  Monsieur, 

'♦  Si  les  poCtea  n'6toient  en  quelque  sorte 
une  propriety  intellectuelle  dont  chacun  prend  sa 
part  h.  raison  de  la  puissance  qu'ils  exercent,  je 
ce  saurois  en  v6rit6  comment  faire  pour  justifier 
tnoTi  courage  !  — car  il  en  falloit  beaucoup  pour 
»V(  ir  os6  consacrer  mon  pauvre  talent  d'amateur 
k  vos  delicicuses  pofisies,  et  plus  encore  pour  en 
renvoycr  le  pale  relict  a  son  veritable  auteur. 

"  J'espere  toutcfois  que  ma  sympathie  pour 
t'lrlande  vous  fera  juger  ma  foible  production 
»tec  cette  heureuse  partialit6  qui  impose  silence 
I  la  critique  :  car,  si  ie  n'appartiens  pas  d  I'lle 

» 

1  Quarterly  R'view,  vol.  tli.  p.  394. 


Verte  par  ma  naissance,  ni  mes  relations,  je  puit 
dire  que  je  m'y  int6resse  avec  un  coeur  Irian 
dais,  et  que  j'ai  conserve  plus  que  le  nom  de 
mes  peres.  Ccla  seul  me  fait  esp6rer  que  met 
petits  voyageurs  ne  subiront  pas  le  triste  novi- 
ciat  des  Strangers.  Puissent-ils  remplir  leur 
mission  sur  le  sol  natal,  en  agissant  conjcinte- 
ment  et  toujours  pour  la  cause  Irlandaise,  et 
amener  enfin  une  ere  nouvelle  pour  cette  h6- 
rolque  et  malheureuse  nation  :  —  le  moyen  de 
vaincre  de  tels  adversaires  s'ils  ne  font  qu'un  ? 

"  Vous  dirai-je,  Monsieur,  les  doux  moments 
que  je  dois  a  vos  ouvrages  ?  ce  seroit  repetcr 
une  fois  de  plus  ce  que  vous  entendez  tons  les 
jours  et  de  tous  les  coins  de  la  terre.  Aussi  j'ai 
garde  de  vous  ravir  un  tems  trop  precieux  par 
r6cho  de  ces  vieilles  verites. 

"  Si  jamais  mon  etoile  me  conduit  en  Irlande, 
je.ne  m'y  croirai  pas  dtrang^re.  Je  sais  que  le 
passe  y  laisse  de  longs  souvenirs,  et  que  la  con- 
formite  des  d6sirs  et  des  esp6rances  rapproche 
en  depit  de  I'espace  et  du  tems. 

"  Jusque-lk,  recevez,  je  vous  prie,  I'assm-ance 
de  ma  parfaite  consideration,  avec  laqueile  j'ai 
I'honneur  d'etre, 

"  Monsieur, 
"  Votre  trcs-humble  servante, 

•*  La  Comtesse    *  *  *  *  *." 

Of  the  translations  that  have  appeared  of  the 
Melodies  in  different  languages,  I  shall  here 
mention  such  as  have  come  to  my  knowledge. 

Latin.  —  "  Cantus  Hibemici,"  Nicholas  Lee 
Torre,  London,  1835, 

Italian.  — Q.  Flechia,  Torino,  1836.  —  Adele 
Custi,  Mllano,  1836. 

French.  —  Madame  Belloc,  Paris,  1823.  — 
Loeve  Veimars,  Paris,  1829. 

Russian.  —  Several  detached  Melodies,  by  the 
popular  Russian  poet  Kozlof. 

Polish.  —  Selections,  in  the  same  manner,  :  j 
Niemcewich,  Kosmian,  and  others. 

I  have  now  exhausted  not  so  much  my  own 
recollections,  as  the  patience,  1  fear,  '>f  my  read- 
ers on  this  subject.  We  are  told  of  paintert 
calling  those  last  touches  of  the  pen:;il  which 
the  J'  give  to  some  favorite  picture  the  "  ultima 
basia  ;  "  and  with  the  same  sort  of  affectionata 
feeling  do  I  now  take  leave  of  the  Irish  Melo- 
dies, —  the  only  work  of  my  pen,  as  I  verj'  sin- 
cerely believe,  whose  fame  (thanks  to  the  sweet 
music  m  which  it  is  embalmed)  may  boast  « 
chance  of  prolonging  its  existence  to  a  daj 
much  beyond  our  own. 


MY    GEXTLE  HARP. 

My  geniie  Harp,  once  more  I  waken 

The  sweetnuss  of  thy  slumbering  strain ; 
In  tears  our  last  farewell  was  taken, 

And  now  in  tears  we  meet  again. 
No  light  of  joy  hath  o'er  thee  broken, 

But.  like  those  Harps  whose  heav'nly  skill 
Of  slaverV)  dark  as  thine,  hath  spoken, 

lliou  hang'st  upon  the  willows  stilL 

And  yet,  since  last  thy  chord  resounded, 

An  hour  of  peace  and  triumph  came. 
And  many  an  ardent  bosom  bounded 

With  hopes  —  that  now  are  turn'd  to  shame  ! 
Yfit  even  then,  while  Peace  was  singing 

Her  halcyon  song  o'er  land  and  sea, 
Tnough  joy  and  hope  to  others  bringing. 

She  only  brought  new  tears  to  thee. 

ITien,  who  can  ask  for  notes  of  pleasure. 

My  drooping  Harp,  from  chords  like  thine  ? 
Alas,  the  lark's  gay  morning  measure 

As  ill  would  suit  the  swan's  decline ! 
Or  how  shall  I,  who  love,  who  bless  thee, 

Invoke  thy  breath  for  Freedom's  strains. 
When  e'en  the  wreaths  in  which  I  dress  thee. 

Are  sadly  mix'd  —  half  flowers,  half  chains  f 

But  come  —  if  yet  thy  frame  can  b'  tow 

One  breath  of  joy,  O,  breathe  for  me. 
And  show  the  world,  in  chains  and  sorrow. 

How  sweet  thy  music  still  can  be ; 
How  gayly.  e'en  'mid  gloom  surrounding, 

Thou  yet  canst  wake  at  pleasure's  thrill  — 
Like  Memnon's  broken  image  sounding, 

'M<rl  desolation  tuneful  still  i ' 


IN  THE  MORNING   OF  LIFE. 

In  the  morning  of  life,  when  its  cares  are  un- 
known, 
A  nd  its  pleasurto  in  all  their  new  lustre  begin, 
Wh'^n  we  live  in  a  bright-beaming  world  of  our 
own, 
Aud  the  light  that  surrounds  ua  is  all  from 
within ; 
'■),  tis  not,  bebeve  me  in  that  happy  time 
We  can  love,  as  in  1  ours  of  less  transport  we 
may;  — 


1  DiaiMlic  macMA  toMinant  ubi  Memnonfl  chordc —  AttM- 


Of  our  smiles,  of  our  hopes,  'tis  the  gay  sunn; 
prime. 
But  affection  is  truert  when  these  fade  awaj. 

WTien  we  see  the  first  glory  of  youth  pass  us  1»y, 
Like  a  l^af  on  the  stream  that  will  never  re- 
turn; 
When  our  cup,  which  had  sparkled  with  pleas 
ure  so  high. 
First  tastes  of  the  other,  the  dark-flowin;;  urn  . 
Then,  then  is  the  time  when  affection  hoUls  sway 
With  a  depth  and  a  tenderness  joy  never  knew . 
Love,  nursed  among  pleasures,  is  faithless  as  they, 
But  the  Love  bom  of  Sorrow,  like  Sorrow,  is 
true. 

In  climes  full  of  sunshine,  though  splendid  the 
flowers, 
rheir  sighs  have  no  freslmess,  their  odor  no 
worth ; 
'Tis  the  cloud  and  the  mist  of  our  own  Isle  of 
showers, 
That  call  the  fresh  spirit  of  fragrancy  forth. 
So  it  is  not  'mid  splendor,  prosperity,  mirth. 
That  the  depth  of  Love's  generous  spirit  ap- 
pears ; 
To  the  sunshine  of  smiles  it  may  first  owe  iti 
birth, 
But  the  soul  of  its  sweetness  is  drawn  '>ut  bf 
tears. 


AS  SLOW  OUR  SHIP. 

As  slow  our  ship  her  foamy  track 

Against  the  wind  was  cleaving 
Her  trembling  pennant  still  look'd  bac¥ 

To  that  dear  isle  'twas  leaving. 
So  loath  we  part  from  all  we  lo>'e. 

From  all  the  links  that  bind  us ; 
So  turn  our  hearts  as  on  we  rove, 

To  those  we've  left  behind  us. 

WTien,  round  the  bowl,  of  vanish'd  ye«i* 

We  talk,  with  joyous  seeming,  — 
With  smiles  that  might  ia  well  he  tetn, 

So  faint,  so  sad  their  I  eaming ; 
While  niem'ry  brings  us  back  again 

Each  early  tie  that  twine<l  us, 
O,  sweet's  th**  cup  that  circles  then 

To  those  we've  ^ft  behind  us. 

And  when,  in  other  climes,  we  meet 
Some  isle,  or  vale  enchanting. 

Where  all  looks  flow'ry,  wild,  and  swre^ 
And  nought  but  love  is  wanting ; 


!40                                                       IRISH  MELODIES. 

We  think  how  great  had  been  our  bliss, 

So,  if  virtue  a  moment  grew  languid  in  him, 

If  Heav'n  had  but  assign'd  us 

He  but  flew  to  that  smile  and  rekindled  it  the?  • 

To  Uve  and  die  in  scenes  like  thi?, 

With  some  we've  left  behind  ua  ! 

As  travllers  oft  look  back  at  eve, 

REMEMBER  THEE. 

When  eastward  darkly  going, 

Remember  thee  ?  yes,  while  there's  life  rp  thii 

To  gaze  upon  that  light  they  leave 

heart. 

Still  faint  behind  them  glowing,  — 

It  shall  never  forget  thee,  all  lorn  as  thou  art ; 

So,  when  the  close  of  pleasure's  day 

More  dear  in  thy  sorrow,  thy  gloom,  and  thy 

To  gloom  hath  near  consign'd  us, 

showers. 

We  turn  to  catch  one  fading  ray 

Than  the  rest  of  the  world  in  their  sunniest  hours. 

Of  joy  that's  left  behind  us. 

Wert  thou  all  that  I  wish  thee,  great,  glorious, 

and  free. 

WHEN  COLD  IN  THE  EARTH. 

First  flower  of  the  earth,  and  first  gem  of  the  sea. 

I  might  hail  thee  with  prouder,  -witTa.  happier 

When  oold  in  the  earth  lies  the  friend  thou  haflt 

brow. 

loved. 

But  0,  could  I  love  thee  more  deeply  than  now  ? 

Be  his  faults  and  his  follies  forgot  by  thee 

then ; 

No,  thy  chains  as  they  rankle,  thy  blood  as  it  runs. 

Or,  if  from  their  slumber  the  veil  be  removed. 

But  make  thee  more  painfully  dear  to  thy  sons  — 

Weep  o'er  them  in  silence,  and  close  it  again. 

Whose  hearts,  like  the  young  of  the  desert  bird's 

And  0,  if  'tis  pain  to  remember  how  far 

nest. 

Fr  jm  the  pathways  of  light  he  was  tempted 

Drink  love  in  each  lifedrop  that  flows  from  thy 

to  roam. 

breast. 

Be  it  bliss  to  remember  that  thou  wert  the  star 

That  arose  on  his  darkness,  and  guided  him 

nome. 

WREATHE  THE  BOWL. 

From  thee  and  thy  innocent  beauty  first  came 

Wreathe  the  bowl 

The  rcvealings,  that  taught  him  true  love  to 

With  flowers  of  soul. 

adore. 

The  brightest  Wit  can  tina  us ; 

To  feel  the  bright  presence,  and  turn  him  with 

We'll  take  a  flight 

'hame 

Towards  heaven  to-night, 

From  the  idols  he  blindly  had  knelt  to  before. 

And  leave  duU  earth  behind  us. 

O'er  the  waves  of  a  life,  long  benighted  and 

Should  Love  amid 

wUd, 

The  wreaths  be  hid, 

Thou  cam'st,  like  a  soft  golden  calm  o'er  the 

That  Joy  th'  enchanter,  brings  UB, 

sea; 

No  danger  fear. 

And  if  happiness  purely  and  glowingly  smiled 

While  wine  is  near. 

On  his  ev'ning  horizon,  the  light  was  from 

We'll  drown  him  if  he  stings  us. 

thee, 

Then,  wreathe  the  bowl 

With  flowers  of  soul, 

And  though,  sometimes,  the  shades  of  past  folly 

The  brightest  Wit  can  find  us ; 

might  rise. 

We'll  take  a  fiight 

And  though  falsehood  again  would  allure  him 

Towards  heaven  to-night, 

to  straj^. 

And  leave  dull  earth  behind  u» 

He  but  turn'd  to  the  glory  that  dwelt  in  those 

eyes. 

'Twas  nectar  fed. 

And  the  folly,  the  falsehood,  soon  vanish'd 

Of  old,  'tis  said. 

away. 

Their  Junos,  Joves,  Apollos ; 

ds  the  Priests  of  the  Sun,  when  their  altar  grew 

And  man  may  brew 

dim, 

His  nectar  too. 

A*,  the  daybeam  alone  coiild  its  lustre  repair, 

- 

The  rich  receipt's  as  follows  •• 

miSH  MELODIES 


Take  wine  like  this, 

Let  looks  of  bliss 
AjQund  it  well  be  blended. 

Then  bring  Wit's  beam 

To  warm  the  stream, 
4  nd  there's  yo-ir  noc'ar,  splendid  ! 

So  wreatht-  ♦h';  bowl 

With  flowe",  of  soul, 
The  brightest  SVit  can  find  as  5 

We'll  take  fc  flight 

Towards  hei.ven  to-night, 
4nd  leave  dull  earth  behind  us. 

Ray,  why  did  Time 

His  glass  sublime 
F«ll  up  with  sands  unsightly, 

When  wine,  he  knew. 

Runs  brisker  through. 
And  sparkles  far  more  brightly  ? 

O,  lend  it  us. 

And,  smiling  thus. 
The  glass  in  two  we'll  sever, 

Make  pleasure  glide 

In  double  tide, 
And  fill  both  ends  forever ! 

Then  wreathe  the  bowl 

With  flowers  of  soul 
The  brightest  Wit  can  find  VB  ; 

We'll  take  a  flight 

Towards  heaven  to-night. 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us. 


WTHENE'ER    I    SEE   THOSE    SMILING 
EYES. 

Wheke'er  I  see  those  smiling  eyes. 

So  full  of  hope,  and  joy,  and  light. 
As  if  no  cloud  could  ever  rise. 

To  dim  a  hcav'n  so  purely  bright  — 
I  sigh  to  think  how  soon  that  brow 

In  grief  may  lose  its  every  ray. 
And  that  light  heart,  so  joyous  now. 

Almost  forget  it  once  was  gay. 

or  time  vnU  come  with  all  its  blights. 
The  ruined  hope,  the  friend  unkind. 
And  love,  that  leaves,  where'er  it  lights, 
A  chill'd  or  burning  heart  behind  :  — 
While  youth,  that  now  like  snow  appears, 

Ere  sullied  by  the  dark'ning  rain. 
When  once  'tis  touch'd  by  sorrow's  tears 
Can  never  shine  so  bright  again. 
31 


IP  THOU'LT  BE   MINE. 

Iy  thou'It  be  mine,  the  treasures  of  air. 
Of  earth,  and  sea,  shall  lie  at  thy  feet ; 

Whatever  in  Fancy's  eye  looks  fail. 
Or  in  Hope's  sweet  music  sounds  mi>st  sweet, 
Shall  be  ours  —  if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love 

Bright  flowers  shall  bloom  wherever  we  ro»», 
A  voice  divine  shall  talk  in  each  stream  , 

The  stars  shall  look  like  worlds  of  love. 
And  this  earth  be  all  one  beautiful  dream 
In  our  eyes  —  if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love  ! 

And  thoughts,  whose  source  is  hidden  and  high, 
Like  streams,  that  come  from  heavenward  hills. 

Shall  keep  our  hearts,  like  meads,  that  lie 
To  be  bathed  by  those  eternal  rills. 
Ever  green,  if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love  t 

All  this  and  more  the  Spirit  of  l^ve 

Can  breathe  o'er  them,  who  feel  his  spells , 

That  heaven  which  forms  his  home  above. 
He  can  make  on  earth,  wherever  he  dweUs. 
As  thou'It  own, — if  thou  wilt  be  minii,  love 


TO   LADIES'   EYE.S. 

To  Ladies'  eyes  around,  boy. 

We  can't  refuse,  we  can't  refuse. 
Though  bright  eyes  so  abound,  boy, 

"Tis  hard  to  choose,  'tis  hard  to  choose. 
For  thick  as  stars  that  lighten 

Yon  airy  bow'rs,  yon  airy  bow'rs. 
The  countless  eyes  that  brighten 

This  earth  o^  oxirs,  this  earth  of  oursw 
But  fill  the  cup  —  where'er,  boy. 

Our  '".iioice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  tnU, 
We're  sure  to  find  Love  there,  boy. 

So  drink  them  all !  so  drink  them  all  I 

Some  looks  there  °je  so  holy. 

They  seem  but  giv'n,  they  seem  but  giv'u 
Ha  shining  beacons,  solelv. 

To  light  to  heav'n,  to  light  to  hear  n. 
While  some  —  O,  ne'er  believe  them  — 

With  tempting  ray,  M-im  tempting  ray, 
Would  lead  us  ( God  forgive  them  I ) 

The  other  way,  the  other  way. 
But  fill  the  cup  —  where'er,  boy. 

Our  choice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fiiU. 
We're  sure  to  find  lyove  there,  hoy, 

So  drink  them  all !  so  drink  them  all ! 


242 


miSH  MELODIES. 


In  some,  as  in  a  mirror, 

Love  seems  portray'd.  Love  seems  portray'd, 
But  shun  tlie  flattering  error, 

'Tis  but  his  shade,  'tis  but  his  shade. 
Himself  has  fix'd  his  dwelling 

In  eyas  we  know,  in  eyes  we  know, 
And  lips  —  but  this  is  telling  — 

So  here  they  go  !  so  here  they  go  ! 
Fill  up,  fill  up  —  where'er,  boy, 

Oar  choice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fall, 
We're  sure  to  find  Love  there,  boy, 

Sc  drink  them  all !  so  drink  them  all  ! 


FORGET  NOT  THE  FIELD. 

PoROET  not  the  field  where  they  perish' d, 

The  truest,  the  last  of  the  brave, 
All  gone  —  and  the  bright  hope  we  cherish'd 

Gone  with  them,  and  quench'd  in  their  grave ! 

0,  could  we  from  death  but  recover 
Tho"ae  hearts  as  they  bounded  before, 

In  the  face  of  high  heav'n  to  fight  over 
That  combat  for  freedom  once  more  ;  — 

Could  the  chain  for  an  instant  be  riven 
Which  Tyranny  flung  round  us  then, 

N  o,  'tis  not  in  Man,  nor  in  Heaven, 
To  let  Tyranny  bind  it  again  ! 

Ijut  'tis  past —  and,  though  blazon'd  in  story 

The  name  of  our  Victor  may  be, 
Accurs'd  is  the  march  of  that  glory 

Which  treads  o'er  the  hearts  of  the  free. 

Pur  dearer  the  grave  or  the  prison, 

Illumed  by  one  patriot  name. 
Than  the  trophies  of  all,  who  have  risen 

On  Liberty's  ruins  to  fame. 


IHEY  MAY  RAIL  AT  THIS  LIFE. 

1'he\  may  rail  at  this  life  —  from  the  hour  I 
began  it, 
I  fc  ur.d  it  a  life  fuU  of  kmdness  and  bliss  ; 
A.nd,  unt  1  they  can  show  me   some  happier 
planet, 
More  social  and  bright,  I'll  content  me  with 
this. 

*  Tons  les  habitaiis  de  Mf>rcure  sont  vifs.  —  Pluralite  du 
Wandes. 
1  L&  Terre  pourra  6tre  pour  V6nus  I'6toile  du  berger  et  la 


As  long  as  the  world  has  such  lips  and  suck 
eyes, 
As  before  me  this  moment  enraptured  I  see. 
They  may  say  what  they  will  of  their  orbs  in 
the  skies. 
But  this  earth  is  the  planet  for  you,  love,  and 
me. 

In  Mercury's   star,    where   each  moment  cat 
bring  them 
New  sunshine  and  wit  from  the  fountain  or 
high. 
Though  the  njTnphs  may  have  livelier  poets  to 
sing  them,' 
They've  none,  even  there,  more  enamour' d 
than  I. 
And,  as  long  as  this  harp  can  be  waken'd  to  love, 

And  that  eye  its  divine  inspiration  shall  be. 
They  maj'  talk  as  they  will  of  their  Edens  above. 
But  this  earth  is  the  planet  for  you,  love,  and 
me. 

In  that  star  of  the  west,  by  whose   shadowy 
splendor, 
At  twilight  so  often  we're  roam'd  through 
the  dew. 
There  are  maidens,  perhaps,  who  have  bosoms 
as  tender. 
And  look,  in  their  twilights,  as  lovely  as  you.* 
But  though  they  were  even  more  bright  than 
the  queen 
Of  that  isle  they  inhabit  in  heaven's  blue  sea. 
As  I  never  those  fair  young  celestials  have  seen. 
Why  —  this  earth  is  the  planet  for  you,  love, 
and  me. 

As  for  those  chilly  orbs  on  the  verge  of  creation. 
Where  sunshine  and  smiles  must  be  equally 
rare. 
Did  they  want  a  supply  of  cold  hearts  for  that 
station, 
Heav'n  knows  we  have  plenty  on  earth  we 
could  spare. 
O,  think  what  a  world  we  should  have  of  \i 
here. 
If  the  haters  of  peace,  of  aff'ection,  and  glee. 
Were  to  fly  up  to  Saturn's  comfortless  sphere, 
And  leave  earth  to  such  spirits  as  you,  love, 
and  me. 


mire  des  amours,  coiume  Vdnus  I'est  pour  nous.  —  PluralU' 
des  Mondea. 


IRISH   MELODIES. 


241 


O    FO-i   THE    SWORDS    OF    FORMER 
TIME! 

i)  FOR  the  swords  of  former  time  ! 

O  for  the  men  who  bore  them, 
When  arm'd  for  Right,  they  stood  sublime. 

And  tyrants  crouch' d  before  them  ; 
Wlien  free  yet,  ere  courts  began 

With  honors  to  enslave  him, 
I  he  best  honors  worn  by  Man 

W-jre  those  which  Virtue  gave  him. 
O  for  the  swords,  &c.  &c. 

O  for  the  Kings  who  flourish'd  then  ! 

O  for  the  pomp  that  crown'd  them, 
When  hearts  and  hands  of  free-bom  men 

Were  all  the  ramparts  round  them. 
When,  safe  built  on  bosoms  true,  ^ 

The  throne  was  but  the  centre. 
Round  which  Ixjve  a  circle  drew, 

That  Treason  durst  not  enter. 
O  for  the  Kings  wlio  flourish'd  then  ! 

O  for  the  pomp  that  crown'd  them. 
When  hearts  and  hands  of  free- bom  men 

Were  all  the  ramparts  round  them  ! 


ST.  SEN  AN  US  AND  THE  LADY. 

ST.    BENANUS.* 

••  O,  HASTE  and  leave  this  sacred  isle, 
"  Unholy  bark,  ere  morning  smile  ; 
"  For  on  thy  deck,  though  dark  it  be, 

'•  A  female  form  1  see  ; 
••  And  I  have  swom  this  sainted  sod 
"  Shall  ne'er  by  woman's  feet  be  trod." 

THE   LADY. 

*•  O,  Father,  send  not  hence  my  bark, 

"  Through  wintry  ^-inds  and  billows  dark  : 

"  [  come  with  humble  heart  to  share 

"  Thy  mom  and  evening  prayer  ; 
"  Nor  mine  the  feet,  O,  holy  Saint, 
*♦  The  brightness  of  thy  sod  to  taint." 

>  In  a  metrical  life  of  St.  Senanus,  which  ia  taken  fmm 
n  old  Kilkenny  MS.,  and  may  be  found  among  the  AcUt 
ianctorum  Hibtmim,  we  are  tuld  of  his  flight  to  the  island 
f  Hoattrry,  and  his  re«ultition  not  to  admit  any  woman  of 
he  party ;  he  refused  to  receive  even  a  sister  saint,  St 
Cinnpm,  whom  an  anpel  h.id  t.-ikcn  to  the  island  for  (he  el- 
f/eos  uurpo.se  of  introtliicing  hpr  to  him.  The  following 
Iras  th^  iincrnrious  answer  of  Senanus  according  to  his 
^<«U(b1  biographer: 


The  Lady's  prayer  Senanus  spui-n'd ; 
The  winds  blew  fresh,  the  bark  retum'd  i 
But  legends  hint,  that  had  the  maid 

Till  morning's  light  delay' d. 
And  given  the  saint  one  rosy  smile. 
She  ne'er  had  left  his  lonely  isle. 


NE'ER  ASK  THE  HOUR. 

Nb'bb  ask  the  hour  —  what  is  it  to  tu 

How  TiAe  deals  out  his  treasures  ? 
The  golden  moments  lent  us  that. 

Are  not  hU  coin,  but  Pleasure's. 
If  counting  them  o'er  could  add  to  their  olissM 

I'd  number  each  glorious  second  : 
But  moments  of  joy  arc,  like  Lesbia's  kisses. 

Too  quick  and  sweet  to  bo  reckon' d. 
Then  fill  the  cup  —  what  is  to  us 

How  Time  his  circle  measures  f 
The  fairy  hours  we  call  up  thus. 

Obey  no  wand  but  Pleasure's. 

Young  Joy  ne'er  thought  of  counting  boon. 

Till  Care,  one  summer's  morning. 
Set  up,  among  his  smiling  flowers, 

A  dial,  by  way  of  warning. 
But  Joy  loved  better  to  gaze  on  the  son* 

As  long  as  its  light  was  glowing. 
Than  to  watch  with  old  Core  how  the  shsdnm 
stole  on. 

And  how  fast  that  light  was  going. 
So  fill  the  cup  —  what  is  it  to  us 

How  Time  his  circle  measures  ? 
The  fairy  hotxrs  we  call  up  thus. 

Obey  no  wand  but  Pleasure's. 


SAIL  ON,  SAIL  ON. 

Sail  on,  sail  on,  thou  fearless  bark  — 
Wherever  blows  the  welcome  wind, 

It  cannot  lead  to  scenes  more  dark. 
More  sad  than  those  we  leave  behind. 

Each  wave  that  passes  seems  to  say, 

"  Though  death  beneath  our  smile  may  tM 

Cut  Pnt'ul,  quid  frminu 
Commune  ett  eum  moruiehit^ 
Jfet  tt  ntc  Mliam  alimm 
jtdmittfmut  in  intniawt. 
S«e  the  JleU  Stout  Hit.,  ptge  610. 

According  to  Dr.  I>ed.vich,  8t  Senanns  ww  no  kma^m 
•onage  than  the  river  Shannon ;  Nil  t»'t'oMiHH  »m4  t/ltm 
I  antiquwiana  deny  the  nMlamurpttuM  indignaotly 


244 


miSH  MELODIES. 


'  Less  cold  we  are,  less  false  than  they, 
"  Whose  smiling  wreck'd  thy  hopes  and  thee." 

Bail  on,  sail  on,  —  through  endless  space  — 

Through  calm  —  through  tempest  —  stop  no 
more  : 
The  stormiest  sea's  a  resting-place 

To  him  who  leaves  such  hearts  on  shore. 
Or  —  if  some  desert  land  we  meet, 

"Where  never  yet  false-hearted  men 
Profaned  a  world,  that  else  were  sweet,  — 

Then  rest  thee,  bark,  but  not  till  then. 


THE  PARALLEL. 

Yes,  sad  one  of  Sion,'  if  closely  resembling, 
In  shame   and  in   sorrow,   thy   wither' d-up 
heart  — 
If  drinking  deep,  deep,  of  the  same  "  cup  of 
trembling  " 
Could    make   us   thy   children,    our    parent 
thou  art. 

Like  thee  doth  our  nation  lie  conquer'd  and 
broken. 
And  fall'n  from  her  head  is  the  once  royal 
crown  ; 
In  her  streets,  in  her  halls,  Desolation  hath 
spoken. 
And  '•  while  it  is  day  yet,  her  sun  hath  gone 
down."  * 

Like  thine   doth    her   exile,   'mid   dreams   of 
returning. 
Die  far  from  the  home  it  were  life  to  behold  ; 
Like  thine  do  her  sons,   in  the  day  of  their 
mourning. 
Remember  the  bright  things  that  bless'd  them 
of  old. 

Ah,  well  may  we  call  her,  like  thee,  "  the  For- 
saken," ' 
Her  boldest  are  vanquish' d,  her  proudest  are 
slaves  ; 
And  the  harps  of  her  minstrels,  when  gayest 
they  waken. 
Have  tones  'mid  their  mirth  like  the  wind 
over  graves  1 

1  These  verses  were  written  after  the  penisal  of  a  treatise 
kjr  Mr.  Hamilton,  professing  to  prove  that  the  Irish  were 
Ariginally  Jews. 

»  "  Her  sun  is  gone  down  while  it  was  yet  d*y."  —  Jer. 
IT.  9 

»  "  Thou  shu  no  more  be  termed  Forsaken  '  -  Isaiah, 
taiL4 


Yet  hadst  thou  thy  vengeance  —  yet  came  ther* 
the  morrow, 
That  shines  out,  at  last,  on  the  longest  dark 
night. 
When  the  sceptre  that  smote  thee  with  slavery 
and  sorrow, 
Was  shiver' d  at  once,  like  a  reed,  in  thy  sight 

When  that  cup,  which   for   others   the   proud 
Golden  City* 
Had  brimra'd  full  of  bitterness,  drench'd  her 
own  lips ; 
And  the  world   she  had   trampled   on  heard, 
without  pity. 
The  howl  in  her  halls,  and  the  cry  from  hei 
ships. 

When  the  curse  Heaven  keeps  for  the  haughty 
came  over 
Her  merchants  rapacious,  her  rulers  unjust. 
And,   a   ruin,    at   last,   for   the   earthworm  tc 
cover,* 
The  Lady  of  Kingdoms  '  lay  low  in  the  dusi. 


DRINK   OF  THIS   CUP. 

Drink   of   this   cup ;  —  you'll   find  there  s   a 
spell  in 

Its  every  drqp  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality  ; 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen  ! 

Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality. 
Would  you  forget  the  dark  world  we  are  in. 

Just  taste  of  the  bubble  that  gleams  on  the 
top  of  it ; 
But  would  you  rise  above  earth,  till  akin 

To  Immortals   themselves,    you   must   drain 
every  drop  of  it ; 
Send  round  the  cup  —  for  O  there's  a  spell  in 

Its  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality  ; 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen  ! 

Her  CHp  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality. 

Never  was  philter  form'd  with  such  power 
To  charm  and  bewilder  as  this  we  are  quaffing , 

Its  magic  began  when,  in  Autumn's  rich  hour, 
A   harvest   of    gold    in    the   fields   it   stood 
laughing. 

*  "  How  hath    the    oppressor  ceased  !    the   golden  cit> 
ceased  !  "  —  Isaiah,  xiv.  4. 

s  "  Thy  pomp  is  brought  down  to  the  grave  ....      «tif 
the  worms  cover  thee  "  —  Isaiah,  xiv.  11. 

«  "  Thou  shalt  no  ui(>re  l<e  called  the  Lady  cf  Kingdoms 
—  Isaiah,  zlviL  o. 


miSH  MELODIES. 


2ii 


Fhere  having,  by  Nature's  enchantment,  been 
Qird 
With  the  balm  and  the  bloom  of  her  kindliest 
weather, 
rhis  wondeful  juice  from  its  core  was  distill'd 
To  enliven  such  hearts  as  are  here  brought 
together, 
rhen  drink  of  the  cup  —  you'll  find  there's  a 
spell  in 
Its  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality  ; 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen ! 
Ilei  riu>  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality. 

And  thoiigh,  perhaps  —  but  breathe  it  to  no 
one  — 
Like  liquor  the  witch  brews  at  midnight  so 
awful, 
This  philter  in  secret  was  first  taught  to  flow  on. 

Yet  'tis  n't  loss  potent  for  being  unlawful. 
Ajid,  ev'n  though  it  taste  of  the  smoke  of  that 
flame, 
Which  in  silence   extracted  its  virtue  for- 
bidden — 
Fill  up  —  there's  a  fire  in  some  hearts  I  could 
name. 
Which  may  work  too  its  charm,  though  as 
lawless  and  hidden. 
Bo  drink  of  the  cup  —  for  O  there's  a  spell  in 
Its  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality  ; 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen  I 
Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality. 


THE  FORTUNE  TELLER. 

Down  in  the  valley  come  meet  me  to-night, 
And  I'll  tell  you  your  fortune  trxily 

▲s  ever  'twas  told,  by  the  new  moon's  light, 
To  a  young  maiden,  shining  as  newly. 

out,  for  the  world,  let  no  one  be  nigh, 
I  est  haply  the  stars  should  deceive  me  ; 

Such  secrets  between  you  and  me  and  the  sky 
Should  never  go  farther,  believe  me. 

If  at  that  hour  the  heav'ns  be  not  dim. 
My  science  shall  call  up  before  you 

ti  male  apparition,  —  the  image  of  him 
Whose  destiny  'tis  to  adore  you. 

I^a  U  to  that  phantom  you'll  be  kind. 
So  fondly  arotud  you  he'll  hover, 

t  Paul  Zealand  mention!  that  there  if  a  mounUin  in  mm» 
fui  of  Ireland,  vhere  the  ghosta  of  persona  who  have  died 
B  lure.su  laadu  walk  akout  and  convene  with  Uboee  Ibay 


You'll  hardly,  my  dear,  any  difference  fini 
'TwLst  him  and  a  true  living  lover. 

Down  at  your  feet,  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
He'll  kneel,  with  a  warmth  of  devotion   - 

An  ardor,  of  which  such  an  innocent  sprit* 
You'd  scarcely  believe  had  a  notion. 

What  other  thoughts  and  events  may  aiiM, 
As  in  destiny's  book  I've  not  seen  them. 

Must  only  be  left  to  the  stars  and  your  eyes 
To  settle,  ere  morning,  between  them. 


O,   YE  DEAD! 

O,  TB  Dead  I  O,  ye  Dead  i '  whom  we  know  by 

the  light  you  give 
From   your  cold  gleaming   eyes,  though  yoQ 
move  like  men  who  live. 
Why  leave  you  thus  your  grave*. 
In  far-off  fields  and  waves. 
Where  the  worm  and  the  sea  bird  only  knov 
your  bed. 
To  haunt  this  spot  where  all 
Those  eyes  that  wept  your  fall. 
And  the  hearts  that  wail'd  you,  like  your  own« 
lie  dead  ? 

It  is  true,  it  is  true,  we  are  shadows  cold  aa^t 

wan ; 
And  the  fair  and  the  brave  whom  we  lov'd  on 
on  earth  are  gone ; 
But  still  thus  ev'n  in  death. 
So  sweet  the  li\'ing  breath 
Of  the  fields  and  the  flow'rs  in  our  youth  wa 
wander'd  o'er. 
That  ere,  condemn' d,  we  go, 
To  freeze  'mid  Hecla's  snow. 
We  would  taste  it  a  while,  and  think  we  liv* 
once  more  I 


O'DONOHUE'S  MISTRESS. 

Of  all  the  fair  months  that  round  the  sua 
In  light-link'd  dance  their  circles  run. 

Sweet  May,  shine  thou  for  me  ; 
For  still,  when  thy  eurliest  beams  arise. 
That  youth,  who  beneath  the  blue  lake  lies 

Sweet  May,  returns  to  me. 


■MM.  Uk«  Uvioff  people.    If  aaked  whr  th^  io  mA 

to  ibeir   homes,  Ibey  My  Ihry  are  oMiged  U>  (o  iv  !!««« 

Heda,  and  dinpfwar  inunediaielv. 


14  e 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


Of  aU  the  bright  haunts,  where  daylight  leaves 
its  lingering  smile  on  golden  eves, 

Fair  Lake  thou'rt  dearest  to  me  ; 
For  when  the  last  April  sun  grows  dim, 
Tliy  Naiads  prepare  his  steed '  for  him 

Who.dwells,  bright  Lake,  in  thee. 

Of  all  the  proud  steeds,  that  ever  bore 
Voung  plumed  Chiefs  on  sea  or  shore. 

White  Steed,  most  joy  to  thee ; 
NV^ho  still,  with  the  first  young  glance  of  spring. 
From  under  that  glorious  lake  dost  bring 

My  love,  my  chief,  to  me. 

While,  white  as  the  sail  some  bark  unfurls. 
When  newly  launch' d,  thy  long  mane'  curls, 

Fair  Steed,  as  white  and  free  ; 
And  spirits,  from  all  the  lake's  deep  bowers. 
Glide  o'er  the  blue  wave  scattering  flowers, 

Around  my  love  and  thee. 

Of  all  the  sweet  deaths  that  maidens  die, 
Whose  lovers  beneath  the  cold  wave  lie. 

Most  sweet  that  death  will  be. 
Which,  under  the  next  May  evening's  light, 
When  thou  and  thy  steed  are  lost  to  sight, 

Dear  love,  111  die  for  thee. 


ECHO. 

How  sweet  the  answer  Echo  makes 

To  music  at  night. 
When,  roused  by  lute  or  horn,  she  wakes, 
And  far  away,  o'er  lawns  and  lakes, 

Goes  answering  light. 

Yet  Love  hath  echoes  truer  far, 

And  far  more  sweet, 
Than  e'er  beneath  the  moonlight's  star, 
O^'  horn  or  lute,  or  soft  guitar, 

The  songs  repeat. 

'Tie  whei  the  sigh,  in  youth  sincere. 
And  only  then,  — 


1  The  particulars  of  the  tradition  respecting  O'Donohue 
tiul  his  White  Horse,  may  be  found  in  Mr.  Weld's  Account 
of  Klllarney,  or  more  fully  detailed  in  Derrick's  Letters. 
For  many  years  after  his  death,  tlie  spirit  of  this  hero  is 
luppnsed  to  have  been  seen  on  the  morning  of  May  day, 
gliding  (iver  the  lake  on  his  favorite  white  horse,  to  the  sound 
of  sweet  unearthly  music,  and  preceded  by  groups  of  youths 
lirrt  maidens,  who  flung  wreaths  of  delicate  spring  flowers 
u>  his  'lath 


The  sigh  that's  breath'd  for  one  to  hear, 
Is  by  that  one,  that  only  dear, 
Breathed  back  again ! 


O  BANQUET   NOT 

O  BANQUET  not  in  those  shining  bowers, 

Where  Youth  resorts,  but  come  to  me  • 
For  mine's  a  garden  of  faded  flowers. 

More  fit  for  sorrow,  for  age,  and  thee. 
And  there  we  shall  have  our  feast  of  tears, 

And  many  a  cup  in  silence  pour  ; 
Our  guests,  the  shades  of  former  years. 

Our  toasts,  to  lips  that  bloom  no  more. 

There,  while  the  myrtle's  withering  boughn 

Their  lifeless  leaves  around  us  shed. 
We'll  brim  the  bowl  to  broken  vows. 

To  friends  long  lost,  the  changed,  the  dead 
Or,  while  some  blighted  laurel  waves 

Its  branches  o'er  the  di-eary  spot. 
We'll  drink  to  those  neglected  graves, 

Where  valor  sleeps,  unnamed,  forgot. 


THEE,  THEE,  ONLY  THEE. 

The  dawning  of  morn,  the  daylight's  sinking. 
The  night's  long  hours  still  find  me  thinking 

Of  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 
When  friends  are  met,  and  goblets  crown' d. 
And  smiles  are  near,  that  once  enchanted, 
Unreach'd  by  all  that  sunshine  round. 
My  soul,  like  some  dark  spot,  is  haunted 
By  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 

Whatever  in  fame's  high  path  could  waken 
My  spirit  once,  is  now  forsaken 
For  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 
Like  shores,  by  which  some  headlong  bark 

To  th'  ocean  hurries,  resting  never. 
Life's  scenes  go  by  me,  bright  or  dark, 
I  know  not,  heed  not,  hastening  evr 
To  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 


Among  other  stories,  connected  with  this  Legend  of  tht 
Lakes,  it  is  said  that  there  was  a  young  and  beautiful  girt 
whose  imagination  was  so  impressed  with  the  idea  of  thii 
visionary  chieftain,  that  she  fancied  herself  in  love  with 
him,  and  at  last,  in  a  fit  of  insanity,  on  a  May  morning 
threw  herself  into  the  lake. 

s  The  boatmen  at  Killarney  call  those  waves  which  romt 
on  a  windy  day,  crested  with  foam,  "  O'Donohue's  white 
horses." 


t  have  not  a  joy  but  of  thy  bringing, 

Ajid  pain  itself  seems  sweet  when  springing 

From  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 
Like  spells,  that  nought  on  earth  can  break, 

Till  lips,  that  know  the  charm,  have  spoken, 
I'his  lieaf    howe'er  the  world  may  wake 
Ita  grief,  its  scorn,  can  but  be  broken 
By  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 


S1L\LL  THE  HARP  THEN  BE   SILENT. 

^HALL  the  Harp  then  be  silent,  when  he  who 
first  gave 
To  our  country  a  name,  is  withdrawn  from 
all  eyes  ? 
Shall  a  Minstrel  of  Erin  stand  mute  by  the  grave. 
Where  the  first  —  where  the  last  of  her  Pa- 
triots lies? 

No  —  faint  though  the  death  song  may  fall  firom 
his  lips. 
Though  his  Harp,  like  his  soul,  may  with 
shadows  be  cross'd, 
Vet,  yet  shall  it  sound,  'mid  a  nation's  eclipse, 
And  proclaim  to  the  world  what  a  star  hath 
been  lost ; '  — 

What  a  union  of  all  the  affections  and  powers 

By  which  life  is  exalted,  embellish' d,'  refined. 
Was  embraced  in   that  spirit — whose  centre 
was  ours, 
While  its  mighty  circumference  circled  man- 
kind. 

O,  who  that  loves  Erin,  or  who  that  can  see, 
Through  the  waste  of  her  annals,  that  epoch 
sublime  — 

Like  a  pjTamid  raised  in  the  desert  —  where  he 
And  his  glory  stand  out  to  the  eyes  of  all  time ; 

I  hat  otu  lucid  interval,  snatch'd  from  the  gloom 

And  the  madness  of  ages,  when  fill'd  with  his 

soul, 

A  Nation  o'erleap'd  the  dark  bounds  of  her  doom. 

And  for  07ie  sacred  instant,  touch'd  Liberty's 

goa.? 

Who,  that  ever  hath  heard  him  —  hath  drank 
at  the  source 
Of  that  wonderful  eloquence,  all  Erin's  own. 


I  These  lines  were  written  on  the  death  of  our  great 
9a:not,  Gnittan,  in  the  year  1830.  It  i«  only  the  two  flrrt 
rerses  that  are  either  intended  "^r  fitted  to  be  sun^ 


^  In  whose  high-thoughted  daring,  the  fire,  and 
the  force, 
And  the  yet  untamed  spring  of  her  apirit  ui 
shown? 

An  eloquence  rich,  wheresoever  its  wave 
Wandcr'd  free  and  triumphant,  with  thotighti 
that  shone  through, 
As  clear  as  the  brook's  "  stone  of  lustre,"  ar  ■! 
gave. 
With  the  flash  of  the  gem,  its  solidity  t*,o. 

Who,  that  ever  approach'd  him,  when  free  from 
the  crowd. 
In  a  home  full  of  love,  he  delighted  to  tread 
'Mong  the  trees  which  a  nation  had  giv'n,  and 
which  bow'd. 
As  if  each  brought  a  new  civic  crown  for  hit 
head  — 

Is  there  one,  who  hath  thus,  through  his  orbit 

of  Ufe 
But  at  distance  observed  him  —  through  glory, 

through  blame. 
In  the  calm  of  retreat,  in  the  grandeur  of  strife 
Whether  shining  or  olouded,  still  high  and 

the  same,  — 

O  no,  not  a  heart,  that  e>r  knew  him,  but  mouins 
Deep,  deep  o'er  the  grave,  where  such  glory 
is  shrined  — 
O'er  a  monument  Fame  wiU  preserve,  'mong 

the  urns 
Of  the  wisest,  the  bravcet,  the  best  of  mankind 


O,  THE  SIGHT  ENTRANCINO. 

O,  THE  sight  entrancing. 

When  morning's  beam  is  glancing 

O'er  files  array'd 

With  helm  and  blade. 
And  plumes,  in  the  gay  wind  dancuig  ! 
When  hearts  are  ail  high  beating. 
And  the  trumpet's  voice  repeating 

That  song,  whose  breath 

May  lead  to  death. 
But  never  to  retreating. 
O,  the  sight  entrancing. 
When  morning's  beam  is  glaninng 

O'er  files  array'd 

AVith  helm  and  blade, 
And  plumes,  in  the  gay  wind  dancinir 


i48                                                          IRISH  MELODIES. 

Yet,  'tis  not  helm  or  feather  — 

He  left  its  shade,  when  evtry  tree, 

For  ask  yon  despot,  whether 

Like  thine,  hung  weeping  o'er  his  vfaj. 

His  plumed  bands 

Could  bring  such  hands 

Weeping  or  smiling,  lovely  isle  ! 

And  hearts  as  ours  together. 

And  all  the  lovelier  for  thy  tear^  — 

Leave  pomps  to  those  who  need  'em  — 

For  though  but  rare  thy  sunny  smile, 

G  Lve  man  but  heart  and  freedom, 

'Tis  heaven's  own  glance  wh«n  it  appears 

And  proud  he  braves 

The  gaudiest  slaves 

Like  feeling  hearts,  whose  joys  are  few. 

That  crawl  where  monarchs  lead  'em. 

But,  when  indeed  they  come,  di\ine  — 

The  sword  may  pierce  the  beaver, 

The  brightest  light  the  sun  e'er  threw 

Stone  walls  in  time  may  sever, 

Is  lifeless  to  one  gleam  of  thine  ! 

'Tis  mina  alone, 

"Worth  steel  and  stone. 

That  keeps  men  free  forever. 

O,  that  sight  entrancing, 

When  the  morning's  beam  is  glancing, 

'TWAS   ONE  OF  THOSE   DREAMS.' 

O'er  files  array' d 

'Twas  one  of  those  dreams,  that  by  music  ar€ 

With  helm  and  blade, 

brought. 

And  in  Freedom's  cause  advancing  [ 

Like  a  bright  summer  haze,  o'er  the  poet's  wann 

thought  — 

When,  lost  in  the  future,  his  soul  wanders  on. 

SWEET  INNISFALLEN. 

And  all  of  this  life,  but  its  sweetness,  is  gone. 

Sweet  Innisfallen,  fare  thee  well. 

May  calm  and  sunshine  long  be  thine  ! 

The  wild  notes  he  heard  o'er  the  water  were 

How  fair  thou  art  let  others  tell,  — 

those 

lofeel  how  fair  shall  long  be  mine. 

He  had  taught  to  sing  Erin's  dark  oondage  and 

Sweet  Innisfallen,  long  Shall  dweU 

woes. 
And  the  breath  of  the  bugle  now  wafted  them 

In  memory's  dream  that  sunny  smile. 

o'er 

Which  o'er  thee  qyi  that  evening  fell, 

From  Dinis'  green  isle,  to  Glena's  wooded  shore. 

When  first  I  saw  thy  fairy  isle. 

He  listen'd  —  while,  high  o'er  the  eagle's  rude 

'Twas  light,  indeed,  too  blest  for  one, 

nest. 

Who  had  to  turn  to  paths  of  care  — 

The  lingering  sounds  on  their  way  loved  to 

Through  crowded  haunts  again  to  run. 

rest ; 

And  leave  thee  bright  and  silent  there ; 

And  the  echoes  sung  back  from  their  full  moun- 

tain quire. 

No  more  unto  thy  shores  to  come, 

As  if  loath^to  let  song  so  enchanting  expire. 

But  on  the  world's  rude  ocean  toss'd. 

Dream  of  thee  sometimes,  as  a  home 

It  seem'd  as  if  ov'ry  sweet  note,  that  died  liere, 

Of  sunshine  he  had  seen  and  lost. 

Was  again  brought  to  life  in  some  airier  sphere, 

Some  heav'n  in  those  hills,  where  the  soul  of 

Far  better  in  thy  weeping  hours 

the  strain 

To  part  from  thefe,  as  I  do  now. 

That  had  ceased  upon  cs.fi  vas  awaking  again  ! 

VV  ■■ien  mist  is  o'er  thy  blooming  bowers. 

iake  sorrow's  veil  on  beauty's  brow. 

0  forgive,  if,  while  liotcn-lng  co  music,  whose 

breath 

For,  though  unrivall'd  still  thy  grace, 

Seem'd  to  circle  his  rar^e  with  a  charm  against 

Thou  dost  not  look,  as  then,  too  blest. 

death. 

But  thus  in  shadow,  seem'st  a  place 

He  should  feel  a  p'  tA  Spirit  within  him  pro- 

Where erring  man  might  hope  to  rest  — 

claim. 

"  Even  so  thalt  tl  .  a  live  in  the  echoes  of  Fame  • 

Might  hope  to  rest,  and  find  in  thee 

A  gloom  like  Eden's  on  the  day 

1  Written  during  a  visit  to  Lord  Keumarj ,  at  K;ll«m«T 

IRISH  MELODIES. 


246 


"  Even  so,  though  thy  memory  should  now  die 

away, 
■* 'Twill  be  caught  up  again  in  some  happier 

day, 
■  And  the  hearts  and  the  voices  of  Erin  prolong, 
"Through  the  answering  Future,  thy  name  and 

thy  song." 


FAIREST!  PUT  ON   A   WHILE. 

Fairest  !  put  on  a  while 

These  pinions  of  light  I  bring  thee, 
And  o'er  thy  own  green  isle 

In  fancy  let  me  wing  thee. 
Never  did  Ariel's  plume. 

At  golden  sunset  hover 
O'er  semes  so  full  of  bloomt 

As  I  shall  waft  thee  over. 

Fields,  where  the  Spring  delays, 

And  fearlessly  meets  the  ardor 
Of  the  warm  Summer's  gaze. 

With  only  her  tears  to  guard  her. 
Rocks,  through  myrtle  boughs 

In  grace  majestic  frowning. 
Like  some  bold  warrior's  brows 

That  Love  hath  just  been  crowning. 

Islets,  so  freshly  fair, 

That  never  hath  bird  come  nigh  them, 
But  irom  his  course  through  air 

He  hath  been  won  down  by  them  ; '  — 
Types,  sweet  maid,  of  thee, 

Whose  look,  whose  blush  inviting, 
Never  did  Love  yet  see 

From  Hcav'n,  without  alighting. 

Lakes,  where  the  pearl  lies  hid,* 

And  caves,  where  the  gem  is  sleeping. 
Bright  as  the  tears  thy  lid 

Lets  fall  in  lonely  weeping. 
Glcas,''  where  Ocean  comes. 

To  'scape  the  wild  wind's  rancor, 
And  Harbors,  worthiest  homes, 

Wliere  Freedom's  fleet  can  anchor. 

Then,  if,  while  scenes  so  grand, 
So  beautiful,  shine  before  thee, 


i  In  deacribing  the  Skeligs  (Ulanda  of  the  Barony  of  Forth), 
M.  Keating  says,  "  There  is  a  certain  attractive  virtue  in 
Ae  soil  which  draws  down  all  the  birds  that  attempt  to  fly 
ynr  it,  and  obliges  them  to  light  upon  the  rock." 

*  "  Nenniux,  a  British  writer  of  the  ninth  century,  mto- 
4«Ds  the  abundance  of  pearls  in  Ireland.  Tbeir  princM,  Im 
32 


Pride  for  thy  own  dear  land 

Should  haply  be  stealing  o'er  thaa^ 

O,  let  grief  come  first. 

O'er  pride  itself  victoriotis  — 

Thinking  how  man  hath  curs'd 

What  Heaven  had  made  so  gloriou*  i 


QUICK!  WE  HAVE  BUT  A  SECOND. 

Quick  !  we  have  but  a  second. 

Fill  round  the  cup,  while  you  may ; 
For  Time,  the  churl,  hath  beckon'd. 

And  we  must  away,  away  ! 
Grasp  the  pleasure  that's  ttpng. 

For  O,  not  Orpheus'  strain 
Could  keep  sweet  hours  from  dying, 
Or  charm  them  to  life  again. 
Then,  quick !  wo  have  but  a  secohtl. 

Fill  round  the  cup,  while  you  may ; 
For  I'ime,  the  churl,  hath  bcckon'd 
And  we  must  away,  away  I 

See  the  glass  how  it  flushes. 

Like  some  young  Hebe's  lip. 
And  half  meets  thine,  and  blushea 
That  thou  shouldst  delay  to  sip 
Shame,  O  shame  unto  thee. 

If  ever  thou  seest  that  day, 
WTien  a  cup  or  lip  shall  woo  thee. 
And  turn  untouch'd  away  1 
Then  quick  !  we  have  but  a  second. 

Fill  round,  fill  round,  while  you  mayt 
For  Time,  the  churl,  hath  beckon'd. 
And  we  must  away,  away ! 


AND  DOTH  NOT  A  MEETING  LIKE  THIS, 

And  doth  not  a  meeting  like  this  make  amentia, 
For  all  the  long  years  I've  been  wandering 
away  — 
To  see  thus  around  me  my  youth's  early  friends, 

As  smiling  and  kind  as  in  that  happy  day  ? 
Though  haply  o'er  some  of  your  brows,  as  o'ef 
mine. 
The  snow  fall  of  time  may  be  stealing  —  whal 
then? 
Like  Alps  in  the  sunset,  thus  lighted  by  wine, 
We'll  wear  the  gay  tinge  of  youth's  roMS  again 

nyi,  Lun^  them  behind  th«(r  ears :  and  t&to  w*  flad  «»• 
firmed  by  a  preaeni  made  A.  C.  1094,  by  Gilbert,  BUbop  of 
Limerick,  to  Anselm,  Archbishop  -rf  Canterbury, of  •  mm 
•iderable  quantity  of  Ifiab  pearia.'*  —  O'iUfUrm 
*  Glen(arilC 


1^0 


miSH  MELODIES. 


What  soften' d  remembrances  come  o'er  the  heart, 
In  gazing  on  those  we've  been  lost  to  so  long  ! 
rhe  sorrows,  the  joys,  of  which  once  they  were 
part, 
Still  round  them,  like  visions  of  yesterday, 
throng. 
As  letters  some  hand  hath  invisibly  traced. 
When  held  to  the  flame  will  steal  out  on  the 
sight, 
3o  many  a  feeling,  that  long  seem'd  effaced. 
The  warmth  of  a  moment  like  this  brings  to 
hght. 

A  nd  thus,  as  in  memory's  bark  we  shall  glide. 

To  visit  the  scenes  of  our  boyhood  anew. 
Though  oft  wc  may  see,  looking  down  on  the  tide, 

The  wreck  of  full  many  a  hope  shining  through ; 
Yet  still,  as  in  fancy  we  point  to  the  flowers. 

That  once  made  a  garden  of  all  the  gay  shore. 
Deceived  for  a  moment,  we'll  think  them  still 
ours. 

And  breathe  the  fresh  air  of  life's  morning 
once  more.' 

80  brief  our  existence,  a  glimpse,  at  the  most. 
Is  all  we  can  have  of  the  few  we  hold  dear ; 
And  oft  even  joy  is  unheeded  and  lost. 
For  want  of  some  heart,  that  could  echo  it, 
near. 
Ah,  well  may  we  hope,  when  this  short  life  is 
gone. 
To  meet  in  some  world  of  more  permanent 
,  bliss. 
For  a  smile,  or  a  grasp  of  the  hand,  hast'ning  on, 
Is  all  we  enjoy  of  each  other  in  this.* 

But,  come,  the  more  rare  such  delights  to  the 
heart. 
The  more  we  should  welcome  and  bless  them 
the  more ; 
riiey're  ours  when  we  meet,  —  they  are  lost 
when  we  part. 
Like  birds  that  bring  summer,  and  fly  when 
'tis  o'er. 
FL  as  circling  the  cup,  hand  in  hand,  ere  we 
drink. 
Let  Sympathy  pledge  us,  through  pleasure, 
through  pain, 

>  Jours  charmans,  quand  je  songe  &  vos  heureux  instans, 
Je  pense  remonter  le  fleuve  de  mes  ans  ; 
Et  mon  coEur,  encliant^  sur  sa  rive  fleurie, 
Kespire  encore  I'air  pur  du  matin  de  la  vie. 
«  Tlie  same  thought  has  been  happily  expressed  by  my 
Biend  Mr.  Washington  Irving,  in  his  Braubridge  Hall,  vol. 
k  p.  ai3.    The  sincere  pleasure  which  I  feel  in  callius  this 


That,  fast  as  a  feeling  but  touches  one  link, 
Her  magic  shall  send  it  direct  through  th« 
chain. 

THE  MOUNTAIN   SPRITE. 

In  yonder  valley  there  dwelt,  alone, 
A  youth,  whose  moments  had  calmly  flown, 
Till  spells  came  o'er  him,  and,  day  and  nighti 
He  was  haunted  and  watch'd  by  a  Mountain 
Sprite. 

As  once,  by  moonlight,  he  wander'd  o'er 
The  golden  sands  of  that  island  shore, 
A  footprint  sparkled  before  his  sight  — 
'Twas  the  fairy  foot  of  the  Mountain  Sprite ! 

Beside  a  fountain,  one  sunny  day, 

As  bending  o'er  the  stream  he  lay. 

There  peep'd  down  o'er  him  two  eyes  of  light, 

And  he  saw  in  that  mirror  the  Mountain  Sprite 

He  tum'd,  but,  lo,  like  a  startled  bird. 

That  spirit  fled  ;  —  and  the  youth  but  heard 

Sweet  music,  such  as  marks  the  flight 

Of  some  bird  of  song,  from  the  Mountain  Sprite. 

One  night,  still  haunted  by  that  bright  look, 

The  boy,  bewilder'd,  his  pencil  took. 

And,  guided  only  by  memory's  light, 

Drew  the  once-seen  form  of  the  Mountain  Sprite. 

"  O  thou,  who  lovest  the  shadow,"  cried 

A  voice,  low  whisp'ring  by  his  side, 

"  Now  tiirn  and  see,"  —  here  the  youth's  delight 

Seal'd  the  rosy  lips  of  the  Mountain  Sprite. 

«« Of  all  the  Spirits  of  land  and  sea," 

Then  rapt  he  murmur'd,  "  there's  none  like  thee. 

"  And  oft,  O  oft,  may  thy  foot  thus  light, 

"  In  this  lonely  bower,  sweet  Mountain  Sprite  !  " 


AS  VANQUISH'D  ERIN. 

As  vanquLsh'd  Erin  wept  beside 
The  Boyne's  ill-fated  river, 

gentleman  my  friend,  is  much  enhanced  by  th«  Teflec'jc* 
that  he  is  too  good  an  Americaii,  to  have  admitted  me  w 
readily  to  such  a  distinction,  if  he  had  not  knowi.  that  my 
feelings  towards  the  great  and  free  country  that  gave  hiii 
birth,  have  been  long  such  as  every  real  lover  ot  the  libert] 
and  happiness  of  the  human  race  must  entertain. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


U\ 


Bhe  saw  where  Disc  ord,  in  the  tide, 

Had  dropp'd  his  loaded  quiver. 
••  Lie  hid,"  she  cried,  "  ye  venom'd  darts, 

•*  Where  mortal  eye  may  shun  you  ; 
•*  Lie  hid  —  the  stain  of  manly  hearts, 

"  That  bled  for  me,  is  on  you." 

Bui  TMn  ner  wish,  her  weeping  vain,  — 

As  Time  too  well  hath  taught  her  — 
Each  year  the  Fiend  returns  again, 

Ai)d  divvs  into  that  water  ; 
And  brings,  triumphant,  from  beneath 

His  shafts  of  desolation, 
A^nd  sends  them,  wing'd  with  worse  than  death, 

llirough  all  her  madd'niug  nation. 

Alas  for  her  who  sits  and  mourns, 

Ev'n  now,  beside  that  river  — 
Unwearied  still  the  Fiend  returns. 

And  stored  is  still  his  quiver. 
•*  When  will  this  end,  ye  Powers  of  Qood  ?  " 

She  weeping  asks  forever  ; 
But  only  hears,  from  out  that  flood. 

The  Demon  answer,  "  Never !  " 


DESMOND'S  SONG.' 

Bt  the  Feal's  wave  benighted. 

No  star  in  the  skies, 
To  thy  door  by  Love  lighted, 

I  fi'^t  saw  those  eyes. 
Some  voice  whisper'd  o'er  me. 

As  the  threshold  I  cross' d. 
There  was  ruin  before  me. 

If  I  loved,  I  was  lost. 

Love  came,  and  brought  sorrow 

Too  soon  in  his  train  ; 
Yet  so  sweet,  that  to-morrow 

'Twere  welcome  again. 
Though  misery's  full  measure 

My  portion  should  be, 
I  would  drain  it  with  pleasure, 

If  pour'd  out  by  thee. 

Yon,  who  call  it  dishonor 
To  bow  to  this  flame, 


1  **  TtfHuu,  the  heir  of  the  Desmond  family,  had  acci- 
fentally  been  so  engaged  in  the  chase,  that  he  was  benighted 
•ear  Tralee,  and  oiiliged  to  take  shelter  at  the  Abbey  of 
feal,  in  the  house  of  one  of  his  dependants,  called  Mac 
Connac  Catherine,  a  beautiful  daughter  of  bis  host,  in- 
Kantlv  iniipired  the  Earl  with  a  violent  passion,  which  b« 
wtiH  :}iH  subdue.    He  married  her,  and  by  this  inferior  al- 


If  you've  eyes,  look  but  on  her. 
And  blush  while  you  blame. 

Hath  the  pearl  less  whiteneM 
Because  of  its  birth  ? 

Hath  the  violet  less  brightn«« 
For  growing  near  earth  i 

No —  Man  for  his  glory 

To  sncestry  flies ; 
But  Woman's  bright  story 

Is  told  in  her  eyes. 
While  the  Monarch  but  traces 

Through  mortals  his  line, 
Beauty,  bom  of  the  Graces, 

Ranks  next  to  Divine  ! 


THEY  KNOW  NOT  MY  HEART. 

Thet  know  not  my  heart,  who  believe  tliert 

can  be 
One  stain  of  this  earth  in  its  feelings  for  thee  ; 
Who  think,  while  I  see  thee  in  beauty's  young 

hour. 
As  pure  as  the  morning's  first  dew  on  the  flow'r, 
I  could  harm  what  I  love,  —  as  the  sun's  wanton 

ray 
But  smiles  on  the  dewdrop  to  waste  it  away. 

No  —  beaming  with  light  as  those  young  fea- 
tures are. 

There's  a  light  round  thy  heart  which  is  love- 
lier  far : 

It  it  not  that  cheek  —  'tis  the  soul  dawning  clear 

Through  its  innocent  blush  makes  thy  beauty 
so  dear ; 

As  the  sky  we  look  up  to,  though  glorious  and 
fair. 

Is  look'd  up  to  the  more,  because  Heaven  lici 
there ! 


I  WISH  I  WAS  BY  THAT  DIM  LAKB. 

I  \»isH  I  was  by  that  dim  Lake,* 
Where  sinful  souls  their  farewell  take 
Of  this  vain  world,  and  half  way  lie 
In  death's  cold  shadow,  ere  they  die. 


Ilanc*  alienated  his  followen,  wboee  bniul  pride      _ 
this  indulgence  of  his  love  as  an  unpardonattle  iegndada* 
of  his  hmily."  — X.rlaiuf,  vol.  it 

t  Thee*  verse*  are  meant  to  allude  to  that  anrlMrt  aam 
of  superstition,  called  Patrick's  Purgatory.  "  In  the  mUM 
of  these  gloomy  regions  of  Donepll  (say*  Dr.  CaapbaO 
Uy  alake,  wbicii  waa  to  bMon*  tlM  ■yrtie  ikMUv  of  Hm 


262 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


There,  there,  far  from  thee, 
Deceitful  world,  my  home  should  be  ; 
Where,  come  what  might  of  gloom  and  pain, 
False  hope  should  ne'er  deceive  again. 

The  lifeless  sky,  the  mournful  sound 

Of  unseen  waters  falling  round  ; 

The  dry  leaves,  quiv'ring  o'er  my  head, 

Like  man,  unquiet  ev'n  when  dead ! 

ITiese,  ay,  these  shall  wean 

My  soul  from  life's  deluding  scene, 

And  turn  each  thought,  o'ercharged  with  gloom, 

Like  willows,  downward  towards  the  tomb. 

A.S  they,  who  to  their  couch  at  night 
Would  win  repose,  first  quench  the  light, 
So  must  the  hopes,  that  keep  this  breast 
Awake,  be  quench'd,  ere  it  can  rest. 
Cold,  cold,  this  heart  must  grow, 
Unmoved  by  either  joy  or  woe. 
Like  freezing  founts,  where  all  that's  thrown 
Within  their  current  turns  to  stone. 


SHE  SUNG  OF  LOVE. 

She  sung  of  Love,  while  o'er  her  lyre 

The  rosy  rays  of  evening  fell. 
As  if  to  feed  with  their  soft  fire 

The  soul  within  that  trembling  shell. 
The  same  rich  light  hung  o'er  her  cheek, 

And  play'd  around  those  lips  that  sung 
And  spoke,  as  flowers  would  sing  and  speak, 

If  Love  could  lend  their  leaves  a  tongue. 

But  soon  the  West  no  longer  burn'd, 

Each  rosy  ray  from  heav'n  withdrew  ; 
And,  when  to  gaze  again  I  turn'd, 

The  minstrel's  form  seem'd  fading  too. 
As  if  her  light  and  heav'n's  were  one, 

The  glory  all  had  left  that  frame  ; 
Ancl  from  her  glimmering  Ups  the  tone, 

As  from  a  parting  spirit,  came.' 


h)!il«d  and  inter  Tiediate  state.  In  the  lake  were  several 
■lands ;  but  one  of  tliem  was  dignified  with  that  called  the 
Mouth  of  Purgatory,  which,  during  the  dark  ages,  attract- 
td  the  notice  of  all  Christendom,  and  was  the  resort  of 
penitents  and  pilgrims  from  almost  every  country  in  Eu- 
rope. '  , 

"  It  was,"  as  the  same  writer  tells  us,  "  one  of  the  most 
iismal  and  dreary  spots  in  the  North,  almost  inaccessible, 
broug.i  deep  glens  and  rugged  mountains,  frightful  with 
tnpending  rocks,  and  the  hollow  murmurs  of  the  western 
winds  in  dark  caverns,  peopled  only  witli  such  fantastic  be- 


Who  ever  lov'd,  but  had  the  thought 

That  he  and  all  he  loved  must  part  ? 
Fill'd  with  this  fear,  I  flew  and  caught 

The  fading  image  to  my  heart  — 
And  cried,  "  O  Love  !  is  this  thy  doom  ? 

"  O  light  of  youth's  resplendent  day ! 
"  Must  ye  then  lose  your  golden  bloom, 

"  And  thus,  like  sunshine,  die  away  ?  " 


SING  — SING  — MUSIC  WAS   GIVEU 

Sing  —  sing  —  Music  was  given, 

To  brighten  the^gay,  and  kindle  the  loving ; 
Souls  here,  like  planets  in  Heaven, 

By  harmony's  laws  alone  are  kept  moving. 
Beauty  may  boast  of  her  eyes  and  her  cheeks, 

But  Love  from  the  lips  his  true  archery  winga  ' 
And  she,  who  but  feathers- the  dart  when  sh 
*       speaks. 
At  once  sends  it  home  to  the  heart  when  sh« 
sings. 
Then  sing  —  sing  —  Music  \Vas  given, 
To  brighten  the  gay,  and  kindle  the 
loving ; 
Souls  here,  like  planets  in  Heaven, 
By  harmony's  laws  alone  ai-e  kept  mov» 
ing. 

When  Love,  rock'd  by  his  mother. 

Lay  sleeping  as  calm  as  slumber  could  make 
him, 
"  Hush,  hush,"  said  Venus,  "  no  other 

"  Sweet  voice  but  his  own  is  worthy  to  wake 
him." 
Dreaming  of  music  he  slumbcr'd  the  while 

Till  faint  from  his  lip  a  soft  melody  broke. 
And  Venus,  enchanted,  look'd  on  with  a  smile. 
While  Love  to  his  own  sweet  singing  awoke. 
Then  sing  —  sing  —  Music  was  given. 
To  brighten  the  gay,  and  kindle  the 
loving ; 
Souls  here,  like  planets  in  Heaven, 
By  harmony's  laws  alone  are  kept  moT- 
ing. 


ings  as  the  mind,  however  gay,  is,  from  strange  association, 
wont  to  appropriate  to  such  gloomy  scenes." —  Stncturta  on 
the  Ecclesiastical  and  TAtrrary  History  of  Ireland. 

1  The  thought  here  was  suggested  by  some  beautiful  linM 
in  Mr.  Rogers's  Poem  of  Human  Life,  beginning  — 

"  Now  in  the  glimmering,  dying  light  she  grows 
Less  and  less  earthly." 

I  would  quote  the  entire  passage,  did  I  not  fear  to  put  of 
own  bumble  imitation  of  it  out  of  countenanco 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


oi 


THOUGH  HUMBLE  THE  BANQUET. 

THot'OH  humble  the  banquet  to  which  I  inrite 
thee, 
Thou' It  find  there  the  best  a  poor  bard  can 
command : 
Eyes,  beaming  with  welcome,  shall  throng  round, 
to  light  thee, 
And  Love  serve  the  feast  with  his  own  willing 
hand. 

And  though  Fortune  may  seem  to  have  tnm'd 
from  the  dwelling 
Of  him  thou  regardest  her  favoring  ray, 
Thou  wilt  find  there  a  gift,  all  her  treasures 
excelling. 
Which,  proudly  he  feels,  hath  ennobled  hia 
way. 

Pis  that  freedom  of  mind,  which  no  vulgar  do- 
minion 
Can  turn  from  the  path  a  pure  conscience 
approves ; 
\Miich,  -with  hope  in  the  heart,  and  no  chain  on 
the  pinion. 
Holds  upwards  its  course  to  the  light  which 
it  loves. 

Us  this  makes  the  pride  of  his  hunible  retreat. 
And,  with  this,  though  of  all  other  treasures 
bereaved, 
fhe  breeze  of  his  garden  to  him  is  more  sweet 
Than  the  costliest  incense  that  Pomp  e'er  re- 
ceived. 

rhen,  come,  —  if  a  board  so  untempting  hath 
power 
To  win  thee  &om  grandeur,  its  best  shall  be 
thine; 
^d  there's  one,  long  the  light  of  the  bard's 
happy  bower, 
Who,  smiling,  will  blend  her  bright  welcome 
with  mine. 


SING,  SWEET  HARP. 

SiKO,  sweet  Harp,  O,  sing  to  me 

Some  song  of  ancient  days. 
Whose  sounds,  in  this  sad  memory, 

Long-buried  dreams  shall  raise  ;  — 
Some  lay  that  tells  of  vanish'd  fame. 

Whose  light  once  round  us  shone  ; 
Of  noble  pride,  now  tum'd  to  shame, 

And  hopes  fo-.3ver  gone. — 


Sing,  sad  Harp,  thus  sing  to  m«  \ 

Alike  our  doom  is  cast. 
Both  lost  to  all  but  memory. 

We  live  but  in  the  past. 

How  mournfully  the  midnight  aii 

Among  thy  chords  doth  sigh. 
As  if  it  sought  some  echo  there 

Of  voices  long  gone  by  ;  — 
Of  Chieftains,  now  forgot,  who  aeen  d 

The  foremost  then  in  fame ; 
Of  Bards  who,  once  immortal  deem'd. 

Now  sleep  without  a  name.  — 
In  vain,  sad  Harp,  the  midnight  air 

Among  thy  chords  doth  sigh ; 
In  vain  it  seeks  an  echo  there 

Of  voices  long  gone  by. 

Could'st  thou  but  call  those  spirits  round, 

^Vho  once,  in  bower  and  hall. 
Sate  listening  to  thy  magic  sound. 

Now  mute  and  mouldering  all ;  — 
But,  no ;  they  would  but  wake  to  weep 

Their  children's  slavery ; 
Then  leave  them  in  their  dreamlesa  sleep, 

The  dead,  at  least,  are  free  !  — 
Hush,  hush,  sad  Harp,  that  dreary  tontL 

That  knell  of  Freedom's  day  ; 
Or,  listening  to  its  deathlike  moan 

Let  me,  too,  die  away. 


SONG   OF  THE  BATTLE  EVE. 

Tims  — TRB  Ntvra  CtimrBT. 

To-MORBOw,  comrade,  we 
On  the  battle  plain  must  be. 

There  to  conquer,  or  both  lie  low  I 
The  morning  star  is  up,  — 
But  there's  wine  still  in  the  cup, 

And  we'll  take  another  quaff,  ere  we  go,  hoy,  fD 

We'll  take  another  quaff,  ere  we  go. 
• 
Tis  true,  in  manliest  eyes 
A  passing  tear  will  rise. 

When  we  think  of  the  friends  we  leave  lone 
But  what  can  wailing  do  ? 
See,  our  goblet's  weeping  too ! 

With  its  tears  we'll  chase  away  cor  own.  bo) 
our  own ; 

With  its  tears  we'll  chase  away  our  own. 

But  daylight's  stealing  on  ;  — 
The  last  that  o'er  us  shona 


164 


IKISH  MELODIES. 


Saw  our  children  around  us  play ; 
rhe  next  —  ah  !  where  shall  we 
A.nd  those  rosy  urchins  be  ? 

But  —  no  matter  —  grasp  thy  sword  and  away, 
boy,  away ; 

No  matter  —  grasp  thy  sword  and  away ! 

liCt  those,  who  brook  the  chain 
Of  Saxon  or  of  Dane, 

Ignobly  by  their  firesides  stay  ; 
One  sigh  to  home  be  given, 
One  heartfelt  prayer  to  heaven, 

Then,  for  Erin  and  her  cause,  boy,  hurrah  ! 
hurrah !  hurrah  ! 

Then,  for  Erin  and  her  cause,  hurrah  ! 


THE  WANDERING  BARD. 

What  life  like  that  of  the  bard  can  be,  — 
The  wandering  bard,  who  roams  as  free 
As  the  mountain  lark  that  o'er  him  sings, 
And,  like  that  lark,  a  music  brings 
Within  him,  Avhere'er  he  com«;s  or  goes,  — 
A  fount  that  forever  flows  ! 
The  world's  to  him  like  some  playground, 
Where  fairies  dance  their  moonlight  round  ;  — 
If  dimm'd  the  turf  where  late  they  trod, 
The  elves  but  seek  some  greener  sod  ; 
So,  when  less  bright  his  scene  of  glee. 
To  another  away  flies  he  ! 

0,  what  would  have  been  young  Beauty's  doom, 

Without  a  bard  to  fix  her  bloom  ? 

They  tell  us,  in  the  moon's  bright  round. 

Things  lost  in  this  dark  world  are  found ; 

So  charms,  on  earth  long  pass'd  and  gone. 

In  the  poet's  lay  live  on.  — 

W..-»uld  ye  have  smiles  that  ne'er  grow  dim  ? 

You've  only  to  give  them  all  to  him. 

Who,  with  but  a  touch  of  Fancy's  wand, 

Can  lend  them  life,  this  life  beyond, 

A.nd  fix  thom  high,  in  Poesy's  sky,  — 

Voung  stars  that  never  die  ! 

lliL'n,  welcome  the  bard  where'er  he  comes,  — 

For,  though  he  hath  countless  airy  homes, 

To  which  his  wing  excursive  roves, 

Yet  still,  from  time  to  time,  he  loves 

To  light  upon  earth  and  find  such  cheer 

As  brightens  our  banquet  here. 

Ho  matter  how  far,  how  fleet  he  flies, 

Vou've  only  to  ^ight  up  kind  young  eyes. 

Such  signal  fires  as  here  are  given,  — 

Vnd  down  he'll  drop  from  Fancy's  hcaveu, 


The  minute  such  call  to  love  or  mirtb 
Proclaims  he's  wanting  on  earth  ' 


ALONE  IN  CROWDS  TO  WANDER  ON 

Alone  in  crowds  to  wander  on, 

And  feel  that  all  the  charm  is  gone 

Which  voices  dear  and  eyes  beloved 

Shed  round  us  once,  where'er  we  roved  — 

This,  this  the  doom  must  be 

Of  all  who've  loved,  and  lived  to  see 

The  few  bright  things  they  thought  would  staj 

Forever  near  them,  die  away. 

Though  fairer  forms  around  us  throng, 

Their  smiles  to  others  all  belong, 

And  want  that  charm  which  dwells  alone 

Round  those  the  fond  heart  calls  its  own. 

Where,  where  the  sunny  brow  ? 

The  long-known  voice  —  where  are  they  noyi  t 

Thus  ask  I  still,  nor  ask  in  vain. 

The  silence  answers  all  too  plain. 

O,  what  is  Fancy's  magic  worth, 
If  all  her  art  cannot  call  forth 
One  bliss  like  those  we  felt  of  old 
From  lips  now  mute,  and  eyes  now  cold  ? 
No,  no,  —  her  spell  is  vain,  — 
As  soon  could  she  bring  back  again 
Those  eyes  themselves  from  out  the  grave, 
As  wake  again  one  bliss  they  gave. 


I'VE  A  SECRET  TO  TELL  THEE. 

I've  a  secret  to  tell  thee,  but  hush !  not  here,  — 

O,  not  where  the  world  its  vigil  keeps : 
I'll  seek,  to  whisper  it  in  thine  ear. 

Some  shore  where  the  Spirit  of  Silence  sleeps 
Where  summer's  wave  unmurmuring  dies. 

Nor  fay  can  hear  the  fountain's  gush  ; 
Where,  if  but  a  note  her  night  bird  sighs, 

The    rose   saith,   chidingly,    "  Hush,   swe^t 
hush  !  " 

There,  amid  the  deep  silence  of  that  hour, 

When  stars  can  be  heard  in  ocean  dip, 
Thyself  shall,  under  some  rosy  bower. 

Sit  mute,  with  thy  finger  on  thy  lip : 
Like  him,  the  boy,'  who  born  among 

The  flowers  that  on  the  Nile  stream  blush. 
Sits  ever  thus,  —  his  only  song 

To  eartl  and  heaven,  "  Hush,  all,  hush  ! ' 

1  The  God  of  Silence,  Uiuii  pictured  by  the  Gg}  ptiaiii 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


204 


SONG   OF  INNISFAIL. 

TflET  came  from  a  land  beyond  the  sea. 

And  now  o'er  the  western  main 
Bet  sail,  in  their  good  ships,  gallantly, 

From  the  sunny  land  of  Spain. 
•  O,  Where's  the  Isle  we've  seen  in  dreams, 

••  Our  destin'd  home  or  grave  ? "  ' 
fbus  sung  they  as,  by  the  morning's  beams. 

They  swept  the  Atlantic  wave. 

And  lo,  where  afar  o'er  ocean  shines 

A  sparkle  of  radiant  green, 
As  though  in  that  deep  lay  emerald  mines, 

Whose  light  through  the  wave  was  seen. 
•"■  'Tis  Innisfail  •  —  'tis  Innisfail !  " 

Rings  o'er  the  echoing  sea ; 
While,  bending  to  heav'n,  the  warriors  hail 

That  home  of  the  brave  and  free. 

rhen  tum'd  they  unto  the  Eastern  wave, 

"Where  now  their  Day  God's  eye 
A  look  of  such  sunny  omen  gave 

As  lighted  up  sea  and  sky. 
Nor  frown  was  seen  through  sky  or  sea, 

Nor  tear  o'er  leaf  or  sod. 
When  first  on  their  Isle  of  Destiny 

Our  great  forefathers  trod. 


THE  NIGHT  DANCE. 

8thike  the  gay  harp  !  see  the  moon  is  on  high. 
And,  as  true  to  her  beam  as  the  tides  of  the 
ocean, 
Young  hearts,  when  they  feel  the  soft  light  of 
her  eye, 
Olwy  the  mute  call,  and  heave  into  motion. 
Then,  sound  notes  —  the  gayest,  the  lightest. 
That  ever  took  wing,  when   heav'n  look'd 
brightest ! 

Agtun  !   Again  ! 
O,  could  such  heart-stirring  music  be  heard 

In  that  City  of  Statues  described  by  romancers. 

Bo  w  akening  its  spell,  even  stone  would  be  stirr'd. 

And  statues  themselves  all  start  into  dancers  I 

WTiy  ther.  delay,  with  such  sounds  in  our  ears, 
And  the  flower  of  Beauty's  ovm  garden  be- 
fore us,  — 

■  MileMiis  remembered  the  remarkable  prediction  of 
OM  prinripal  DpiitI,  wlxi  roretolil  thnt  the  posterity  of  Gad- 
•lui  aiiniilil  obtain  the  posaetnion  of  a  Western  Island  (which 
•*u  Ireland),  aj  >  'i-ere  inhabit."  —  Ktatmg. 


While  stars  overhand  leave  the  song  of  ttMO 
spheres, 
And  list'ning  to  ours,  hang  wondering  o'er  us 
Again,  that  strain !  —  to  hear  it  thtu  sounding 
Might  set  even  Death's  cold  pulses  bounding 
Again !    Again  ! 
O,  what  delight  when  the  youthful  and  g«y. 
Each  with  eye  like  a  simbeam  and  foot  l»Vf 
feather. 
Thus  dance,  like  the  Hours  to  the  mtuic  of  Maj 
And  mingle  sweet  song  and  sunshine  together 


THERE  ARE  SOUNDS  OF  MIRTH- 

There  are  sounds  of  mirth  in  the  night  air  ring- 
ing, 

And  lamps  from  every  casement  shown : 
While  voices  blithe  within  are  singing. 

That  seem  to  say  "  Come,"  in  every  tone. 
Ah !  once  how  light,  in  Life's  young  season. 

My  heart  had  Icap'd  at  that  sweet  lay ; 
Nor  paus'd  to  ask  of  greybeard  Reason 

Should  I  the  siren  call  obey. 

And,  see  —  the  lamps  still  livelier  glitter. 

The  siren  lips  more  fondly  sound ; 
No,  seek,  ye  nymphs,  some  victim  fitter 

To  sink  in  your  rosy  bondage  bound. 
Shall  a  bard,  whom  not  the  world  in  anns 

Could  bend  to  tyranny's  rude  control. 
Thus  quail,  at  sight  of  woman's  charms, 

And  yield  to  a  smile  his  free-born  soul  ? 

Thus  sung  the  sage,  while,  slyly  stealing. 

The  nymphs  their  fetters  aroimd  him  cast. 
And,  —  their  laughing  eves,  the  while,  conceal- 
ing, — 

Led  Freedom's  Bard  their  slave  at  last. 
For  the  I'oet's  heart,  still  prone  to  loving, 

Was  like  that  rock  of  the  Druid  race,' 
Which  the  gentlest  touch  at  once  set  moving. 

But  all  earth's  power  couldn't  cast  from  its  btM 


O,  ARRANMORE,  LOVED  ARRANMC>R1 

O,  Arranxork,  loved  Arranniorc, 

How  oft  I  dream  of  thee. 
And  of  those  days  when,  by  thy  shore. 

I  wander'd  young  and  fr** 

«  The  Island  of  Destiny,  one  rf  the  encMal  Mmm  « 
Irelana. 

»  The  Rocking  8tone«of  the  DniM^  mm^  '*  w**eh  • 
fore*  is  able  lo  dislodfe  ttom  Iheir  »•«■)■■■ 


Full  many  a  gath  I've  tried,  since  then, 
Through  pleasure's  flowery  maze. 

But  ne'er  could  find  the  bliss  again   . 
I  felt  in  those  sweet  days. 

How  blithe  uport  thy  breezy  cliifs 

At  sunny  morn  I've  stood. 
With  heart  as  bounding  as  the  skiffs 

That  danced  along  thy  flood ; 
Or,  when  the  western  wave  grew  bright 

With  daylight's  parting  wing, 
Have  sought  that  Eden  in  its  light 

Which  dreaming  poets  sing  ; '  — 

That  Eden  where  th'  immortal  brave 

Dwell  in  a  land  serene,  — 
Whose  bow'rs  beyond  the  shining  wave, 

At  sunset,  oft  are  seen. 
Ah  dream  too  full  of  sadd'ning  truth  ! 

Those  mansions  o'er  the  main 
Are  like  the  hopes  I  built  in  youth,— 

As  sunny  and  as  vain  ! 


LAY   HIS   SWORD  BY  HIS  SIDE. 

Lay  his  sword  by  his  side,* — it  hath  served 
him  too  well 
Not  to  rest  near  his  pillow  below  ; 
To  the  last  moment  true,  from  his  hand  ere  it 
fell, 
Its  point  was  still  turn'd  to  a  flying  foe. 
Fellow-lab'rers  in  life,  let  them  slumber  in  death, 
Side  by  side,  as  becomes  the  reposing  brave,  — 
That  sword  which  he  loved  still  unbroke  in  its 
sheath, 
And  himself  unsubdued  in  his  grave. 

Yet  pause  —  for,  in  fancy,  a  still  voice  I  hear. 

As  if  breathed  from  his  brave  heart's  remains ; 
Faint  echo  of  that  which,  in  Slavery's  ear. 
Once  sounded  the  war  word,  "Burst  your 
chains  !  " 
And  it  cries,  from  the  grave  where  the  hero  lies 
deep, 
"  Though  the  day  of  your  Chieftain  forever 
hath  set, 
"  C  leave  not  his  sword  thus  inglorious  to  sleep, 
"It  hath  victory's  life  in  it  yet ! 


1  *'  The  inhabitants  of  Arranmore  are  still  persuaded  that, 
In  a  clear  day,  tliey  can  see  from  this  coast  Hy  Brysail,  or 
tbe  Enchanted  Island,  the  Paradise  oi  the  Pagan  Iris,^,  and 
•onceming  wiiicli  they  relate  a  number  of  romantic  stories." 
^BtavforVs  Ancient  Topography  of  Ireland. 

i  It  was  the  custom  of  the  ancient  Irish,  in  the  manner 


"  Should  some  alien,  unworthy  snch  weaprn  tt 
wield, 
"  Dare  to  touch  thee,  my  own  gallant  sword, 
"  Then  rest  in  thy  sheath,  like  a  talisman  seal'd, 
•«  Or  rettirn  to  the  grave  of  thy  chainless  lord. 
"  But,  if  grasp'd  by  a  hand  that  hath  leam'd 
the  proud  use 
"  Of  a  falchion,  like  thee,  on  the  battle  plain, 
"  Then,  at  Liberty's  summons,  like  lightning  let 
loose, 
"  Leap  forth  from  thy  daik  sheath  &gain  !  ' 


O,  COULD  WE  DO  WITH  THIS  WORLD 
OF  OURS. 

O,  COULD  we  do  with  this  world  of  ours 
As  thou  dost  with  thy  garden  bowers. 
Reject  the  weeds  and  keep  the  flowers, 

What  a  heaven  on  earth  we'd  make  it ! 
So  bright  a  dwelling  should  be  our  own, 
So  warranted  free  from  sigh  or  frown. 
That  angels  soon  would  be  coming  down, 

By  the  week  or  month  to  tak«5  it. 

Like  those  gay  flies  that  -wing  thfough  air. 
And  in  themselves  a  lustre  bear, 
A  stock  of  light,  still  ready  there, 

Whenever  they  wish  to  use  it ; 
So,  in  this  world  I'd  make  for  thee, 
Our  hearts  should  all  like  fireflies  be. 
And  the  flash  of  wit  or  poesy 

Break  forth  whenever  we  choose.it. 

While  ev'ry  joy  that  glads  our  sphere 
Hath  still  some  shadow  hovering  near, 
In  this  new  world  of  ours,  my  dear. 

Such  shadows  will  all  be  omitted  :  — 
Unless  they're  like  that  graceful  one, 
Which,  when  thou'rt  dancing  in  the  sun. 
Still  near  thee,  leaves  a  charm  upon 

Each  spot  where  it  hath  flitted ! 


THE  WINE  CUP  IS  CIRCLINU. 

The  wine  cup  is  circling  in  Almhin's  hall,* 
And  its  Chief,  'mid  his  heroes  reclining, 


of  the  Scythians,  to  bury  tne  favorite  swords  of  their  heroes 
along  with  them. 

8  The  Palace  of  Fm  Mac-Cumhal  (the  Fmgal  of  Mtc- 
pherson)  in  Leinster.  It  was  built  on  the  top  of  the  hill, 
which  has  retained  frim  thence  the  name  of  the  Hill  if 
Allen,  in  tlie  county  of  Kildare.    The  Finians,  or  Fenif 


IRISH   MELODIES. 


W 


Looks  up,  with  a  sigh,  to  the  trophied  wall, 
Where  his  sword  hangs  idly  shining. 
When,  hark  !  that  shout 
From  the  vale  without,  — 
••  Arm  yc  quick,  the  Dane,  the  Dane  is  nigh ! ' 
Ev'ry  Chief  starts  up 
From  his  foaming  cup. 
And,  "To  battle,  to  battle  !  "  is  the  Finian's 
cry. 

The  minstrels  have  seized  their  harps  of  gold. 

And  they  sing  such  thrilling  numbers,  — 
TIs  like  the  voice  of  the  Brave,  of  old. 
Breaking  forth  from  their  place  of  slumbers  ! 
Spear  to  buckler  rang, 
As  the  minstrels  sang, 
And  the  Sun-burst '  o'er  them  floated  wide ; 
Wliile  rememb'ring  the  yoke 
"Which  their  fathers  broke, 
"On  for  liberty,  for  liberty !  "    the  Finians 
cried. 

Like  clouds  of  the  night  the  Northmen  came, 

O'er  the  valley  of  Almhin  lowering  ; 
WhUe  onward  moved,  in  the  light  of  its  fame. 
That  banner  of  Erin,  towering. 

With  the  mingling  shock 

Rung  cliff  and  rock, 
VSIiile,  rank  on  rank,  the  invaders  die  : 

And  the  shout,  that  last 

O'er  the  djnng  pass'd. 
Was  ••  victory !  victory  !  "  —  the  Finian's  cry. 


niE  DREAM  OF  THOSE  DAYS. 

The  dream  of  those  days  when  first  I  sung  thee 
is  o'er, 

Thy  triumph  hath  stein'd  the  charm  thy  sor- 
rows then  wore ; 

And  ev'n  of  the  light  which  Hope  once  shed 
o'er  thy  chains, 

Alas,  not  a  gleam  to  grace  thy  freedom  remains. 

Say,  is  it  that  slavery  sunk  so  deep  in  thy  heart. 

That  still  the  dark  brand  is  there,  though  chain- 
less  thou  art ; 

And  Freedom's  sweet  fruit,  for  which  thy  spirit 
long  bum'd. 

Now,  reaching  at  last  thy  lip,  to  ashes  hath 
tum'd? 

were  the  celebrated  National  Militia  of  Ireland,  which  this 
Chief  ciiinnianiled.  The  introduction  of  the  Uanea  in  the 
above  song  is  an  anachronism  eominon  to  iiKwt  of  the  Fiaian 
Utd  Owianic  lc|;ends. 

The  D.une  given  to  the  banner  of  the  Iriah. 
33 


Up  Liberty's  steep  by  Truth  and  Eloquence  led, 
With  eyes  on  her  temple  fix  1  how  proud  wm 

thy  tread ! 
Ah,  better  thou  ne'er  had'st  lived  that  roininit 

to  gain. 
Or  died  in  the  porch,  than  thns  dishonoi  Hu 

fane. 

FROM   THIS  HOUR   THE  PLEDGE  18 
GIVEN. 

From  this  hour  the  pledge  is  given. 

From  this  hour  my  soul  is  thine : 
Come  what  will,  from  earth  or  heaven. 

Weal  or  woe,  thy  fate  be  mine. 
^\'^len  the  proud  and  great  stood  by  thee, 

None  dared  thy  rights  to  spurn  ; 
And  if  now  they're  faUo  and  fly  thee. 

Shall  I,  too,  basely  turn  ? 
No  ;  —  whate'er  the  fires  that  try  thee, 

In  the  same  this  heart  shall  bum. 

Though  the  sea,  where  thou  embarkest, 

Off'ers  now  no  friendly  shore. 
Light  may  come  where  aU  looks  darkest, 

Hope  hath  life,  when  life  seems  o'er. 
And,  of  those  past  kges  dreaming. 

When  glory  deck  d  thy  brow. 
Oft  I  fondly  think,  though  seemiiig 

So  fall'n  and  clouded  now. 
Thou'lt  again  brcuk  forth,  all  beaming.  — 

None  so  bright  so  blest  as  thou  I 


SILENCE  IS  Ix^    OUR  FESTAL    HALIJ»« 

Silence  is  in  our  festal  halls.  — 

Sweet  Son  of  Song  !  thy  course  is  o'er; 
In  vain  on  thee  sad  Erin  calls. 

Her  minstrel's  voice  responds  no  more  .  - 
All  silent  as  th'  Eolian  shell 

Sleeps  at  the  close  of  some  bright  day, 
When  the  sweet  breeee,  that  wak'd  its  swdl 

At  sunny  mom,  hath  died  away. 

Tet,  at  our  feasts,  thy  spirit  long, 
Awak'd  by  music's  spell,  shall  rise ; 

For,  name  so  link'd  with  deathless  song 
Partakes  its  charm  and  never  dies : 

And  ev'n  within  the  holy  fane. 
When  music  wafts  the  soul  to  neaven, 

t  It  U  hardljr  McwMurjr,  perbapa,  id  infana  Uw  nk*» 
that  theae  line*  are  meant  a«  a  tribute  of  aincef*  fti«n)Wil| 
to  the  memorjr  of  an  old  and  valued  cr>lleafne  la  ibM  woii 
Bir  John  BtevenaMi 


268 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


One  thought  to  him,  whose  earliest  strain 
Was  echoed  there,  shall  long  be  given 

But,  where  is  now  the  cheerful  dav. 

The  social  night,  when,  by  thy  side, 
Ha,  wlio  now  weaves  this  parting  lay. 

His  skilless  voice  with  thine  allied : 
\nd  sung  those  songs  whose  every  tone, 

When  bard  and  minstrel  long  have  pass'd 
Khali  still,  in  sweetness  all  their  own, 

En\balm'd  by  fame,  undying  last. 

Yes,  Erin,  thine  alone  the  fame,  — 

Or,  if  thy  bard  have  shared  the  crown, 
trom  thee  the  borrow'd  glory  came, 

And  at  thy  feet  is  now  laid  down. 
Enoiigh,  if  Freedom  still  inspire 

Hio  latest  song,  and  still  there  be, 
As  evening  closes  round  his  lyre. 

One  roj'  upon  its  chords  from  thee. 


APPENDIX: 

COKTAIKIKO 

THE    ADVERTISEMENTS 

omGINAT,LY     PREFIXED     TO     THE     DIFFEBENT 

NUMBERS, 

AND 

THE   PllEFATORY   LETTER  ON  IRISH   MUSIC. 


ADVERTISEMENT 

.BEFIXED   TO   THE     FIRST   AND     SECOND    NUMBERS. 

Power  takes  the  liberty  of  announcing  to  the 
Fiiblic  a  Work  which  has  long  been  a  Desidera- 
tum in  this  country.  Though  the  beauties  of 
the  National  Music  of  Ireland  have  been  very 
generally  felt  and  acknowledged,  yet  it  has  hap- 
]  ened,  through  the  want  of  appropriate  English 
words,  and  of  the  arrangement  necessary  to 
adajit  them  to  the  voice,  that  many  of  the  most 
excellent  comijositions  have  hitherto  remained 
in  obscurity.  It  is  intended,  therefore,  to  form 
a  Collection  of  the  best  Original  Irish  Melodies, 
with  characteristic  Symphonies  and  Accompa- 
niments; and  with   Words   containing,  as  fre- 


»  Tlio  writer  for^'ot,  vA\en  he  made  this  aFsertion,  that 
•jie  public  are  indebted  to  Mr.  I'uiiting  for  a  very  vahiable 
^olectioii  of  Irish  Music  ;   and  tliat  the  patriotic  genius  of 


quently  as  possible,  allusions  to  the  mannen 
and  history  of  the  country.  Sir  John  Steven- 
son has  very  kindly  consented  to  undertake  the 
arrangement  of  the  Airs ;  and  the  lovers  of 
Simple  National  Music  may  rest  secure,  that  ir 
such  tasteful  hands,  the  native  cl'.arms  of  tb« 
original  melody  will  not  be  sacrificed  to  thf 
ostentation  of  science 

In  the  Poetical  part.  Power  has  had  prrmise.i 
of  assistance  from  several  distinguished  Literary 
Characters  ;  particularlj'  from  Mr.  Moore,  whosj 
lyrical  talent  is  so  peculiarly  suited  to  such  r. 
task,  and  whose  zeal  in  the  undertaking  will  ix", 
best  understood  from  the  following  Extract  ot  ix 
Letter  which  he  has  addressed  to  Sir  John  Ste  • 
venson  on  the  subject :  — 

"  I  feel  very  anxious  that  a  work  of  this  kind 
should  be  undertaken.  We  have  too  long  neg- 
lected the  only  talent  for  which  our  English 
neighbors  ever  deigned  to  allow  us  any  credit. 
Our  National  Music  has  never  been  properly 
collected ;  •  and,  while  the  composers  of  the 
Continent  have  enriched  their  Operas  and 
Sonatas  with  Melodies  borrowed  from  Ireland,  — 
very  often  without  even  the  honesty  of  ac- 
knowledgment, —  we  have  left  these  treasures, 
in  a  great  degree,  unclaimed  and  fugitive.  Thus 
our  Airs,  like  too  many  of  our  countrymen, 
have,  for  want  of  protection  at  home,  passed 
into  the  service  of  foreigners.  But  we  are  come, 
I  hope,  to  a  better  period  of  both  Politics  and 
Music ;  and  how  much  they  are  connected,  in 
Ireland  at  least,  appears  too  plainly  in  the  tone 
of  sorrow  and  depression  which  characterizes 
most  of  our  early  Songs. 

"  The  task  which  you  propose  to  me,  of  adapt- 
ing words  to  these  airs,  is  by  no  means  easy.  The 
Poet,  who  would  follow  the  various  sontiments 
which  they  express,  must  feel  and  understand 
that  rapid  fluctuation  of  spirits,  that  unaccount- 
able mixture  of  gloom  and  levity,  which  com 
poses  the  character  of  my  countrymen,  and  ha*! 
deeply  tinged  their  Music.  Even  in  their  live- 
liest strains  we  find  some  melancholy  n^ti 
intrude,  —  some  minor  Third  or  fiat  Seventh,  ••• 
which  throws  its  shade  as  it  passes,  and  mako( 
even  mirth  interesting.  If  Burns  had  been  ai: 
Irishma-.  (and  I  would  willingly  give  up  all  otij 
claims  upon  Ossian  for  him),  his  heart  would 
have  been  proud  of  such  music,  and  his  genius 
would  have  made  it  immortal. 


Miss  Owenso  >  »as  l*en  employed  upon  st>ine  of  o«.r  &ne« 
airs. 


miSH  MELODIES. 


MB 


"  Another  difficulty  (which  is,  however,  pure- 
y  mechanical)  arises  from  the  irregular  struc- 
,ure  of  many  of  those  airs,  and  the  lawless  kind 
of  metre  which  it  will  in  consequence  be  neces- 
lary  to  adapt  to  them.  In  these  instances  the 
Poet  must  write,  not  to  the  eye,  but  to  the  ear ; 
■nd  must  be  content  to  have  his  verses  of  that 
description  which  Cicero  mentions,  *Quos  si 
tantu  tpoliaveris  nuda  remaiiebit  oratio.'  That 
beautiful  Air,  'The  Twisting  of  the  Rope,' 
nrich  has  all  the  romantic  character  of  the 
Swiss  Rauz  des  Vaches,  is  one  of  those  wild  and 
»er,timcntal  rakes  which  it  will  not  be  very  easy 
to  tie  doA>n  in  sober  wedlock  -with  Poetry. 
However,  notwithstanding  all  these  difficulties, 
»nd  the  very  moderate  portion  of  talent  which 
I  can  bring  to  surmount  them,  the  design  ap- 
pears to  me  so  truly  National,  that  I  shall  feel 
much  pleasure  in  giving  it  all  the  assistance  in 
my  power. 

"  AneM«r«Jk>re,  Fth.  1807." 


AD\'ERTISEMENT 

TO   TBB  TUIHD   NVMBEB. 

l.v  presenting  the  Third  Number  of  this  work 
.0  the  Public,  Power  begs  leave  to  offer  his  ac- 
knowledgments for  the  very  liberal  patronage 
with  which  it  has  l>een  honored  ;  and  to  express 
a  hope  that-  the  unabated  zeal  of  those  who  have 
hithesto  so  admirably  conducted  it,  will  enable 
him  to  continue  it  through  many  future  Num- 
bers M'ith  equal  sjiirit,  variety,  and  taste.  The 
stock  of  popular  Melodies  is  far  from  being  ex- 
hausted ;  and  there  is  still  in  reserve  an  abun- 
dance of  beautiful  Airs,  which  call  upon  Mr. 
Moore,  in  the  language  he  so  well  understands, 
to  save  them  from  the  oblivion  to  which  they 
are  hastening. 

Power  re9i>r!ctfully  trusts  he  will  not  be 
thought  presumptuous  in  saying,  that  he  feels 
proud,  as  an  Irishman,  in  even  the  very  subor- 
dinate share  which  he  can  claim,  in  promoting  a 
W  Tk  so  creditable  to  the  talents  of  the  Coun- 
!»:, —  a  Work  which,  from  the  spirit  of  nation- 
alii;;  it  breathes,  will  do  more,  he  is  convinced, 
towards  liberalizing  the  feelings  of  society,  and 
producing  that  brotherhood  of  sentiment  which 
•t  is  so  much  our  interest  to  cherish,  than  could 
•ver  be  effected  by  the  mere  arguments  of  well- 
1Qteation3d  but  uninteresting  politicians. 


LETTER 


THE  MABCHIONESS  DOW  AGES  OF  DOHBQAL, 
PasnXED  TO  THB  THOLD  mncBBB. 

Wbilb  the  publisher  of  these  HelodiM  wrf 
properly  inscribes  them  to  the  Nobility  and 
Gentry  of  Ireland  in  general,  I  have  mwfc 
pleasure  in  selecting  one  from  that  number,  U. 
whom  my  share  of  the  Work  is  particularly 
dedicated.  I  know  that,  though  your  Ladyship 
has  been  so  long  absent  from  Ireland,  you  still 
continue  to  remember  it  well  and  warmly,  — 
that  you  have  not  suffered  the  attractions  of 
English  society  to  produce,  like  the  taste  of  the 
lotus,  any  forgetfulness  of  your  own  country, 
but  that  even  the  humble  tribute  which  I  offci 
derives  its  chief  claim  up^n  your  interest  and 
sympathy  from  the  appeal  which  it  makes  to 
your  patriotism.  Indeed,  absence,  howevei 
fatal  to  some  affections  of  the  heart,  rathei 
tends  to  strengthen  our  love  for  the  land  where 
we  were  bom ;  and  Ireland  is  the  country,  of 
all  others,  which  an  exile  from  it  must  remem- 
ber with  most  enthusiasm.  Those  few  darker 
and  less  amiable  traits  witi  which  bigotry  and 
misrule  have  stained  her  character,  and  whicb 
are  too  apt  to  disgust  us  upon  a  nearer  inter 
course,  become  at  a  distance  softened,  or  alto- 
gether invisible.  Nothing  is  remembered  but 
her  virtues  and  her  misfortunes,  —  the  zeal 
with  which  she  has  always  loved  liberty,  and 
the  barbarous  policy  wliich  has  always  withheld 
it  from  her,  the  ease  with  which  her  generous 
spirit  might  be  conciliated,  and  the  cruel  in- 
genuity which  has  been  exerted  to  "  wring  her 
into  undutifulness."  ' 

It  has  been  often  remarked,  and  still  oilcner 
felt,  that  in  our  music  is  found  the  truest  of  all 
comments  upon  our  history.  The  tone  of  de- 
fiance, succeeded  by  the  languor  of  despond- 
ency, —  a  burst  of  turbulence  dying  away 
into  softness,  —  the  sorrows  of  one  moment  lost 
in  the  levity  of  the  next,  —  and  all  that  roman 
tic  mixture  of  mirth  and  sadness,  which  is  nat  ■ 
urally  produced  by  the  efforts  of  a  lively  tem- 
perament to  shake  off,  or  forget,  the  wrongs 
which  lie  upon  it.  Such  are  the  loatures  of  <iuf 
history  and  character,  which  we  find  simnKlv 

1  A  phnue  which  occiim  in  a  Letter  fmm  Ui«  Bari  t4  Ix* 
mond  (o  the  EnrI  of  Oniiond  in  EliT-Owliil  Umm.-  tm^m 
Smcra,  as  quo(«d  Ijr  Cuny. 


I(?0 


IKISH   MELODIES. 


»nd  faithfully  reflected  in  our  music  ;  'and  there 
are  even  many  airs,  which  it  is  difficult  to  listen 
to,  without  recalling  some  period  or  event  to 
which  their  expression  seems  applicable.  Some- 
times, for  instance,  when  the  strain  is  open  and 
Bpirited,  yet  herfe  and  there  shaded  by  a  mourn- 
ful recollection,  we  can  fancy  that  we  behold 
the  brave  allies  of  Montrose,'  marching  to  the 
aid  of  the  royal  cause,  notwithstanding  all  the 
perfidy  of  Charles  and  his  ministers,  and  re- 
membering just  enough  of  past  sufferings  to 
enhance  the  generosity  of  their  present  sacri- 
fice. The  plaintive  melodies  of  Carolan  takes 
us  back  to  the  times  in  which  he  lived,  when 
our  poor  countrymen  were  driven  to  worship 
their  God  in  caves,  or  to  quit  forever  the  land 
of  their  birth,  —  like  the  bird  that  abandons 
the  nest  which  human  touch  has  violated.  In 
many  of  these  mournful  songs  we  seem  to  hear 
the  last  farewell  of  the  exile,"  mingling  regret 
for  the  ties  which  he  leaves  at  home,  with  san- 
guine hopes  of  the  high  honors  that  await  him 
abroad,  —  such  honors  as  were  won  on  the  field 
of  Fontenoy,  where  the  valor  of  Irish  Catholics 
turned  the  fortune  of  the  day,  and  extorted 
from  George  the  Second  that  memorable  excla- 
mation, "  Cursed  be  the  laws  which  deprive  me 
of  such  subjects  ! " 

Though  much  has  been  said  of  the  antiquity 
of  our  music,  it  is  certain  that  our  finest  and 
most  popular  airs  are  modern  ;  and  perhaps  we 
joay  look  no  further  than  the  last  disgraceful 
osntury  for  the  origin  of  most  of  those  wild  and 
melancholy  strains,   which  were   at  once  the 


•  There  are  some  gratilVing  accounts  of  the  gallantry 
of  these  Irish  auxiliaries  in  "  I'lie  complete  History  of  tlie 
Wars  in  Scotland  under  Montrose  "(16(i0).  See  particular- 
ly, for  the  conduct  of  an  Irishman  at  the  battle  of  Aberdeen, 
chap.  vi.  p.  49 ;  and  for  a  tribute  to  the  bravery  of  Colonel 
O'Kyan,  chap.  vii.  55.  Clarendon  owns  that  the  Marquis 
nl  Montrose  was  indebted  for  much  of  his  miraculous  suc- 
cess to  the  small  band  of  Irish  heroes  under  Macdonnell. 

8  The  associations  of  the  Hindu  music,  though  more  obvi- 
»ui  »nd  defined,  were  far  less  touching  and  characteristic. 
Ttfj  divided  their  songs  according  to  the  seasons  of  the 
year  by  which  (says  Sir  William  Jones)  "  they  were  able 
tci  recall  the  memory  of  autumnal  merriment,  at  the  close 
of  the  harvest,  or  of  separatiim  and  melancholy  during  the 
cold  months,"  &c.  —  Asiatic  Transactions,  vol.  iii.  on  the 
Musical  Modes  of  the  Hindus.  —  What  the  Abb6  du  Bos 
»ays  of  the  symphonies  of  Lully,  may  be  asserted,  with 
much  more  probability,  of  our  bold  and  impassioned  airs  :  — 
"  Elles  auroient  produit  de  ces  effets,  qui  nous  paroissent 
fab'ileux  dans  le  r6cit  des  anciens,  si  on  les  avoit  fait  en- 
tendre k  des  hommes  d'un  naturel  aussi  vif  que  les  Ath^ni- 
»ns."  —  Rijlex.  sur  la  Printure,  &c.  torn.  i.  sect.  45. 

8  Dissertittion,  p^fixed  to  the  2d  volume  oi  his  Scottiab 
•tellads. 


offspring  and  solace  of  grief,  and  were  appliec 
to  the  mind  as  music  was  formerly  to  the  body. 
"  decantare  loca  dolentia."  Mr.  Pinkerton  is  of 
opinion  ^  that  none  of  the  Scotch  popular  airs 
are  as  old  as  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury ;  and  though  musical  antiquaries  refer  us 
for  some  of  our  melodies,  to  so  early  a  period  as 
the  fifth  century,  I  am  persuaded  that  there  are 
few,  of  a  civUized  description,  (and  by  this  1 
mean  to  exclude  all  the  savage  Ceanans,  Cries, 
&c.)  which  can  claim  quite  so  ancient  a  date  as 
Mr.  Pinkerton  allows  to  the  Scotch.  But  music 
is  not  the  only  subject  upon  which  our  taste  for 
antiquity  has  been  rather  unreasonably  indulged ; 
and,  however  heretical  it  may  be  to  dissent 
from  these  romantic  speculations,  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  it  is  possible  to  love  our  country 
very  zealously,  and  to  feel  deeply  interested 
in  her  honor  and  happiness,  without  believing 
that  Irish  was  the  language  spoken  in  Paradise  ; ' 
that  our  ancestors  were  kind  enough  to  take  the 
trouble  of  polishing  the  Greeks,'  or  that  Abaris, 
the  Hyperborean,  was  a  native  of  the  North  of 
Ireland.^ 

By  some  of  these  zealous  antiquarians  it  has 
been  imagined  that  the  Irish  were  early  ac- 
quainted with  counterpoint ; '  and  they  en- 
deavor to  support  this  conjecture  by  a  well- 
known  passage  in  Giraldus,  where  he  dilates, 
with  such  elaborate  praise,  upon  the  beauties  of 
our  national  minstrelsy.  But  the  terms  of  this 
eulogy  are  much  too  vague,  too  deficient  in 
technical  accuracy,  to  prove  that  even  Giraldus 
himself  knew  anv  thing  of  the  artifice  of  coun  • 


*  Of  which  some  genuine  specimens  may  bs  fo\ind  at  ilk* 
end  of  Mr.  Walker's  Work  uimn  the  Irish  hards.  Ml 
Bunting  has  disfigured  his  last  splendid  volume  by  too  man} 
of  these  barbarous  rha|>!>odies. 

6  See  Advertisement  to  the  Transactions  of  *he  Gaalic 
Society  of  Dublin. 

•  O'Halloran,  vol.  i.  part  iv.  chap.  vii. 
1  Id.  ib.  chap.  vi. 

8  It  is  also  supposed,  but  with  as  little  proof,  that  they 
understood  the  diesis,  or  enharmonic  interval.  —  The  Greeks 
seem  to  have  formed  their  ears  to  this  delicate  gradation  of 
sound  ;  and  whatever  difficulties  or  objections  may  lie  in  the 
way  of  its  practical  use,  we  must  agree  with  Meri-enne, 
(Pr^hides  de  I'Harmoiiie,  quest.  7,)  that  the  theory  of  Musif 
would  be  imperfect  without  it.  Even  in  practice,  too,  as 
Tosi,  among  others,  very  justly  remarks,  (Observations  on 
Florid  Song,  chap.  i.  sect.  16,)  there  is  no  good  performer  oa 
the  violin  who  does  not  make  a  sensible  difference  Iwtweer 
D  sharp  and  E  flat,  though,  from  the  imperfection  of  the 
instrument,  they  are  the  same  notes  upon  the  piano  forte 
The  effect  of  modulation  by  enharmonic  transitions  is  alM 
very  striking  and  beautiful 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


•Ml 


lorpoint.  There  are  many  expressions  in  the 
fireek  and  Latin  writers  which  might  he  cited, 
with  much  more  plausihility,  to  prove  that  they 
andorstood  the  arrangement  of  music  in  parts ; ' 
and  it  is  in  general  now  conceded,  I  believe,  by 
the  learned,  that  however  grand  and  pathetic 
the  melody  of  the  ancients  may  have  been,  it 
was  reserved  for  the  ingenuity  of  modern 
Science  to  transmit  the  «•  light  of  Song  "  through 
*he  variegating  prism  of  Harmony. 

Indeed,  the  irregular  scale  of  the  early  Irish 
(in  which,  as  in  the  music  of  Scotland,  the  in- 
terval of  the  fourth  was  wanting,*)  must  have 
fuini&hed  but  wild  and  refractory  subjects  to 
the  harmonist.  It  was  only  when  the  invention 
of  Guido  began  to  be  known,  and  the  powers 
cf  the  harp  '  were  enlarged  by  additional  strings, 
that  our  airs  can  be  supposed  to  have  assumed 
the  sweet  character  which  interests  us  at  pres- 
ent ;  and  while  the  Scotch  persevered  in  the  old 
mutilation  of  the  scale,*  our  music  became  by 
degrees  more  amenable  to  the  laws  of  harmony 
and  counterpoint. 

While  profiting,  however,  by  the  improve- 
ments of  the  moderns,  our  style  still  keeps  its 
original  character  sacred  from  their  refinements ; 


1  The  word*  toikiXio  trtpoipavia,  in  a  pumge  of  Plato, 
and  some  expressiuna  of  Cic«ro  in  Fragment,  lib.  ii.  de  Re- 
publ.,  iiiilurpd  the  AbM  Fngiiier  to  maintain  that  the  ancienta 
had  a  knowledge  nf  counleriMiint.  M.  Uurelte,  however, 
haa  answered  liim,  I  think,  satisfactorily.  (Examen  d'uii 
Paasaxe  de  Platun,  in  the  3d  vol.  of  Ilistoire  de  I'Acad.) 
M.  Hiict  \a  of  opinion  (Pens^ea  Diveraes),  that  what  Cicero 
Bay!<  of  the  music  of  the  xpherea,  in  bis  dream  of  Scipio,  is 
Buliicient  to  prove  an  acqiiainlance  with  harmony  ;  but  one 
of  the  strongest  paitsages,  which  I  recollect,  in  favor  of  this 
supposition,  occurs  in  the  Treatise  (IIcpi  Kaafiov)  attributed 
In  Aristotle  —  M  iv(r:icn  ^c  o(rt(  rtfia  xat  liaptu,  <t.  r.  A- 

*  Another  lawless  peculiarity  of  our  music  is  the  frequent 
occurrence  of,  what  composers  ca'l|  consecutive  fifths  ;  but 
this,  I  must  say,  is  an  irregularity  which  can  hardly  be 
avoided  by  persons  not  conversant  with  all  the  rules  of  com- 
position. If  I  may  venture,  indeed,  to  cite  my  own  wild 
attempts  in  this  way,  it  is  a  fault  which  I  find  myself  con- 
tinually committing,  and  which  has  even,  at  times,  np|ieared 
■o  pleasing  to  my  ear,  that  I  have  surrendered  it  to  the  critic 
With  no  an  all  reluctance.  .May  there  not  Ira  a  little  pedantry 
to  adhering  too  rigidly  to  this  rule  .'  —  I  have  been  told  that 
there  are  instances  in  Kaydn,  of  an  undisguised  succession 
of  fifths ;  and  Mr.  Shield,  in  his  Introduction  to  Hannony, 
leems  to  intimnte  that  Hasdul  bin  been  aometiiue*  guilty  of 
he  same  irregularity. 

*  .\  singulac  oversight  occurs  in  an  Essay  uptm  the  Irish 
Harp,  by  .Mr.  Bcauford,  which  is  inserted  in  the  Appendix 
to  Walker's  Historical  Memoirs: —  '•  The  Irish  (says  he) 
according  to  Bmnipton,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  II  bad  two 
Kinds  of  Hants,  •  Ilibemici  tamen  in  duobus  musici  generis 
nsirunieniis,  qiiamvis  pneripitem  et  vcl(>c«m,  siiaveni  tamen 
4  Jucunduin  :  the  one  grently  bold  and  quik,  the  other  soft 
iu4  DleasliiB.' '  —  How  i  Ma  of  Mr.  BeiuJbrd*!  leaminc 


and  though  Carolan,  it  appears,  had  fteque&l 
opportunities  of  hearing  the  works  of  Uemi< 
niani  and  other  great  masters,  we  out  rarel) 
find  Itim  sacrificing  his  native  simplicity  to  any 
ambition  of  their  ornaments,  or  affectation  of 
their  science.  In  that  curio'u  composition, 
indeed,  called  hiq  Concerto,  it  u  evident  that  m 
labored  to  imitate  Corelli;  and  tliis  uniou  of 
maiiners,  so  very  dissimilar,  produces  the  Lwat 
kind  of  uneasy  sensation  which  is  felt  at  a 
mLxture  of  different  styles  of  architecture.  Ir 
general,  however,  the  artless  flow  of  our  munc 
has  preserved  itself  free  from  all  tinge  of  foreign 
innovation ;  *  and  the  chief  corruptions  of 
which  we  have  to  complain  arise  from  the  un- 
skilful performance  of  our  own  itinerant  musi- 
cians, from  whom,  too  frequently,  the  airs  ar« 
noted  down,  encumbered  by  their  tasteless  aec- 
orations,  and  responsible  for  all  tlielr  ignorant 
anomalies.  Though  it  be  sometimes  imposnible 
to  trace  the  original  strain,  yet,  in  most  of  them, 
"  auri  per  ramos  aura  refulget,"  •  the  pure  gold 
of  the  melody  shines  through  the  ungraceftu 
foliage  which  surrounds  it,  —  and  the  most  deli- 
cate and  difficult  duty  of  a  compiler  is  to  en- 
deavor, by  retrenching  these  inelegant  supmr- 


could  M  mistake  the  meviinf,  and  mutilate  the  itrmmmaiiettl 
construction  of  this  extract,  is  unaccountable.  The  follow- 
ing is  the  passage  as  I  And  it  entire  in  Bromton  ;  and  it 
requires  but  little  Latin  to  |ierceive  the  injustice  which  has 
been  done  to  tlie  words  of  the  old  Chronicler :  —  "  Kt  cum 
Saitia,  hujus  terne  filia,  utatur  lyr&,  tympano  et  ctioro,  ac 
Wallia  rythara,  tubis  el  choro  Hibeniici  tamen  in  duobui 
musici  generis  inslriimeiitis,  quamvit  prttipUem  et  eouKem, 
ruavrm  tamen  et  jueumlam,  cris|>atis  niodiilis  et  iniricatis  no- 
tulis,  ffficiunt  harmoniam." — Hist.  Anglic.  PcripU  page  I07S. 
I  should  not  have  thought  this  error  wortn  reuiarkiiig,  but 
that  the  compiler  of  the  Dissertation  on  the  Harp,  prefixed  to 
Mr.  Bunting's  last  Work,  has  ado|>tcd  it  implicitly, 

*  The  Scotch  lay  claim  to  aome  of  our  be«t  airs,  but  there 
are  strong  traits  of  difference  between  fbeir  melodies  and 
ours.  They  had  formerly  tlie  same  ptankm  for  rubiiing  ui 
of  our  Saints,  and  the  learned  Dempater  waa  for  tJii*  ofTenei 
called  "  The  Paint  Stealer."  It  must  have  been  some  Irish 
man,  t  suppose,  who,  by  the  way  of  reprisal,  Ktole  l>etnpK(er*» 
lieautiful  wife  from  him  at  Pisa. —  See  this  anecdote  <D  Jjt 
Pinacolheca  of  Er>'lhr*ua,  part.  i.  page  2.V 

*  Among  other  false  refinements  of  the  art,  ont  jmSn 
(will)  tl»e  exception  |>erhaps  of  the  air  cabled  "  Mamma, 
Mamma,"  and  one  or  two  more  of  the  same  ludiciwis  i»- 
•cription,)  has  avoided  that  (Hjerilc  mimicry  of  natural 
noise*,  motions,  tc.  which  disgrace*  so  often  tJie  worki  of 
even  Handel  himself.  D'Aleiiit>ert  ought  ti'  have  had  beti^l 
taste  than  to  become  the  patron  of  this  imitative  aUrcuiioo 
Difcoure  Pritiminaire  de  l^  UncyeUtpid  e.  The  reailer  mft| 
And  aom*  food  reumrks  un  the  subject  in  .Avi«<Mi  U|*ia  M« 
alcal  Espreasion  ;  a  work  which,  though  under  tiM  nam* nl 
Avison,  was  written,  it  i*  said,  by  Ur.  Blows. 

«  Vir(il,  iEoeid,  Ub.  vi.  «eni«  aM. 


2fi3 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


Iliiities,  and  collating  the  various  methods  of 
playing  or  singing  each  air,  to  restore  the  regu- 
larity of  its  form,  and  the  chaste  simplicity  of 
its  character. 

I  must  again  observe,  that  in  doubting  the 
antiquity  of  our  music,  my  scepticism  extends 
but  to  those  polished  specimens  cf  the  art,  which 
it  is  difficult  to  conceive  anterior  to  the  dawn 
of  modern  improvement ;  and  that  I  would  by 
no  means  invalidate  the  claims  of  Ireland  to  as 
early  a  rank  in  the  annals  of  minstrelsy,  as  the 
most  zealous  antiquary  may  be  inclined  to  allow 
'  her.  In  addition,  indeed,  to  the  power  which 
music  must  always  have  possessed  over  the 
minds  of  a  people  so  ardent  and  susceptible,  the 
stimulus  of  persecution  was  not  wanting  to 
quicken  our  taste  into  enthusiasm ;  the  charms 
of  song  were  ennobled  with  the  glories  of  mar- 
tyrdom, and  the  acts  against  minstrels,  in  the 
reigns  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Elizabeth,  were  as 
successful,  I  doubt  not,  in  making  my  country- 
men musicians,  as  the  penal  laws  have  been  in 
keeping  them  Catholics.. 

With  respect  to  the  verses  which  I  have  writ- 
ten for  these  Melodies,  as  they  are  intended 
rather  to  be  sung  than  read,  I  can  answer  for 
their  sound  with  somewhat  more  confidence 
than  for  their  sense.  Yet  it  would  be  affecta- 
tion to  deny  that  I  have  given  much  attention 
to  the  task,  and  that  it  is  not  through  any  want 
of  zeal  or  industry,  if  I  unfortunately  disgrace 
the  sweet  airs  of  my  country,  by  poetry  alto- 
gether unworthy  of  their  taste,  their  energy, 
and  their  tenderness. 

Though  the  humble  nature  of  my  contribu- 
tions to  this  work  may  exempt  them  from  the 
rigors  of  literary  criticism,  it  was  not  to  be  ex- 
pected that  those  touches  of  political  feeling, 
those  tones  of  national  complaint,  in  which  the 
poetry  sometimes  sympathizes  with  the  music, 
would  be  suffered  to  pass  without  censure  or 
alarm.  It  has  been  accordingly  said,  that  the 
tendency  of  this  publication  is  mischievous,' 
and  that  I  have  chosen  these  airs  but  as  a  ve- 
hicle of  dangerous  politics,  —  as  fair  and  precious 
vessels  (to  borrow  an  image  of  St.  Augustin),* 
from  which  the  wire  of  error  might  be  admin- 
istered. To  those  who  identify  nationality  with 
treason,  and  who  see,  in  every  effort  for  Ireland, 
a   system   of    hostility   towards   England,  —  to 

1  See  Letters,  under  the  signatures  of  Tiniteus,  &c.  in  the 
Homing  Post,  Pilot,  and  oiner  papers. 

2  "  Noil  aceuso  verba,  quasi  vasa  electa  atque  pretiosa ; 
led  Vint,  n  erruris  quod  cum  eis  nobis  propiiiatur.'"  —  Lib.  i. 
Gonless.    'laii.  xvi. 


those,  too,  who,  nursed  in  the  gloom  of  projudica. 
are  alarmed  by  the  faintest  gleam  of  liberality 
that  threatens  to  disturb  their  darkness,  —  lik« 
that  Demophon  of  old,  who,  when  the  sun  shon* 
upon  him,  shivered,'  —  to  such  men  I  shall  noi 
condescend  to  offer  an  apology  for  the  too  greal 
warmth  of  any  political  sentiment  which  may 
occur  in  the  course  of  these  pages.  But  as  there 
are  many,  among  the  more  wise  and  tolerant, 
who,  with  feeling  enough  to  mourn .  over  the 
wrongs  of  their  country,  and  sense  enough  tc 
perceive  all  the  danger  of  not  redressing  them, 
may  yet  be  of  opinion  that  allusions,  in  the  least 
degree  inflammatory,  should  be  avoided  in  a 
publication  of  this  popular  description  —  I  beg 
of  these  respected  persons  to  believe,  that  there 
is  no  one  who  more  sincerely  deprecates  than  I 
do,  any  appeal  to  the  passions  of  an  ignorant 
and  angry  multitude  ;  but  that  it  is  not  through 
that  gross  and  inflammable  region  of  society,  a 
work  of  this  nature  could  ever  have  been  in- 
tended to  circulate.  It  looks  much  higher  for 
its  audience  and  readers,  —  it  is  found  upon  the 
piano  fortes  of  the  rich  and  the  educated,  —  of 
those  who  can  afford  to  have  their  national  zeal 
a  little  stimulated,  without  exciting  much  dread 
of  the  excesses  into  which  it  may  hurry  them  ; 
and  of  many  whose  ners'es  mfiy  be,  now  and 
then,  alarmed  with  advantage,  as  much  more  is 
to  be  gained  by  their  fears,  than  could  ever  b«» 
expected  from  their  justice. 

Having  thus  adverted  to  the  principal  objec 
tion,  which  has  been  hitherto  made  to  the  po- 
etical part  of  this  work,  allow  me  to  add  a  few 
words  in  defence  of  my  ingenious  coadjutor.  Sir 
John  Stevenson,  who  has  been  accused  of  hav- 
ing spoiled  the  simj^licity  of  the  airs  by  the 
chromatic  richness  of  his  symphonies,  and  tl'.e 
elaborate  variety  of  his  harmonies.  We  might 
cite  the  example  of  the  admirable  Haydn,  who 
has  sported  through  all  the  mazes  of  musical 
science,  in  his  arrangement  of  the  simplest  Scot- 
tish melodies ;  but  it  appears  to  me,  that  Sii 
John  Stevenson  has  brought  to  this  task  an  in- 
nate and  national  feeling,  which  it  would  b# 
vain  to  expect  from  a  foreigner,  however  1  aste* 
ful  or  judicious.  Through  many  of  his  own 
compositions  we  trace  a  vein  of  Irish  sentiment, 
which  points  him  out  as  peculiarly  suited  tc 
catch  the  spirit  of  his  country's  music ;  and 

*  This  emblem  of  modem  bigots  wa.'  head  butler(TpaT«j9 
iToio()  to  Alexander  the  Great.  —  Scxt.  EmDtr.  Pffni.  Jh 
poilt.  Lib.  I. 


HUSH  MELODIES, 


XM 


far  from  agreeing  with  those  fastidious  critics 
who  think  that  his  symphonies  have  nothing 
kindred  with  the  airs  which  they  introduce,  I 
would  say  that,  on  the  contrary,  they  resemble, 
in  general,  those  illuminated  initials  of  old  man- 
uscripts, which  are  of  the  same  character  with 
the  writing  which  follows,  though  more  highly 
solorod  and  more  curiously  ornamented. 

In  those  airs,  which  he  has  arranged  for  voices, 
'•is  skill  has  particularly  distinguished  itself, 
ijil,  though  it  cannot  be  denied  that  a  single 
melody  most  naturally  expresses  the  language 
of  feeling  and  passion,  yet  often,  when  a  favor- 
ite strain  has  been  dismissed,  as  having  lost  its 
charm  of  novelty  for  the  ear,  it  returns,  in  a 
harmonized  shape,  with  new  claims  on  our  in- 
terest and  attention ;  and  to  those  who  study 
the  delicate  artifices  of  composition,  the  con- 
struction of  the  inner  parts  of  these  pieces  must 
alford,  I  think,  considerable  satisfaction.  Every 
voice  has  an  air  to  itself^  a  flowing  succession 
of  notes,  which  might  be  heard  with  pleasure, 
independently  of  the  rest ;  —  so  artfully  has  the 
harmonist  (if  I  may  thus  express  it)  gavelled 
the  melody,  distributing  an  equal  portion  of  its 
sweetness  to  every  part. 

If  your  Ladysliip's  love  of  Music  were  not 
well  known  to  me,  I  should  not  have  hazarded 
BO  long  a  letter  upon  the  subject ;  but  as,  prob- 
ably, I  may  have  presumed  too  far  upon  your 
partiality,  the  best  revenge  you  now  can  take 
is  to  write  me  just  as  long  a  letter  upon  Paint- 
ing; and  I  promise  to  attend  to  your  theory  of 
the  art,  with  a  pleasure  only  surpassed  by  that 
which  I  have  so  often  derived  from  your  prac- 
tice of  it.  —  May  the  mind  which  such  talents 
adorn,  continue  calm  as  it  ia  bright,  and  happy 
■8  it  is  virtuous  ! 

Uclieve  me,  your  Ladyship's 

Grateful  Friend  and  Servant, 

Thomas  Moore. 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO     THB     XOCBTH      NUMBER. 

ILhis  number  of  the  Melodies  ought  to  have 
appeared  much  earlier;  and  the  writer  of  the 
wor^ls  is  ashamed  to  confess,  that  the  delay  of 
its  publication  n  ust  be  imputed  chiefly,  if  not 
entirely,  to  him.  He  finds  it  necessary  to  make 
this  awowal,  not  only  for  the  purpose  of  re- 
moving all  blame  from  the  Publisher,  but  in 
eODsequence  of  a  rumor,  which  has  been  circu- 
lated industriously  in  Dublin,  that  the  Irist 


Government  had  interfered  to  prevent  the  oo'v 
tinuance  of  the  "Work. 

This  would  be,  indeed,  a  reriTsl  of  HeirT  the 
Eighth's  enactments  against  Minstrels,  and  it 
is  flattering  to  find  that  so  much  importance  ii 
attached  to  our  compilation,  even  by  such  |)er- 
sons  as  the  inventors  of  the  reiwrt.  Bishop 
Lowth,  it  is  true,  was  of  opinion  that  on*  »on(t. 
like  the  Hymn  to  Hannoditu,  would  have  don* 
more  towards  rousing  the  spirit  of  the  Komaui 
than  all  the  Philippics  of  Cicero.  But  we  li\*« 
in  wiser  and  less  musical  times ;  ballads  have 
long  lost  their  revolutionary  powers,  ij\d  we 
question  if  even  a  "  Lillibullcro "  would  pro- 
duce any  very  terioua  consequences  at  present. 
It  is  needless,  therefore,  to  add,  that  there  is  no 
truth  in  the  report ;  and  we  trust  that  whatever 
belief  it  obtained  was  founded  more  upon  the 
character  of  the  Government  than  of  t/i«  Work. 

The  Airs  of  the  last  Number,  though  full  of 
originality  and  beauty,  were,  in  general,  per- 
haps, too  curiously  selected  to  become  all  ai 
once  as  popular  as,  we  think,  they  deserve  tc 
be.  The  public  are  apt  to  be  reserved  towardb 
new  acquaintances  in  music,  and  this,  perhaps, 
is  one  of  the  reasons  why  many  modern  com- 
posers introduce  none  but  old  friends  to  theii 
notice.  It  is,  indeed,  natural  that  persons,  who 
love  music  only  by  association,  should  be  somi  - 
what  slow  in  feeling  the  charms  of  a  new  aut 
strange  melody  ;  while  those,  on  the  other  hand, 
who  have  a  quick  sensibility  for  this  enchanting 
art,  will  as  naturally  seek  and  enjoy  novelty, 
because  in  every  variety  of  strain  they  ind  a 
fresh  combination  of  ideas  ;  and  the  sou.ul  ha& 
scarcely  reached  the  ear,  before  the  heart  has  as 
rapidly  rendered  it  into  imagery  and  sentimthit. 
After  all,  however,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the 
most  popular  of  our  National  Airs  are  also  the 
most  beautiful ;  and  it  has  been  our  wish,  in  the 
present  Number,  to  select  from  those  Melodies 
only  which  have  long  been  listened  to  and  ad- 
mired. The  least  known  in  the  collection  i«  f  h«> 
Air  of  "  Love'i  Young  Dream ; "  but  it  will  b« 
found,  I  think,  one  of  those  easy  and  arilea* 
strangers  whose  merit  the  heart  instantly  ac 

knowledges. 

T.  It 

Bury  Street,  St.  J*mu, 
Jfov.  181 L 

ADVERTISEMENT 

TO     TUB     FIFTH     MOMBUU 

It  is  but  fair  to  those,  who  take  an  Interest 
ir  this  Work,  to  state  that  it  is  now  very  new 


:64 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


its  termination,  and  that  the  Sixth  Number, 
which  shall  speedily  appear,  will,  most  proba- 
bly be  the  last  of  the  series.  Three  volumes 
wiL  th<^n  have  been  completed,  according  to  the 
original  plan,  and  the  Proprietors  desire  me  to 
gay  that  a  List  of  Subscribers  will  be  published 
with  the  concluding  Number. 

It  is  not  so  much,  I  must  add,  from  a  want 
of  mate.ials,  and  still  less  from  any  abatement 
■>i  zeal  or  industry,  that  we  have  adopted  the 
lesolution  of  bringing  our  task  to  a  close  ;  but 
we  feel  so  proud,  still  more  for  our  country's 
%ake  than  dur  own,  of  the  general  interest  wliich 
this  purely  Irish  Work  has  excited,  and  so  anx- 
ious lest  a  particle  of  that  interest  should  be  lost 
by  too  long  a  protraction  of  its  existence,  that 
we  think  it  wiser  to  take  away  the  cup  from 
the  lip,  wl'.ile  its  flavor  is  yet,  we  trust,  fresh 
and  sweet,  than  to  risk  any  further  trial  of  the 
ijharm,  or  give  so  much  as  not  to  leave  some 
wish  for  more.  In  speaking  thus,  I  allude  en- 
tirely to  the  Airs,  which  are,  of  course,  the 
main  attraction  of  these  Volumes  ;  and  though 
we  have  still  a  great  many  popular  and  delight- 
ful Melodies  to  produce,'  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  we  should  soon  experience  considerable 
difficulty  in  equalling  the  richness  and  novelfy 
■>f  the  earlier  numbers,  for  which,  as  we  had 
(he  choice  of  all  before  us,  wo  naturally  se- 
lected only  the  most  rare  and  beautiful.  The 
Poetry,  too,  would  be  sure  to  sympathize  -with 
the  decline  of  the  Music ;  and,  however  feebly 
my  words  have  kept  pace  with  the  excellence  of 
the  Airs,  tney  would  follow  their  falling  off,  I 
fear,  with  wonderful  alacrity.  Both  pride  and 
prudence,  therefore,  counsel  us  to  come  to  a 
close,  while  yet  our  Work  is,  we  believe,  fiour- 
islnng  and  attractive,  and  thus,  in  the  imperial 
attitude,  '^stantes  mori,"  before  we  incur  the 
.iharge  either  of  altering  for  the  worse,  or  what 
H  e(iually  unpardonable,  continuing  too  long 
he  same. 

We  besr  to  say,  however,  that  it  is  only  in  the 
event  of  our  failing  to  find  Airs  as  good  as  most 
jf  those  we  have  given,  that  we  mean  thus  to 
rnt.icipate  the  natural  period  of  dissolution 
(lik«?  those  Indians  who  when  their  relatives 
become  worn  out,  put  them  to  death ) ;  and 
they  who  are  desirous  of  retarding  this  Euthan- 
iisia  of  the  Irish  Melodies  cannot  better  effect 
^-heir  wish  than  by  contributing  to  our  collec- 


tion, —  not  what  are  called  curious  Airs,  for  w% 
have  abundance  of  such,  and  they  are,  in  gen- 
eral, only  curious,  —  but  any  real  sweet  and 
expressive  Songs  of  our  Country,  which  eithet 
chance  or  research  may  have  brought  into  theu 

hands. 

T.  M. 

MayjUU  Cottage,  Askboumt 
December,  1813. 


ADTB.'^TISEMENT 

TO      THE     SIXTH      NUMBER. 

In  presenting  this  Sixth  Number  to  the  Pub« 
lie  as  our  last,  and  bidding  adieu  to  the  Irish 
Harp  forever,  we  shall  not  answer  \ery  confi- 
dently for  the  strength  of  our  resolution,  noi 
feel  quite  sure  that  it  may  not  turn  out  to  be 
one  of  those  eternal  farewells  which  a  lover 
takes  occasionally  of  his  mistress,  merely  to 
enhance,  perhaps,  the  pleasure  of  their  next 
meeting.  Our  only  motive,  indeed,  for  discon- 
tinuing the  Work  was  a  fear  that  our  treasures 
were  nearly  exhausted,  and  a  natural  unwiUing 
ness  to  descend  to  the  gathering  of  mere  seed 
pearl,  after  the  really  precious  gems  it  has  been 
our  lot  to  string  together.  The  announcement, 
however,  of  this  intention,  in  our  Fifth  Num- 
ber, has  excited  a  degree  of  anxiety  in  the  lovera 
of  Irish  Music,  not  onlv  pleasant  and  flattering, 
but  highly  useful  to- us  ;  for  tke  various  contri- 
butions we  have  received  in  consequence,  have 
enriched  our  collection  with  so  many  choice  and 
beautiful  Airs,  that  should  we  adhere  to  our 
present  resolution  of  publishing  no  more,  it 
would  certainly  furnish  an  instance  of  forbear- 
ance unexampled  in  the  history  of  poets  and 
musicians.  To  one  Gentleman  in  particular, 
who  has  been  for  many  years  resident  in  Eng- 
land, but  who  has  not  forgot,  among  his  various 
pursuits,  either  the  language  or  the  meh.dies 
of  his  native  country,  we  beg  to  oft'er  our  best 
thanks  for  the  many  interesting  commuuica- 
tions  with  which  he  has  favored  us.  We  trusl 
that  neither  he  nor  any  other  of  our  kind 
friends  will  relax  in  those  efforts  by  which  we 
have  been  so  considerably  assisted  ;  for,  though 
our  work  must  now  be  looked  upon  as  defunct, 
yet  —  as  Reaumur  found  out  the  art  of  making 
the  cicada  sing  after  it  was   dead  —  it  is  jufll 


>  .'Jiiong  these  is  Savouma  Veelish,  which  I  have  been  !  session  of  all  ears  and  hearts,  for  me  to  think  of  following  it 

litherto  only  withheld  from  selecting  by  the  diffidence  I  feel  j  his  footsteps  with  any  success.    I  suppose,  however,  i»  k 

'u  feadingupon  the  same  (rroiind  with  Mr.  Campbell,  whose  '  matter  of  duty,  I  must  attempt  the  air  for  our  nerf  Niub 

i.  tifiil  words  to  tiiis  tine  Air  have  taken  too  strung  pes-  i  ber. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


tM 


pcMible  that  we  may,  son  e  time  or  .^ther,  try  a 
limilar  experiment  upon  the  Irish  Melodies. 

T.  M. 

Maffidd,  jf (Uounu, 
Martk,  181S. 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO     THB     SEVENTH     NUMBEH. 

Had  I  consulted  only  my  own  judgment,  this 
Work  would  not  have  extended  beyond  the  Six 
Numbers  already  published ;  which  contain  the 
flower,  perhaps,  of  our  national  melodies,  and 
have  now  attained  a  rank  in  public  favor,  of 
which  I  would  not  willingly  risk  the  forfeiture, 
by  degenerating,  in  any  way,  from  those  merits 
that  were  its  source,  ^\^latevcr  treasures  of 
our  music  were  still  in  reserve,  (and  it  will  be 
seen,  I  trust,  that  they  are  numerous  and  valu- 
able,) I  would  gladly  have  left  to  future  poets 
V)  glean,  and,  with  the  ritual  words  "  tibi  trado," 
would  have  delivered  up  the  torch  into  other 
hands,  before  it  had  lost  much  of  its  light  in 
a'.y  own.  But  the  call  for  a  continuance  of  the 
work  has  been,  as  I  understand  from  the  Pub- 
lisher, so  general,  and  we  have  received  so  many 
contributions  of  old  and  beautiful  airs,*  —  the 
suppression  of  which,  for  the  enhancement  of 
those  we  have  published,  would  too  much  re- 
semble the  policy  of  the  Dutch  in  burning  their 
spices,  —  that  I  have  been  persuaded,  though 
not  without  much  diffidence  in  my  success,  to 
commence  a  new  series  of  the  Irish  Melodies. 

T.  M. 


.  On*  OentUmaii,  in  particular,  whoM  name  I  shall  feel 
kapoy  in  being  a.ii.oved  to  mention,  has  not  only  sent  us 
learly  forty  a»iC'«'it  lira,  but  h.is  communicated  many  curi- 
«u  Oa{menU  d  Iri^h  poetry,  and  some  interesting  tradi- 


DEDICATION 

TO  THE  MARCHIONESS  OF  UEADFOrr, 

PREFIXED  TO  THB  TENTH   MCMBEB. 

It  is  with  a  pleasure,  not  unnxixed  with  mel* 
ancholy,  that  I  dedicate  the  last  Number  of  the 
Irish  Melodies  to  your  Ladyship ;  nor  can  I 
have  any  doubt  thit  the  feelings  with  which 
you  receive  the  tribute  will  bo  of  the  sama 
mingled  and  saddened  tone.  To  you,  —  who 
though  but  little  beyond  the  season  of  child- 
hood, when  the  earlier  numbers  of  this  work 
appeared,  —  lent  the  aid  of  your  beautiful  voice, 
and,  even  then,  exquisite  feeling  for  music,  to 
the  happy  circle  who  met,  to  sing  them  togethe. 
under  your  father's  toot,  the  gratification,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  which  tlxis  humble  offering  brings, 
cannot  be  otherwise  than  darkened  by  the  mourn- 
ful reflection,  how  many  of  the  voices,  which 
then  joined  with  ours,  are  now  silent  in  death  1 

I  am  not  without  hope  that,  as  far  as  regardi 
the  grace  and  spirit  of  the  Melodies,  you  will 
find  this  closing  portion  of  the  work  not  tin- 
worthy  of  what  has  preceded  it.  The  Sixteen 
Airs,  of  which  the  Number  and  the  Supplement 
consists,  have  been  selected  from  the  immense 
mass  of  Irish  music,  which  has  been  for  yean 
past  accumulating  in  my  hands  ;  and  it  waa 
from  a  desire  to  include  all  that  appeared  most 
worthy  of  preservation,  that  the  four  supple 
mentary  songs  which  follow  this  Tenth  Numbet 
have  been  added. 

Trusting  that  I  may  yet  again,  in  remem- 
brance of  old  times,  hear  our  voices  together  in 
some  of  the  harmonized  airs  of  this  Volume,  I 
have  the  honor  to  subscribe  myseUi 

Your  Ladyship's  faithful  Friend  and  Servant, 
Thomas  Mooki 

SU)perlo»  Cottag*, 
.tfoy,  1834. 

tions  current  in  the  country  where  he  rexidex,  iliurtrated  I9 
sketches  of  the  romantic  scenery  to  which  they  refer ;  al'  4 
which,  though  too  late  for  the  preMni  Number,  will  m 
infinite  service  to  us  in  the  [«<oMCut«  a  o(t*u  task 


34 


ut 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


NATIONAL     AIRS 


ADYERTISEMENT. 

l-t  is  Cicero,  I  believe,  who  says  "  naturd  ad 
%jdot  ducimur;"  and  the  abundance  of  wild, 
indigenous  airs,  which  almost  every  country, 
except  England,  possesses,  sufficiently  proves 
the  truth  of  his  assertion.  The  lovers  of  this 
simple,  but  interesting  kind  of  music,  are  here 
presented  with  the  iirst  number  of  a  collection, 
which,  I  trust,  their  contributions  will  enable 
us  to  continue.  A  pretty  air  without  words 
resembles  one  of  those  half  creatures  of  Plato, 
which  are  described  as  wandering  in  search  of 
the  remainder  of  themselves  through  the  world. 
To  supply  this  other  half,  by  uniting  with  con- 
genial words  the  many  fugitive  melodies  which 
have  hitherto  had  none,  —  or  only  such  as  are 
unintelligible  to  the  generality  of  their  hearers, 
—  is  the  object  and  ambition  of  the  present 
work.  Neither  is  it  our  intention  to  confine 
ourselves  to  what  are  strictly  called  National 
Melodies,  but,  wherever  we  meet  with  any  wan- 
dering and  beautiful  air,  to  which  poetry  has  not 
yet  assigned  a  worthy  home,  we  shall  venture 
to  claim  it  as  an  estray  swan,  and  enrich  our 
humble  Ilippocrene  with  its  song. 

#  #  #  #  # 

T.  M. 


A  TEMPLE  TO  FRIENDSHIP." 

(BFAiriSB  AlB.) 

» A  Temple   to  Friendship,"   said  Laura,  en- 
chanted, 
•'  I'll  build  in  this  garden,  —  the  thought  is 
divine  !  " 
fler  temple  was  built,  and  she  now  only  wanted 
An  image  of  Friendship  to  place  on  the  shrine. 
Bhe  flew  to  a  sculptor,  who  set  down  before  her 
A  Friendship,  the  fairest  his  art  could  in- 
vent; 
Bat  so  cold  and  so  dull,   that  the  youthful 
adorer 
Saw  plainly  this  -was  not  the  idol  she  meant. 

1  The  thwight  is  taken  from  a  song  by  Le  Frieur,  called 
L«  Statue  do  rAmitife." 


"  O,  never,"  she  cried,  "  could  I  thini  ol  en 
shrining 
"An  image,  whose  looks  are  so  joyless  an* 
dim;  — 
"  But  yon  little  god,  upon  roses  reclining. 
"  We'll  make,  if  you  p'iase.  Sir,  a  Friendsb»f 
of  him." 
So  the  bargain  was  struck ;  with  the  little  god 
laden 
She  joyfully  flew  to  her  shrine  in  the  grove  t 
"  Farewell,"  said  the  sculptor,  "  you're  not  the 
first  maiden 
"  Who   came   but  for  Friendship   and   tooi 
away  Love." 


FLOW  ON,  THOU  SHINING  RIVER. 

(POETCOCESE   AlB.) 

Flow  on,  thou  shining  river  ; 

But,  ere  thou  reach  the  sea, 
Seek  Ella's  bower,  and  give  her 

The  wreaths  I  fling  o'er  thee. 
And  tell  her  thus,  if  she'll  be  mine, 

The  current  of  our  lives  shall  be, 
With  joys  along  their  course  to  shine, 

Like  those  awcet  flowers  on  thee. 

But  if,  in  wemdering  thither. 

Thou  find'rft  she  mocks  my  prayer. 
Then  leave  those  wreaths  to  Avither 

Upon  the  cold  bank  there  ; 
And  tell  her  thus,  when  youth  is  o'ei. 

Her  lone  and  loveless  charms  shall  b« 
Thrown  by  upon  life's  weedy  shore, 

Like  those  sweet  flowers  from  tlice. 


ALL  THAT'S  BRIGHT  ML" ST  FAIiB 

All  that's  bright  must  fad*^,  — 

The  brightest  still  the  fletteat  i 
All  that's  sweet  was  made 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest. 
Stars  that  shine  and  fall ;  — 

The  flower  that  drops  in  springing , 
These,  alas  !  are  types  of  all 

To  which  our  hearts  are  clinging. 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


t61 


All  that's  bright  mu*t  fado,  — 
The  brightes^t  ttill  the  fleetest ; 

\31  that's  sweet  Tas  made 
But  to  be  )':st  when  sweetest ! 

Who  would  seek  or  prize 

•Delights  that  end  in  aching  ? 
Who  would  trust  to  ties 

Thfit  every  hour  are  breaking  ? 
Better  far  to  bo 

In  utter  darkness  Ijnng, 
Vhan  to  be  blcss'd  with  light  aud  see 

That  light  forever  Hying. 
All  that's  bright  must  fade,  — 

The  brightest  still  the  fleetest ; 
All  that's  sweet  was  made 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest  I 


SO   WARMLY  WE  MET. 

(HcaOABIAN  AlB.) 

wo  warmly  we  met  and  so  fondly  wo  parted, 
That  which  was  the  sweeter  ev'n  I  could  not 
tell,  — 
Ihat  first  look  of  welcome   hei    sunny   eyes 
darted, 
Or   that   tear  of  passion,  which  bless'd  our 
farewell. 
I'd    meet  was  a    heaven,    and    to    part    thus 
another,  — 
Our  joy  and  our  sorrow  seem'd  rivals  in  bliss  ; 
O,  Cupid's  two  eyes  are  not  liker  each  other 
In  smiles  and  in  tears,  than  that  moment  to 
this. 

TLe  first  was  like  daybreak,  new,  sudden,  deli- 
cious, — 
Tke  dawn  of  a  pleasure  scarce  kindled  up 
yet; 
The  last   like  the  farewell  of  daylight,  more 
precious, 
More  glowing  and  deep,  as  'tis  nearer  its  set. 
Our  meeting,  though  happy,  was  tinged  by  a 
sorrow 
To  think  that  such  happiness  could  not  re- 
main ; 
Wlule  our  parting,  though  sad,  gave  a  hope  that 
to-moiTow 
W(>uld  bring  back  the  bless'd  hour  of  meeting 
again. 

t  ThU  U  one  o'  the  many  instances  among  my  lyrical 
poeoi'.— ihotigb  Uie  above,  it  muiit  be  owned,  i«  an  cx- 


THOSE  EVENING  BELLS. 

(Aia.— Thb  BcLLi  oi  8t.  Pciitaacaoa.) 

Those  evening  bells  !  those  evening  belle  I 
How  many  a  tale  their  music  telj, 
Of  youth  and  home,  and  that  sweet  time, 
When  last  I  heard  their  soothing  chim*> 

Those  joyous  hours  are  pass'd  away ; 
And  many  a  heart  that  then  was  gay, 
Within  the  tomb  now  darkly  dwells. 
And  hears  no  more  those  evening  IhsIIb. 

And  so  'twill  be  when  I  am  gone  ; 
That  tuneful  peal  will  still  ring  on, 
WhQe  other  bards  shall  walk  these  dells. 
And  sing  your  praise,  sweet  evening  bcUa 


SHOULD  THOSE   FOND  HOPES. 

(POBTDOOIil  Alt.) 

Should  those  fond  hopes  e'er  forsake  thee,' 

Which  now  so  sweetly  thy  heart  employ  ; 
Should  the  cold  world  come  to  wake  thee 

From  all  thy  visions  of  youth  and  joy ; 
ShoxUd  the  gay  friends,  for  whom  thou  wouldst 
banish 

Him  who  once  thought  thy  yoiing  heart  hii 
own. 
All,  like  spring  birds,  falsely  vanish. 

And  leave  thy  winter  unheeded  and  lone ;  — 

O,  'tis  then  that  he  thou  hast  slighted 

Would  come  to  cheer  thee,  when  all  seent'd 
o'er; 
Then  the  truant,  lost  and  blighted. 

Would  to  his  bosom  be  taken  once  mora 
Like  that  dear  bird  we  both  can  remember. 

Who  left  us  while  summer  shone  round« 
But  when  chLU'd  by  bleak  December, 

On  our  threshold  a  welcome  still  found. 


REASON,  FOLLY,  AND  BEAUTl 

(It ALIAS  AiBj 

Rbason,  and  Folly,  and  Beauty,  they  amy, 
Went  on  a  party  of  pleasure  one  day  : 

Folly  play'd 

Around  the  maid. 


treme  eaae, — when  th*  metre  has 
ficed  to  tbe  atructure  of  the  air. 


E68 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


rhe  bells  of  his  cap  rung  merrily  out ; 

While  Reason  took 

To  his  sermon  book  — 
0,  whicn  was  the  pleasanter  no  one  need  doubt, 
Which  was  the  pleasanter  no  one  need  doubt. 

Beauty,  who  likes  to  be  thought  very  sage, 
Turn'd  for  a  moment  to  Reason's  dull  page. 

Till  Folly  said, 

"  Look  here,  sweet  maid  !  "  — 
rhe  sight  of  his  cap  brought  h&r  back  to  herself; 

While  Reason  read 

His  leaves  of  lead. 
With  no  one  to  mind  him,  poor  sensible  elf! 
No,  — no  one  to  mind  him,  poor  sensible  elf! 

Then  Reason  grew  jealous  of  Folly's  gay  cap  ; 
Had  he  that  on,  he  her  heart  might  entrap  — 

"  There  it  is," 

Quoth  Folly,  "  old  quiz  !  " 
(Folly  was  always  good  natured,  'tis  said,) 

*'  Under  the  sun 

"  There's  no  such  fun, 
"  As  Reason  with  my  cap  and  bells  on  his  head, 
"  Reason  with  my  cap  and  bells  on  his  head  !  " 

But  Reason  the  headdress  so  awkwardly  wore, 
That  Beauty  now  liked  him  still  less  than  before ; 

While  Folly  took 

Old  Reason's  book. 
And  twisted  the  leaves  in  a  cap  of  such  ton, 

That  Beauty  vow'd 

(Though  not  aloud). 
She  liked  him  still  better  in  that  than  his  own, 
Yea,  —  liked  him  still  better  in  tliat  than  his  own. 


^ARE  THEE  WELL,  THOU  LOVELY 
ONE! 

(Sicilian  Aib.) 

F«.RE  theo  «rell,  thou  lovely  one  ! 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more  ; 
Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone, 

Love's  sweet  life  is  o'er. 
Thy  words,  whate'er  their  flatt'ring  spel^ 

Could  scarce  have  thus  deceived ; 
But  eyes  that  acted  truth  so  well 

Were  sure  to  be  believed. 
Then,  fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one  ! 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more  ; 
*)nce  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone, 

Love's  sweet  life  is  o'er. 


Yet  those  eyes  look  constant  still. 

True  as  stars  they  keep  their  light ; 
Still  those  cheeks  their  pledge  fulfil 

Of  blushing  always  bright. 
'Tis  only  on  thy  changeful  hear: 

The  blame  of  falsehood  lies  ; 
Love  lives  in  every  other  part, 

But  there,  alas  !  he  dies. 
Then,  fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one  I 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more  ; 
Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone. 

Love's  sweet  .ife  is  o'er. 


DOST  THOU  REMEMBER. 

(POBTUOUESE   AlB.) 

Dost  thou  remember  that  place  so  lonely,  • 
A  place  for  lovers,  and  lovers  only. 

Where  first  I  told  thee  all  my  secret  sighs  ? 
When,  as  the  moonbeam,  that  trembled  o'er  th(i% 
Illumed  thy  blushes,  I  knelt  before  thee, 

And  read  my  hope's  sweet  triumph  in  tho8« 
eyes  ? 
Then,  then,  while  closely  heart  was  drawn  to 

heart. 
Love  bound  us  —  never,  never  more  to  part ! 

And  when  I  call'd  thee  by  names  the  dearest ' 
That  love  could  fancy,  the  fondest,  nearest,  — 

'•  My  life,  my  only  life  !  "  among  the  rest ; 
In  those  sweet  accents  that  still  inthrall  me. 
Thou   saidst,    "  Ah !    wherefore   thy    life  thud 

call  me  ? 
"  Thy  soul,  thy  soul's  the  name  that  I  love 

best; 
"  For  life  soon  passes,  —  but  how  bless'd  to  be 
"  That  Soul   which  never,    never  parts   from 

thee  ! " 


O,  COME  TO  ME  WHEN  DAYLIGHT  SETS. 

(Venetian  Air.) 

O,  COME  to  me  when  daylight  sets  ; 

Sweet !  then  come  to  me. 
When  smootlily  go  our  gondolets 

O'er  the  moonlight  sea. 
When  Mirth's  awake,  and  Love  begine. 

Beneath  that  glancing  ray. 
With  sound  of  lutes  and  mandolins, 

To  steal  young  hearts  away. 
Then,  come  to  me  when  daylight  sets ; 

Sweet !  then  come  to  me, 

i  The  thought  in  this  verse  is  borrowed  ftom  the  origiia 
Portuguese  words. 


OFT   IN  THE  STILLY   NIGHT.' 


NATIONAL  AraS. 


tM 


When  smoothly  go  our  gondoleta 
O'er  the  moonlight  sea. 

O,  tnen's  the  hour  for  those  who  love, 

Sweet !  like  thee  and  me  ; 
When  all's  so  calm  below,  above. 

In  Heav'n  and  o'er  the  sea. 
When  maidens  sing  sweet  barcarolles,' 

And  Echo  sings  again 
80  sweet,  that  all  with  ears  and  souls 

Should  love  and  listen  then. 
So,  come  to  mo  when  daylight  sets  ; 

Sweet !  then  come  to  me, 
When  smoothly  go  our  gondolets 

O'er  the  moonlight  sea. 


OFT,  IN  THE  STILLY  NIGHT. 

(Scotch  Aib.) 

Opt,  in  the  stilly  night. 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Kond  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me  ; 
The  smiles,  the  tears. 
Of  boyhood's  years, 
The  words  of  love  then  spoken  ; 
The  eyes  thpt  shone, 
Now  dimm'd  and  gone, 
The  cheerful  hearts  now  broken  ! 
Thus,  in  the  stilly  night. 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 

When  I  remember  all 

The  friends,  so  link'd  together, 
I've  seen  around  me  fall. 

Like  leaves  in  wintry  weather  ; 
I  feel  like  one. 
Who  treads  alone 
Some  banquet  hall  deserted, 
Whose  lights  are  fled, 
Whose  garlands  dead. 
And  all  but  he  departed  ! 
Thus,  in  the  stilly  night. 

Ere  Slumter's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  davs  around  me. 


1  Oarcamllefl,  sorte  rfe  chansons  "n  laneiie  V*nWenne, 
^e  chxiitent  les  gond  Aien  &  Veiiise.  —  Rcu»$eau,  Dietion- 
*mrt  tit  MitsKn* 


HARK!    THE  ^-ESPER  HYMN    ISI 
STEALING. 

(BcMuv  Aib.) 

Hark  !  the  vesper  hymn  is  stealinf 

O'er  the  waters  soft  and  clear ; 
Nearer  yet  and  nearer  pealing. 
And  now  bursts  upon  the  ear  • 
Jubilate.  Amen, 
Farther  now,  now  farther  stealing, 
Soft  it  fades  upon  the  ear  : 
Jubilate,  Amen. 

Now,  like  moonlight  waves  re  .resting 

To  the  shore,  it  dies  along ; 
Now,  like  angry  surges  meeting. 
Breaks  the  mingled  tide  of  s^^ng  : 
Jubilate,  Amen. 
Hush  !  again,  like  waves,  retreating 
To  the  shore,  it  dies  along  : 
Jubilate,  Amen. 


LOVE  AND  HOPE. 
(Swiss  Aib.) 

At  mom,  beside  yon  summer  soa. 
Young  Hope  and  Love  reclined  ; 

But  scarce  had  noontide  come,  when  h* 

Into  his  bark  leap'd  smilingly. 
And  left  poor  Hope  behind. 

"  1  go,"  said  Love,  "  to  sail  a  while 

"  Across  this  sunny  main ; " 
And  then  so  sweet  his  parting  smile, 
Tliat  Hope,  who  never  dreamt  of  guile, 

Believed  he'd  come  again. 

She  lingcr'd  there  till  evening's  beam 

Along  the  waters  lay  ; 
And  o'er  the  sands,  in  thoughtful  dream. 
Oft  traced  his  name,  which  still  the  streaai 

As  often  wash'd  away. 

At  length  a  sail  appears  in  signt. 
And  toward  the  maiden  moves  I 

'Tis  Wealth  that  comes,  and  gay  and  brigb; 

His  golden  bark  reflects  the  light, 
But  ah !  it  is  not  Love's. 

Another  sail  —  'twas  Friendship  thoVi* 
Her  night  lamp  o'er  the  se* ; 


270 


NATIONAL  AIRS 


And  calm  tlie  light  that  lamp  bestow'd  ; 
But  Love  had  lights  that  warmer  glow'd, 
And  where,  alas  !  was  he  ? 

Now  fast  around  the  sea  and  shore 

Night  threw  her  darkling  chain  ; 
The  sunny  sails  were  seen  no  more, 
Hope's  morning  dreams  of  bliss  were  o'er,  • 
T-ove  never  came  asrain  ! 


THERE   COMES   A  TIME. 

(German  Air.) 

There  comes  a  time,  a  dreary  time, 

To  him  whose  heart  hath  flown 
O'er  all  the  fields  of  youth's  sweet  prime. 

And  made  each  flower  its  own. 
'Tis  when  his  soul  must  first  renounce 

Those  dreams  so  bright,  so  fond , 
O,  then's  the  time  to  die  at  once, 

For  life  has  nought  beyond. 

When  sets  the  sun  on  Afric's  shore, 

That  instant  all  is  night ; 
And  so  should  life  at  once  be  o'er. 

When  Love  withdraws  his  light ;  — 
Nor,  like  our  northern  day,  gleam  on 

Through  twilight's  dim  delay. 
The  cold  remains  of  lustre  gone. 

Of  fire  long  pass'd  away. 


MY  HARP  HAS  ONE  UNCHANGING 
THEME. 

(Swedish  Air.) 

My  harp  has  one  unchanging  theme, 

One  strain  that  still  comes  o'er 
Its  languid  chord,  as  'twere  a  dream 

Of  joy  that's  now  no  more. 
In  vain  I  try,  with  livelier  air. 

To  wake  the  breathing  string  ; 
That  voice  of  other  times  is  there, 

And  saddens  all  I  sing. 

Breathe  on,  breathe  on,  thou  languid  strain, 

Henceforth  be  all  my  own  ; 
Thoug-i  thou  art  oft  so  full  of  pain, 

Few  hearts  can  bear  thy  tone. 
Vet  oft  thou'rt  sweet,  as  if  the  sigh, 

The  trcath  that  Pleasure's  wings 
Gave  out,  Avhen  last  they  wanton'd  by. 

Were  stiU  upon  thy  strings. 


O,  NO  — NOT  EV'N  WHEN   FIRST  WE 
LOVED. 

(Cashueriait  Air.) 

O,  NO  —  not  ev'n  when  first  we  lo\  ed, 

Wert  thou  as  dear  as  now  thou  art ; 
Thy  beauty  then  my  senses  moved. 

But  now  thy  virtiies  bind  my  heart 
What  was  but  Passion's  sigh  before, 

Has  since  been  turn'd  to  Reason's  vow , 
And,  though  I  then  might  love  thee  more. 

Trust  me,  I  love  thee  better  now. 

Although  my  heart  in  earlier  youth 

Might  kindle  with  more  wild  desire, 
Believe  me,  it  has  gain'd  in  truth 

Much  more  than  it  has  lost  in  fire. 
The  flame  now  warms  my  inmost  core, 

That  then  but  sparkled  o'er  my  brow, 
And,  though  I  seem'd  to  love  thee  more, 

Yet,  O,  I  lore  thee  better  now. 


PEACE  BE  AROUND  THEE. 

(Scotch  Air.) 

Peace  be  around  thee,  wherever  thou  rov'st ; 

May  life  be  for  thee  one  summer's  day. 
And  all  that  thou  wishest,  and  all  that  the* 
lov'st. 

Come  smiling  around  thy  sunny  way  ! 
If  sorrow  e'er  this  calm  should  break. 

May  even  thy  tears  pass  off"  so  lightly. 
Like  spring  showers,  they'll  only  make 

The  smiles  that  follow  shine  more  brightly. 

May  Time,  who  sheds  his  blight  o'er  all, 

And  daily  dooms  some  joy  to  death. 
O'er  thee  let  years  so  gently  fall, 

They  shall  not  crush  one  flower  beneath. 
As  half  in  shade  and  half  in  sun 

This  world  along  its  path  advances, 
May  that  side  the  sun's  upon 

Be  all  that  e'er  shall  meet  thy  glances  ! 


COMMON  SENSE  AND   GENITS 

(French  Air.) 

While  I  touch  the  string, 

Wreathe  my  brows  with  laurfl  I 

For  the  tale  I  sing 
Has,  for  once,  a  moral. 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


Common  Sense,  one  night. 
Though  not  used  to  gambols, 

Went  out  by  moonlight, 

With  Genius,  on  his  rambles. 
Whilo  I  touch  the  string,  &c 

Common  Sense  went  on, 

Many  wise  things  saying  ; 
While  the  light  that  shone 

Soon  set  Genius  straying. 
One  his  eye  ne'er  raised 

From  the  path  before  him ; 
Tother  idly  gazed 

On  each  night  cloud  o'er  him. 
While  I  touch  the  string,  &o. 

So  they  came,  at  last, 

To  a  shady  river  ; 
Common  Sense  soon  pass'd. 

Safe,  as  he  doth  ever  ; 
While  the  boy,  whose  look 

Was  in  Heaven  that  minute. 
Never  saw  the  brook. 

But  tumbled  headlong  in  it ! 

While  I  touch  the  string,  &c. 

How  the  Wise  One  smiled. 

When  safe  o'er  the  torrent, 
At  that  youth,  so  wild. 

Dripping  from  the  current ! 
Sense  went  home  to  bed ; 

Genius,  left  to  shiver 
On  the  bank,  'tis  said. 

Died  of  that  cold  river  ! 

While  I  touch  the  string,  &c. 


THEN,  FARE  THEE  WELL. 

(Old  E!coli»h  Air.) 

l^iBN,  fare  thee  well,  my  OM'n  dear  lore, 

This  world  has  now  for  us 
N(i  greater  grief,  no  pain  above 

The  pain  of  parting  thus, 
Dear  love  ! 

The  pain  of  parting  thus. 

Had  we  but  known,  since  first  we  met. 
Some  few  short  hours  of  bliss, 

fVe  might,  in  numbering  them,  forget 
Thi>  deep,  deep  pain  of  this, 

Dear  love  ! 
The  deep,  deep  pain  of  this. 


But  no,  alas,  we've  never  seen 
One  glimpse  of  pleasure's  ray. 

But  still  there  came  some  cloud  between, 
And  chased  it  all  away. 

Dear  love  ! 
And  chased  it  all  away. 

Yet,  ev'n  could  those  sad  moments  last 

Far  dearer  to  my  heart 
Were  hours  of  grief,  together  past, 

Than  years  of  mirth  apart. 
Dear  love  ! 

Than  years  of  mirth  apart. 

Farewell !  our  hope  was  bom  in  feats, 
And  niirsed  'mid  vain  regrets  ; 

Like  >nnter  suns,  it  rose  in  tears. 
Like  them  in  tears  it  sets, 

Dear  love  ! 
Like  them  in  tears  it  sets. 


OAYLY  SOUNDS  THE  CASTANEl 


(Ualtisi  At*4 

Oatlt  sounds  the  Castanet, 

Beating  time  to  bounding  feet. 
When,  after  daylight's  golden  set, 

Maids  and  youths  by  moonUght 
O,  then,  how  sweet  to  move 

Through  all  that  maze  of  mirth 
Led  by  light  from  eyes  we  love 

Beyond  all  eyes  on  earth. 


Then,  the  joyous  banquet  spread 

On  the  cool  and  fragrant  ground. 
With  hcav'n's  bright  sparklers  overhewv 

And  still  brighter  sparkling  round. 
O,  then,  how  sweet  to  say 

Into  some  loved  one's  car. 
Thoughts  reser^•ed  through  many  a  U» 

To  be  thus  whisper' d  here. 

When  the  donee  and  feast  are  done. 

Arm  in  arm  as  home  we  stray. 
How  sweet  to  see  the  dawning  sun 

O'er  her  check's  warm  blushe*  pUf 
Then,  too,  the  farewell  kiss  — 

The  words,  whose  jmrting  tone 
Lingers  still  in  dreams  of  bliss, 

That  hauBt  young  hearts  ainoe. 


272 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


LOVE  IS  A  HUNTER  BOY. 

{liANOUEDOClAN  AlB.) 

Love  is  a  hunter  boy, 

Who  makes  young  hearts  hia  prey ; 
And,  in  his  nets  of  joy, 

Insnares  them  night  and  day. 
In  vain  conceal'd  they  lie  — 

Love  tracks  them  every  where  ; 
In  vain  aloft  they  fly  — 

Love  shoots  them  flying  there. 

But  'tis  his  joy  most  sweet, 

At  early  daw^n  to  trace 
The  print  of  Beauty's  feet, 

And  give  the  trembler  chase. 
And  if,  through  virgin  snow, 

He  tracks  her  footsteps  fair, 
How  sweet  for  Love  to  know 

None  went  before  him  there. 


IfOME,   CHASE  THAT  STARTING  TEAR 
AWAY. 

(French  Air.) 

Come,  chase  that  starting  tear  away, 

Ere  mine  to  meet  it  springs  ; 
To-night,  at  least,  to-night  be  gay, 

Whate'cr  to-morrow  brings. 
Like  sunset  gleams,  that  linger  late 

When  all  is  dark'ning  fast. 
Are  hours  like  these  we  snatch  from  Fate  — 

The  brightest,  and  the  last. 

Then,  chase  that  starting  tear,  &c. 

To  gild  the  deepening  gloom,  if  Heaven 

But  one  bright  hour  allow, 
O,  think  that  one  bright  hour  is  given. 

In  all  its  splendor,  now. 
Let's  live  it  out  —  then  sink  in  night. 

Like  waves  that  from  the  shore 
One  minute  swell,  are  touch'd  with  light. 

Then  lost  forevermore ! 

Come,  chase  that  starting  tear,  &c 


JOYS  OF  YOUTH,  HOW  FLEETING! 

(FOBTCOVKSB  AlB.) 

Whisp  «in»8,  heard  by  wakeful  maids, 
To  whom  the  night  stars  guide  us  ; 

Stolen  walks  through  moonlight  shades, 
With  those  we  love  beside  us, 


Hearts  beating. 
At  meeting ; 
Tears  starting. 
At  parting ; 
O,  sweet  youth,  how  soon  it  fades  ! 
Sweet  joys  of  youth,  how  fleeting ! 

Wand'rings  far  away  from  home, 

With  life  all  new  before  us  ; 
Greetings  warm,  when  home  we  come. 
From  hearts  whose  prayers  watch' d  o'er  u 
Tears  starting, 
At  parting ; 
Hearts  beating. 
At  meeting ; 
O,  sweet  youth,  how  lost  on  some  I 
To  some,  how  bright  and  fleeting ! 


HEAR  ME  BUT  ONCE. 

(Fbekch  Aib.) 

Heab  me  but  once,  while  o'er  the  grave, 
In  which  our  Love  lies  cold  and  dead, 

I  count  each  flatt'ring  hope  he  gave 
Of  joys,  now  lost,  and  charms  now  fled. 

Who  could  have  thought  the  smile  he  wcnre^ 
When  first  we  met,  would  fade  away  ? 

Or  that  a  chill  would  e'er  come  o'er 

Those  eyes  so  bright  through  many  a  day! 
Hear  me  but  once,  &-^ 


WHEN  LOVE  WAS  A  CHILD 

(Swedish  Aib.) 

When  Love  Avas  a  child,  and  Avent  idling  roimd^ 
'Mong  flowers,  the  whole  summer's  day. 

One  morn  in  the  valley  a  bower  he  found. 
So  sweet,  it  allured  him  to  stay. 

O'erhead,  from  the  trees,  hung  a  garland  fair, 
A  fountain  ran  darkly  beneath ;  — 

'Twas  Pleasure  had  hung  up  the  flow'rets  there ; 
Love  knew  it,  and  jump' d  at  the  wreath. 

But  Love  didn't  know  —  and,  at  his  weak  yeank 
What  urchin  was  likely  to  know?  — 

That  Sorrow  had  made  of  her  own  salt  tears  , 
The  fountain  that  murmur' d  below. 

He  caught  at  the  wreath  —  but  with  too  mucli 
haste, 
I      As  boys  when  impatient  will  do  — 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


XII 


t  fell  in  those  waters  of  briny  taste. 
And  the  flowers  were  all  wet  through. 

This  garland  he  now  wears  night  and  day ; 

And  though  it  aU  sunny  appears 
W-.th  Pleasure's  own  light,  each  leaf,  they  say, 

Still  tastes  of  the  Fountain  of  Tears. 


BAY,  VTBAT   SHALL    BE    OUR    SPORT 
TO-DAY  ? 

(Sicilian  Aib.) 

6at,  what  shall  be  our  sport  to-day  ? 

'ITiere's  nothing  on  earth,  in  sea,  or  air, 
Too  bright,  too  high,  too  wild,  too  gay 

For  spirits  like  mine  to  dare  I 
Tis  like  the  returning  bloom 

Of  those  days,  alas,  gone  by, 
When   I  loved,   each    hour  —  1  scarce    knew 
whom  — 

And  was  blcss'd  —  I  scarce  knew  why. 

Ay  —  those  were  days  when  life  had  wings. 

And  flew,  O,  flew  so  wild  a  height. 
That,  like  the  lark  which  sunward  springs, 

'Twas  giddy  with  too  much  light 
And,  though  of  some  plumes  bereft. 

With  that  sun,  too,  nearly  set, 
Tve  enough  of  light  and  wing  still  lefl 

For  a  few  gay  soarings  yet. 


BRIGHT  BE  THY  DREAMS. 

(WtLSB  AJB.) 

Bright  be  thy  dreams  —  may  all  thy  weeping 
Turn  into  smiles  while  thou  art  sleeping. 
May  those  by  death  or  seas  removed. 
The  friends,  who  in  thy  spring  time  knew  thee. 

All,  thou  hast  ever  prized  or  loved. 
In  dreams  come  smiling  to  thee  ! 

There  may  the  child,  whose  love  lay  deepest, 
Dearest  of  all,  come  while  thou  sleepest  ^ 
Still  as  she  was —  no  charm  forgot  — 
No  lustre  lest  that  life  had  given  ; 

Or,  if  changed,  but  changed  to  what 
Thou'lt  find  her  yet  in  Heaven  1 


OO,   THEN  — 'TIS  VAIN. 

(8ICILU5  Aib.) 

Go,  then  —  'tis  vain  to  hover 
Thus  round  a  hope  that's  dead  ; 
U 


At  length  my  dream  is  over ; 

'Twas  sweet  —  'twas  false  —  'tis  fled ! 
FarewcU !  since  nought  it  moves  the*. 

Such  truth  as  mine  to  see  — 
Some  one,  who  far  leas  loves  thea, 

Perhaps  more  bless'd  will  be. 

Farewell,  sweet  eyes,  whose  brig!  tncat 

New  life  around  me  shed  ; 
FarewcU,  false  heart,  whose  lights  eM 

Now  leaves  me  death  instead. 
Go,  now  those  charms  surrender 

To  some  new  lover's  sigh  — 
One  who,  though  far  less  tender. 

May  be  more  bless'd  than  I. 


THE  CRYSTAL  HUNTERS 
(8wit(  Aia.) 

O'er  mountains  bright 
With  snow  and  light, 
We  Crystal  Hunters  speed  along ; 
While  rocks  and  caves. 
And  icy  waves. 
Each  instant  echo  to  our  PCng ; 
And,  when  we  meet  with  store  of  genn^ 
We  grudge  not  kings  their  diadems. 
O'er  mountains  bright 
With  snow  and  light. 
We  Crystal  Hunters  speed  along : 
While  grots  and  caves. 
And  icy  waves, 
Each  instant  echo  to  our  song. 

Not  half  so  oft  the  lover  dreams 
Of  sparkles  from  his  lady's  eyes, 

As  we  of  those  refreshing  gleams 
That  tell  where  deep  the  crystal  lies  j 

Though,  next  to  crystal,  we  too  grant. 

That  ladies'  eyes  may  most  enchant. 
O'er  mountains  bright,  &c. 

Sometimes,  when  on  the  Alpine  rose 

The  golden  sunset  leaves  its  ray, 
So  like  a  gem  the  flow'ret  glows. 

We  thither  bend  our  headlong  w»y  ( 
And,  though  we  find  no  treasure  ther«^ 
We  bless  the  rose  that  shines  so  fair. 
O'er  mountains  bright 
With  snow  and  light. 
We  Crystal  Hunters  speed  along  ; 
While  rocks  and  caves. 
And  icy  waves. 
Each  instant  echo  to  our  sons. 


174 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


ROW  GENTLY  HERE. 

(VBiTETiAir  Air.) 

Row  gently  here, 

My  gondolier, 
So  softly  wake  the  tide, 

That  not  an  ear,    ^ 

On  earth,  may  hear, 
But  hers  to  whom  we  glide- 
Had  Heaven  but  tongues  to  speak,  as  well 

As  starry  eyes  to  see, 
O  think  what  tales  'twould  have  to  tell 
Of  wand' ring  youths  like  me  ! 

Now  rest  thee  here, 

My  gondolier ; 
Hush,  hush,  for  up  I  go. 

To  climb  yon  light 

Balcony's  height, 
WhUe  thou  keep'st  watch  below. 
Ah !  did  we  take  for  Heaven  above 

But  half  such  pains  as  we 
Take,  day  and  night,  for  woman's  love. 
What  Angels  we  should  be  1 


O,  DAYS  OF  YOUTH. 

(Fkench  Aie.) 

O,  DA.TS  of  youth  and  joy,  long  clouded, 

Why  thus  forever  haunt  my  view  ? 
When  in  the  grave  your  light  lay  shrouded, 

Why  did  not  Memory  die  there  too  ? 
Vainly  doth  Hope  her  strain  now  sing  me. 

Telling  of  joys  that  yet  remain  — 
No,  never  more  can  this  life  bring  me 

One  joy  that  equals  youth's  sweet  pain. 

Dim  lies  the  way  to  death  before  me. 

Cold  winds  of  Time  blow  round  my  brow  ; 
Sunshine  of  youth !  that  once  fell  o'er  me. 

Where  is  your  warmth,  your  glory  now  ? 
'  Tis  not  that  then  no  pain  could  sting  me ; 

'Tis  not  that  now  no  joys  remain  ; 
O,  'tis  that  life  no  more  can  bring  me 

One  joy  so  sweet  as  that  worst  pain. 


WHEN  FIRST  THAT  SMILE. 

CV'BNETiAN  Air.) 

IVhex  first  that  smile,  like  sunshine,  bless'd 
my  sight, 

O  what  a  vision  then  came  o'er  me  ! 
Uong  years  of  love,  of  calm  and  pure  delight, 

Seem'd  in  that  smile  to  pass  before  me. 


Ne'er  did  the  peasant  dream  of  summer  skies, 
Of  golden  fruit,  and  harvests  springing, 

With  fonder  hope  than  I  of  those  sweet  eyes, 
And  of  the  joy  their  light  was  bringing. 

Where  now  are  all  those  fondly-promis'd  houn 

Ah  !  woman's  faith  is  like  her  brightness  — 
Fading  as  fast  as  rainbows,  or  day  flowers. 

Or  aught  that's  known  for  grace  and  lightnes» 
Short  as  the  Persian's  prayer,  at  close  of  day. 

Should  be  each  vow  of  Love's  repeating  ; 
Quick  let  him  worship  Beauty's  precious  ray-. 

Even  while  he  kneels,  that  ray  is  fleeting ! 


PEACE  TO   THE   SLUMBERERS ! 
(Catalojtiah  Aib.) 

Peace  to  the  slumberers ! 

They  lie  on  the  battle  plain. 
With  no  shroud  to  cover  them ; 

The  dew  and  the  summer  rain 
Are  all  that  weep  over  them. 

Peace  to  the  slumberers  ' 

Vain  was  their  bravery  !  -  - 

The  fallen  oak  lies  where  it  lay. 

Across  the  wintry  river ; 

But  brave  hearts,  once  swept  awaj. 

Are  gone,  alas  !  forever. 

Vain  was  their  bravery  ! 

Woe  to  the  conqueror  ! 

Our  limbs  shall  he  as  cold  as  theirs 
Of  whom  his  sword  bereft  us. 

Ere  we  forget  the  deep  arrears 
Of  vengeance  they  have  left  us ! 
Woe  to  the  conqueror  I 


WHEN  THOU  SHALT  WANDER 

(Sicilian  Air.) 

When  thou  shalt  wander  by  that  sweet  light 
We  used  to  gaze  on  so  many  an  eve. 

When  love  was  new  and  hope  was  bright, 
Ere  I  could  doubt  or  thou  deceive  — 

O,  then,  rememb'ring  how  swift  went  by 

Those  hours  of  transport,  even  thou  may'st  sigi 

Yes,  proud  one  !  even  thy  heart  may  own 
That  love  like  ours  was  far  too  sweet 

To  be,  like  summer  garments,  thrown 
Aside,  when  pass'd  the  summer's  heat; 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


tr* 


And  wisn  in  vain  to  know  again 

Ruch  days,  such  nights,  as  bless'd  thee  then. 


WHO'LL  BUY  MY  LOVE  KNOTS? 

(POBTUOUBH  AlB.) 

Htver,  late,  his  love  knots  selling, 
Call'd  at  many  a  maiden's  dwelling  : 
None  could  doubt,  who  saw  or  knew  them, 
Hymen's  call  was  welcome  to  them. 

*'  AVho'U  buy  my  love  knots  ? 

"  "Who'll  buy  my  love  knots  ? " 
Soon  as  that  sweet  cry  resounded. 
How  his  baskets  were  surrounded  ! 

Maids,  who  now  first  dreamt  of  trying. 
These  gay  knots  of  HjTnen's  tying  ; 
Dames,  who  long  had  sat  to  watch  him 
Passing  by,  but  ne'er  could  catch  him ;  — 

"  Who'll  buy  my  love  knots  ? 

"  ^Vho'll  buy  my  love  knots  ?"  — 
All  at  that  sweet  cry  assembled  ; 
Some  laugh'd,  some  blush'd,  and  some  trembled. 

••  Here  are  knots,"  said  Hymen,  taking 
Some  loose  flowers,  "  of  Love's  own  making  ; 
"  Here  are  gold  ones  —  j-ou  may  trust  'em  "  — 
(These,  of  course,  found  ready  custom). 

**  Come,  buy  my  love  knots ! 

"  Come,  buy  my  love  knots  ! 
"  Some  arc  labell'd  '  Knots  to  tie  men  — 
••  Love  the  maker  —  Bought  of  Hymen.'  " 

Bcarce  their  bargains  were  completed. 
When  the  nymphs  all  cried,  "  We're  cheated ! 
"  See  these  flowers — they're  drooping  sadly  ; 
"  This  gold  knot,  too,  tics  but  badly  — 

*•  Who'd  buy*8uch  love  knots  ? 

"  Who'd  buy  such  love  knots  ? 
"  Even  this  tie,  with  Love's  name  round  it— « 
"  All  a  sham  —  He  never  bound  it." 

Love,  who  saw  the  whole  proceeding. 
Would  have  laugh'd,  but  for  good  breeding ; 
While  Old  Hymen,  who  was  used  to 
Cries  like  that  these  dames  gave  loose  to  — 

"  Take  back  our  love  knots  I 

"  Take  back  our  love  knots  !  " 
^'oolly  said,  "  There's  no  returning 
*  Wares  on  Hymen's  hands  —  Good  morning  ! " 


SEE,  -niE  DAWS  FROM  HEAVEN. 

(To  AM  AlB  SCVO  AT  RoitB,  0>  ClaiSTMAt  KTB,) 

Sbb,  the  dawn  from  Heaven  is  bretkiaf 

O'er  out  sight, 
And  Earth,  from  sin  awaking, 

Hails  the  light ! 
See  those  groups  of  angels,  winging 

From  the  realms  above. 
On  their  brows,  from  Eden,  bringing 

Wreaths  of  Hope  and  Lot*. 

Hark,  their  hymns  of  glory  pealing 

Through  the  air. 
To  mortal  ears  revealing 

Who  lies  there  ! 
In  that  dwelling,  dark  and  lowly, 

Sleeps  the  Heavenly  Son, 
He,  whose  home's  above,  —  the  Ho1t« 

Ever  Holy  One  I 


NETS  AND  CAGES,* 

(SwKoiaB  Aim.) 

Comb,  listen  to  my  story,  while 

Your  needle's  task  you  ply ; 
At  what  I  sing  some  maids  will  smOe, 

"While  some,  perhaps,  may  sigh. 
Though  Love's  the  theme,  and  Wisdom  bUm# 

Such  florid  tongs  as  ours. 
Yet  Truth  sometimes,  like  eastern  dames, 

Can  speak  her  thoughts  by  flowers. 

Then  listen,  maids,  come  listen,  while 
Your  needle's  task  you  ply ; 

At  what  I  sing  there's  some  may  smiley 
While  some,  perhaps,  will  sigh. 

Young  Cloe,  bent  on  catching  )  \  ret, 

Such  nets  had  leam'd  to  frame, 
That  none,  in  all  our  vales  and  groT«» 

E'er  caught  so  much  small  game : 
But  gentle  Sue,  less  giv'n  to  roam. 

While  Cloe's  nets  were  taking 
Such  lots  of  Loves,  sat  still  at  home^ 

One  little  Love  cage  making. 

Come,  Usten,  maids,  Slo, 

Much  Cloe  laugh'd  at  Susan's  task ; 

But  mark  how  things  went  on : 
These  light-caught  Loves,  ere  you  could  sM 

Their  name  and  age,  were  gone  I 


1  Si  ggMtea  oy  :ne  tollowi^g  remark  of  Swift's :  —  "  The     ladlM  qwnd  tbeir  tinM  in  mtkini  imU,  mK  tai 
i«MDn  why  K>  fen  nurriages  are  bappy,  is,  Itacauae  yoani  '  ck^Mp" 


276 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


80  weak  poor  Cloe's  nets  were  wove, 
That,  though  she  charm'd  into  them 

New  game. each  hour,  the  youngest  Love 
Was  able  to  break  through  them. 
Come,  listen,  maids,  &c. 

Meanwhile,  young  Sue,  whose  cage  was  wrought 

Of  bars  too  strong  to  sever. 
One  Love  with  golden  pinions  caught. 

And  caged  him  there  forever ; 
Instructing,  thereby,  all  coquettes, . 

Whate'er  their  looks  or  ages, 
rhat,  though  'tis  pleasant  weaving  Nets, 

'Tis  wiier  to  make  Cages. 

Thus,  maidens,  thus  do  I  beguile 

The  task  your  fingers  ply. 
May  all  who  hear  like  Susan  smile, 

And  not,  like  Cloe,  sigh  ! 


WHEN  THROUGH  THE  PIAZZETTA. 

(Yekitiak  Aib.) 

When  through  the  Piazetta 

Night  breathes  her  cool  air, 
Then,  dearest  Ninetta, 

I'll  come  to  thee  there. 
Beneath  thy  ma.sk  shrouded, 

I'll  know  thee  afar. 
As  Love  knows,  though  clouded. 

His  own  Evening  Star. 

In  garb,  then,  resembling 

Some  gay  gondolier, 
m  whisper  thee,  trembling, 

"  Our  bark,  love,  is  near  : 
••  Now,  now,  while  there  hover 

"  Those  clouds  o'er  the  moon, 
*'  'Tvnll  waft  thee  safe  over 

"  Yon  silent  Lagoon." 


GO,  NOW,  AND  DREAM. 

(BiciLiAir  Aib.) 

Gk),  now,  and  dream  o'er  that  joy  in  thy  slum- 
ber— 

Moments  so  sweet  again  ne'er  shalt  thou  number. 

Of  Pain's  bitter  draught  the  flavor  ne'er  flies, 

While  Pleasure's  scarce  touches  the  lip  ere  it 
dies. 

Go,  then,  and  dream.  &c. 


That  moon,  which  hung  o'er  your  parting,  a* 

splendid. 
Often  will  shine  again,  bright  as  she  then  did  — 
But,  never  more  -vvill  the  beam  she  saw  bum 
In  those  happy  eyes,  at  your  meeting,  return. 
Go,  then,  and  dream,  &c. 


TAKE  HENCE  THE  BOWL. 

(NBAPOLiTAir  Aib.) 

Take  hence  the  bowl ;  —  though  Jeaniii({ 

Brightly  as  bowl  e'er  shone, 
O,  it  but  sets  me  dreaming 

Of  happy  days  now  gone. 
There,  in  its  clear  reflection. 

As  in  a  wizard's  glass. 
Lost  hopes  and  dead  aff'ection. 

Like  shades,  before  me  pass. 

Each  cup  I  drain  brings  hither 

Some  scene  of  bliss  gone  by ;  — 
Bright  lips,  too  bright  to  wither, 

Warm  hearts,  too  warm  to  die. 
Till,  as  the  dream  comes  o'er  me 

Of  those  long  vanish' d  years, 
Alas,  the  wine  before  me 

Seems  turning  all  to  tears ! 


FAREWELL,  THERESA! 

O'BNBTiAic  Aib.) 

Farewell,  Theresa  !  yon  cloud  that  over 

Heaven's  pale  night  star  gath'ring  we  see, 
Will  scarce  from  that  pure  orb  have  pass'd,  eri 
thy  lover 
Swift  o'er  the  wide  wave  shall  wander  from 
thee. 

Long,  like  that  dim  cloud,  I've  hung  around  thee, 

Dark'ning  thy  prospects,  sadd'ning  thy  brow ; 

With  gay  heart,  Theresa,  and  bright  cheek  ] 

found  thee  ; 

0,  think  how  changed,  love,  how  changed  an 

thou  now  ! 

But  here  I  free  thee :  like  one  awaking 

From  fearful  slumber,  thou  break' st  the  spell ; 

'Tis  over  —  the    moon,   too,    her    bondage  it 
breaking  — 
Past  are  the  dark  clouds  ;  Theresa,  farewell  I 


HOW   OFT,  WHEN  WATCHING   STARS. 

(Satotabo  Aib.) 

Opt,  when  the  watching  stare  grow  pale, 

And  round  me  sleeps  the  moonlight  scene, 
To  hear  a  flute  through  yonder  vale 

I  from  my  casement  lean. 
<  Come,  come,  my  love  I "  each  note  then  seems 

to  say, 
"  0  come,  my  love  !  the  night  wears  fast  away  1 " 
Never  to  mortal  ear 

Could  words,  though  warm  they  be, 
Speak  Passion's  language  half  so  clear 
As  do  those  notes  to  me ! 

Then  quick  my  own  light  lute  I  seek. 

And  strike  the  chords  with  loudest  swell ; 
And,  though  they  nought  to  others  speak. 

He  knows  their  language  well. 
"  I  come,  my  love  ! "  each  note  then  seems  to 

say, 
"  I  come,  my  love !  —  thine,  thine  till  break  of 
day." 
O,  weak  the  power  of  words. 
The  hues  of  painting  dim. 
Compared  to  what  those  simple  chords 
Then  say  and  paint  to  him  1 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SUMMER  BEE. 

(UCBliAH  AlB.) 

Whex  the  first  summer  bee 
O'er  the  young  rose  thall  hover, 
Then,  like  that  gay  rover, 
I'U  come  to  thee. 
lie  to  flowere,  I  to  lips,  full  of  sweets  to  the 

brim  — 
What  a  meeting,  what  a  meeting  for  me  and  for 
him! 
When  the  first  summer  bee,  &c. 

Then,  to  every  bright  tree 
In  the  garden  he'll  wander ; 
WhQo  I,  O,  much  fonder. 
Will  stay  with  thee. 
in  search  of  new  sweetness  through  thoosandi 

he'll  run» 
While  I  find  the  sweetness  of  thousands  in  one. 
Then,  to  every  bright  tree,  %o. 


THOUGH  'TIS  ALL  BXH   A  DREAM 

(Fuaca  Aia.) 

Though  'tis  all  but  a  dream  at  the  best. 
And  still,  when  happiest,  soonest  o'er. 
Yet,  even  in  a  dream,  to  be  bless'd 
Is  so  sweet,  that  I  ask  for  no  monu 

The  bosom  that  opes 

With  earliest  hopes. 
The  soonest  finds  those  hopea  ontnM ; 

As  flowen  that  first 

In  spring  time  burst 
The  earliest  Mrither  too  ! 

Ay  —  'tis  all  but  a  dream,  &o. 

Though  by  friendship  we  oft  are  deceived, 

And  find  love's  sunshine  soon  o'ercaat, 
Yet  friendship  will  still  be  believed, 
And  love  trusted  on  to  the  last. 

The  web  'mong  the  leaves 

The  spider  weaves 
Is  like  the  charm  Hope  hangs  o'er  : 

Though  often  she  seec 

'Tis  broke  by  the  brease. 
She  spins  the  bright  tissue  agaa  t. 

Ay  —  'tis  all  but  a  dream,  fco 


^VHEN  THE  WINE  CUP  IS  SMILING. 

(iTALIAJr  AlB.) 

Whev  the  wine  cup  is  smiling  before  tis. 

And  we  pledge  round  to  hearts  that  are  trui^ 
boy,  true. 
Then  the  sky  of  this  Ufe  opens  o'er  us. 

And  Heaven  gives  a  glimpse  of  its  blue. 
Talk  of  Adam  in  Eden  reclining. 

We  are  better,  far  better  off  thus,  boy,  Ihui 
For  him  but  tioo  bright  eyes  were  shining  — 

See,  what  numbers  are  sparkling  for  ut  I 

When  on  one  side  the  grape  juice  is  dancing, 

\Vhile  on    t'other   a   blue  eye  beams,  bo} 
beams, 
Tis  enough,  'twixt  the  wine  and  the  glancing, 

To  disturb  ev'n  a  saint  from  his  dreams. 
Yet,  though  life  like  a  river  is  flowing, 

I  care  not  how  fast  it  goes  on,  boy,  on. 
So  the  grape  on  its  bank  is  still  growing. 

And  Love  lights  the  waves  as  they  r«a 


WHERE  SHALL  WE  BURY  O  7K  SHAJaCR ; 

(NeapolitjUT  Aib.) 

Whebe  shall  we  bury  our  shame  ? 

Where,  in  what  desolate  place, 
Hide  t'ae  last  wreck  of  a  name 

Broken  and  stain'd  by  disgrace  ? 
Death  may  dissever  the  chain, 

Oppression  will  cease  when  we're  gone  ; 
But  the  dishonor,  the  stain, 

Die  as  we  may,  will  live  on. 

Was  it  for  this  we  sent  out 

Liberty's  cry  from  our  shore  ? 
Was  it  for  this  that  her  shout 

Thrill'd  to  the  world's  very  core  ? 
Thus  to  live  cowards  and  slaves  !  — 

O,  ye  free  hearts  that  lie  dead. 
Do  you  not,  ev'n  in  your  graves. 

Shudder,  as  o'er  you  we  tread  ? 


NEER  TAi>K  OF  WISDOM'S   GLOOMY 
SCHOOLS. 

(UAnSATTA  AlB.) 

Nb'er  talk  of  Wisdom's  gloomy  schools  ; 

Give  me  the  sage  who's  able 
To  draw  his  moral  thoughts  a»d  rules 

From  the  study  of  the  table  ;  — 
Who  learns  how  lightly,  fleetly  pass 

This  world  and  all  that's  in  it, 
From  the  bumper  that  but  crowns  his  glass. 

And  is  gone  again  next  minute  ! 

The  diamond  sleeps  within  the  mine, 

The  pearl  beneath  the  water ; 
While  Truth,  more  precious,  dwells  in  wine, 

The  grape's  own  rosy  daughter. 
And  n  me  can  prize  her  charms  like  him, 

O,  none  like  him  obtain  her, 
WliO  thus  can,  like  Leander,  swim 

Through  sparkling  floods  to  gain  her  ! 


HERE  SLEEPS  THE  BARD. 

(HlOHLAlTD  AlB.) 

Eere  sleeps  the  Bard  who  knew  so  well 
A.11  the  sweet  windings  of  Apollo's  shell ; 
Whether  its  music  roU'd  like  torrents  near. 
Or  died,  likfi  distant  streamlets,  on  the  ear. 


Sle«p,  sleep,  mute  bard ;  alike  unheeded  now 
Th<»  storm  and  zephyr  sweep  thy  lifeless  brow;- 
That  8*orr^,  whose  rush  is  like  thy  martieJ  lay 
That  breefe  wMch,  like  thy  love  song,  dies  away 


DO  NOT  SAY  THaT  LIKE  IS  WANLHG 

Do  not  say  that  life  i?  war'ng. 
Or  that  hope's  #»veet  day  is  s^t ; 

While  I've  thee  and  love  remaining. 
Life  is  in  th'  horizon  yet. 

Do  not  think  those  charms  are  flyinp 
Though  thy  roses  fade  and  fall ; 

Beauty  hath  a  grace  undjing, 
Which  in  thee  survives  them  alL 

Not  for  charms,  the  newest,  brightest 
That  on  other  cheeks  may  shine, 

Wctild  I  change  the  least,  the  slighte 
Th»,<  is  ling'ring  now  o'er  thine. 


THE  GAZELLE. 

Dost  thou  not  he«w  tht  silver  bell. 
Through  yonder  Urn**  trees  ringing 

'Tis  my  lady's  light  gazelle, 
To  me  her  love  thoughts  bringing^ 

All  the  while  that  silver  bell 
Around  his  dark  neck  ringing. 

See,  in  his  mouth  he  bears  a  wreath, 
My  love  hath  kiss'd  in  tjring ; 

O,  what  tender  thoughts  beneath 
Those  silent  flowers  are  Ij  ing,  — 

Hid  within  the  mystic  wreath. 
My  love  hath  kiss'd  in  tying  t 

Welcome,  dear  gazelle,  to  thee, 

And  joy  to  her,  the  fairest. 
Who  thus  hath  breathed  her  soul  to  ma^ 

In  every  leaf  thou  bearest ; 
Welcome,  dear  gazelle,  to  thee, 

And  joy  to  her  the  fairest ! 

Hail,  ye  living,  speaking  flowers, 
That  breathe  of  her  who  bound  ye  f 

O,  'twas  not  in  fields,  or  bowers, 
'Twas  on  her  lips,  she  found  ye ;  — 

Yes,  ye  blushing,  speaking  flowers, 
'Twas  on  her  lips  she  found  ye. 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


Vt 


NO  — LEAVE  MY  HEART  TO  REST. 

No  —  leave  my  heart  to  rest,  if  rest  it  may, 
When  youth,  and  love,  and  hope,  have  pass'd 

away. 
Could'st  thou,  when  summer  hours  are  fled. 
To  some  poor  leaf  that's  fall'n  and  dead. 
Bring  back  the  hue  it  wore,  the  scent  it  shed  i 
No  —  leave  this  heart  to  rest,  if  rest  it  may, 
WTjen  youth,  and  love,  and  nope,  have  pass'd 

away. 

}J,  had  I  met  thee  then,  when  life  was  bright, 
rhy  smQe  might  still  have  fed  its  tranquil  light ; 
But  now  thou  com'st  like  sunny  skies, 
Too  late  to  cheer  the  seaman's  eyes. 
When  wreck'd  and  lost  his  bark  before  him  lies  ! 
No  —  leave  this  heart  to  rest,  if  rest  it  may. 
Since  youth,  anrl  love,  and  hope,  have  pass'd 
away. 


WHERE  ARE  THE  VISIONS. 

■*  Where  are  the  visions  that  round  m«  once 
hover'd, 
**  Forms  that  shed  grace  from  their  shadows 
alone  ; 
"  Looks  fresh  as  light  from  a  star  just  discovered, 
"  And  voices  that  Music  might  take  for  her 
own?" 

Time,  while  I  spoke,  with  his  wings  resting  o'er 
me. 
Heard  me  say,  *'  Where  are  those  visions,  O 
where  i " 
And  pointing  his  wand  to  the  simset  Twfore  me. 
Said,  with  a  voice  like  the  hollow  wind, 
••  There." 

Fondly  I  look'd,  when  the  wizard  had  spoken. 
And  there,  mid  the  dim-shining  ruins  of  day, 

Baw,  by  their  light,  like  a  talisman  broken. 
The  last  golden  fragments  of  hope  melt  away. 


WIND  "THY  HORN,  MY  HUNTER  BOY. 

Wind  thy  horn,  my  hunter  boy. 
And  leave  thy  lute's  inglorious  sighs  ; 

Bunting  is  the  hero's  joy. 
Till  war  his  nobler  game  supplies. 

Hark  I  the  hound  bells  ringing  sweet. 

While  hunters  shout,  and  the  woods  repeat, 

Hilli-ho!   HUU-ho! 


Wind  again  thy  cheerful  horn. 
Till  echo,  faint  with  answering,  diet ; 

Bum,  bright  torches,  bum  till  mom. 
And  lead  us  where  the  wild  boy  liet. 

Hark !  the  cry  "  He's  found,  he's  found," 

While  hill  and  valley  our  shouts  resound, 

Hilli-ho!  HUUh* 

O,  GUARD   OUR  AFFECTION. 

O,  OT7AKD  our  affection,  nor  e'er  let  it  feel 
The  blight  that  this  world  o'er  the  warmeat  wO 

steal : 
"While  the  faith  of  all  round  us  is  Cading  or  patC, 
Let  ours,  ever  green,  keep  its  bloom  to  the  last 

Far  safer  for  Love  'tis  to  wake  and  to  weep. 
As  he  used  in  his  prime,  than  go  smiling  to  sleep ; 
For  death  on  his  slumber,  cold  death  follows  fast, 
While  the  love  that  is  wakeful  lives  on  to  the  last. 

And  though,  as  Time  gathers  his  clouds  o'er  our 

head,  ' 
A  shade  somewhat  darker  o'er  life  they  nay 

spread. 
Transparent,  at  least,  be  the  shadow  they  cast. 
So  that  Love's  soften'd  light  may  shine  through 

to  the  last. 

SLUMBER,   O   SLUMBER. 

'*  Sluhber,  O  slumber ;  if  sleeping  thou  mak'it 
"My  heart  beat  so  wildly,  I'm  lost  'I  tium 
■wak'st." 
Thus  sung  I  to  a  maiden. 

Who  slept  one  summer's  day. 
And,  like  a  flower  o'erladen 
With  too  much  sunshine,  lay. 
Slumber,  O  slumber,  &c. 

"  Breathe  not,  O  breathe  not,  ye  winds,  o'er  Uf 

cheeks ; 
« If  mute  thus  she  charm  me,  Fm  loat  when  Bh4 
speaks.*' 
Thus  sing  L  while,  awaking, 

She  murmxirs  words  that  seen 
As  if  her  lips  were  taking 
Farewell  of  some  sweet  dream. 
Breathe  not,  O  breathe  not,  tet. 


BRING  THE   BRIGHT   GARLANDS 
HITHER. 

Briito  the  bright  garlands  hither. 
Ere  yet  a  leaf  is  dying: 


If  80  soon  they  must  wither, 
Ours  be  their  last  sweet  sighing. 

Hark,  that  low  dismal  chime  ! 

'Tis  the  dreary  voice  of  Time. 

O,  bring  beauty,  bring  roses, 
Dring  all  that  yet  is  ours ; 

Ijet  life's  day,  as  it  closes. 

Shine  to  the  last  through  flowers. 

Haste,  ere  the  Dowl's  declining. 

Drink  of  it  now  or  never ; 
Now,  while  Beauty  is  shining. 

Love,  or  she's  lost  forever. 
Hark  !  again  that  dull  chime, 
Tis  the  dreary  voice  of  Time. 
O,  if  life  be  a  torrent, 

Down  to  oblivion  going. 
Like  this  cup  be  its  current, 

Bright  to  the  last  drop  flowing  ! 


IF  IN   LOVING,  SINGING. 

If  in  loving,  singing,  night  and  day 

We  could  trifle  merrily  life  away, 

Like  atoms  dancing  in  the  beam. 

Like  day  flies  skimming  o'er  the  stream. 

Or  summer  blossoms,  born  to  sigh 

Their  sweetness  out,  and  die  — 

How  brilliant,  thoughtless,  side  by  side, 

Thou  and  I  could  make  our  minutes  glide  I 

No  atoms  ever  glanced  so  bright. 

No  day  flies  over  danced  so  light. 

Nor  summer  blossoms  mix'd  their  sigh, 

So  close,  as  thou  and  I  1 


THOU  LOV'ST  NO  MORE. 

Too  plain,  alas,  my  doom  is  spoken, 
Nor  canst  thou  veil  the  sad  truth  o'er  ; 

Thy  heart  is  changed,  thy  vow  is  broken. 
Thou  lov'st  no  more  —  thou  lov'st  no  more. 

Though  kindly  still  those  eyes  behold  me. 
The  smile  is  gone,  which  once  they  wore  ; 

Though  fondly  still  those  arms  infold  me, 
'Tis  not  the  same  —  thou  lov'st  no  more. 

Too  long  my  dream  of  bliss  believing, 
I've  thought  thee  all  thou  wert  before ; 

But  now  —  alas  !  there's  no  deceiving, 
'Tis  all  too  plain,  thou  lov'st  no  more. 

3,  thou  as  soon  the  dead  couldst  waken, 
As  lost  affection's  life  restore, 


Give  peace  to  her  that  is  forsaken, 
Or  bring  back  him  who  loves  no  more. 


WHEN  ABROAD   IN  THE  WORLD. 

When  abroad  in  the  world  thou  appearest. 
And  the  young  and  the  lovely  are  there, 
To  my  heart  while  of  all  thou'rt  the  dearest 
To  my  eyes  thou'rt  of  all  the  most  fair. 
They  pass,  one  by  one, 

Like  waves  of  the  sea. 
That  say  to  the  Sun, 

"  See,  how  fair  we  can  be." 
But  Where's  the  light  like  thine, 
In  sun  or  shade  to  shine  ? 
No  —  no,  'mong  them  all,  there  is  nothing  lil 
thee. 

Nothing  like  thee. 

"  Oft,  of  old,  without  farewell  or  warning. 

Beauty's  self  used  to  steal  from  the  skies ; 

Fling  a  mist    roimd    her    head,  some   finw 

morning. 

And  post  down  to  earth  in  disguise  ; 

But,  no  matter  what  shroud 

Around  her  might  be. 
Men  peep'd  through  the  cloud. 
And  whisper' d,  "'Tis  She." 
So  thou,  where  thousands  are, 
Shin'st  forth  the  only  star,  — 
Yes,  yes,  'mong  them  all,  there  ia  nothing  lika 
thee, 

Nothing  like  thee. 


KEEP  THOSE  EYES  STILL  PURELY 
MINE. 

Keep  those  eyes  still  purely  mine, 

Though  far  oS"  I  be  : 
When  on  others  most  they  shine, 

Then  think  they're  tum'd  on  me, 

Should  those  lips  as  now  respond 

To  sweet  minstrelsy, 
When  their  accents  seem  most  fond. 

Then  think  they're  breathed  for  mei 

Make  what  hearts  thou  wUt  thy  own, 

If  when  all  on  thee 
Fix  their  charmed  thoughts  alone, 

'J'hou  think'st  the  while  on  me. 


NATIOXAL  AIRS. 


»1 


HOPE  COMES  AGAIN. 

HoPB  comes  again,  to  this  heart  long  a  stranger, 
Once  more  she  sings  me  her  flattering  strain  ; 

But  hush,  gentle   siren  —  for,  ah,  there's  lea* 
danger 
[r  ttiU  sufTring  on,  than  in  hoping  again. 

l<ong,  long,  in  sorrow,  too  deep  for  repining, 

(tloomy,  but  tranquil,  tliis  bosom  hath  lain  ; 
And  joy   coming    now,   like  a   sudden    light 
shining 
O'er  eyelids  long  darken'd,  would  bring  me 
but  pain. 

Ply  then,  ye  visions,  that  Hope  would  shed  o'er 
me  ; 

Lost  to  the  future,  my  sole  chance  of  rest 
Now  lies  not  in  dreaming  of  bliss  that's  before  me. 

But,  ah  —  in  forgetting  how  once  I  was  blest. 


0  SAY,  THOU  BEST  AND  BRIGHTEST. 

O  SAT,  thou  best  and  brightest. 

My  first  love  and  my  last. 
When  he,  whom  now  thou  slightest. 

From  life's  dark  scene  hath  pass'd. 
Will  kinder  thoughts  then  move  thee  ? 

Will  pity  wake  one  thrill 
For  him  who  lived  to  love  thee, 

And  dying  loved  thee  stUl  ? 

If  when,  that  hour  recalling 

From  which  he  dates  his  woes. 
Thou  fecl'st  a  teardrop  falling. 

Ah,  blush  not  while  it  flows : 
But,  nil  the  past  forgiving. 

Bend  gently  o'er  his  shrine. 
And  say,  "  This  heart,  when  living, 

"  With  all  its  faults,  was  mine." 


WHEN  NIGHT  BRINGS  THE  HOUR. 

When  night  brings  the  hour 

Of  starlight  and  joy. 
There  comes  to  my  bower 

A  fairy-wing'd  boy ; 
With  eyes  so  bright. 

So  full  of  wild  arts, 
Like  nets  of  light. 

To  tangle  young  hearts ; 
With  lips,  in  whose  keeping 

Love's  secret  may  dwell, 
86 


Like  Zephyr  asleep  in 

Some  rosy  sea  sheU. 
Guess  who  he  is. 

Name  but  his  name. 
And  his  best  kiss. 

Fox  reward,  you  may  «l*i— 

Wliere'er  o'er  the  ground 

He  prints  his  light  feet. 
The  flowers  there  are  found 

Most  shining  and  sweet : 
His  looks,  as  soil 

As  lightning  in  May, 
Though  dangerous  oft. 

Ne'er  wound  but  in  play : 
And  O,  when  his  wings 

Have  brush'd  o'er  my  lyre, 
You'd  fancy  its  strings 

Were  turning  to  fire. 
Guess  who  he  is. 

Name  but  his  name. 
And  his  best  kiss. 

For  reward,  you  may  claim. 


LIKE  ONE  WHO,  DOOM'D. 
Like  one  who,  doom'd  o'er  distant  seu 

His  weary  path  to  measure. 
When  home  at  length,  with  fav'ring  breeze^ 

He  brings  the  far-sought  treasure ; 

His  ship,  in  sight  of  shore,  goes  down. 
That  shore  to  which  he  hasted  ; 

And  all  the  wealth  he  thought  his  own. 
Is  o'er  the  waters  wasted ! 

Like  him,  this  heart,  through  many  a  traoA 

Of  toil  and  sorrow  straying. 
One  hope  alone  brought  fondly  back. 

Its  toil  and  grief  repaying. 

Like  him,  alas,  I  see  that  rpy 

Of  hope  before  me  perish. 
And  one  dark  minute  sweep  away 

What  years  were  given  to  cherish. 


FEAR  NOT  THAT,  WHILE  AROUND 
THEE. 

Fear  not  that,  while  around  the* 

Life's  varied  blessings  pour. 
One  sigh  of  hers  shall  wound  thee, 

^Vho8e  smile  thou  seck'st  no  man. 
No,  dead  and  cold  forever 

Let  our  past  love  remain  ; 


382 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


Once  gone,  its  spirit  never 
Shall  haunt  thy  rest  again. 

May  the  new  ties  that  bind  thee 

Far  sweeter,  happier  prove, 
Nor  e'er  of  me  remind  thee. 

But  by  their  truth  and  love. 
Think  how,  asleep  or  waking, 

Thy  image  haunts  me  yet : 
Eat,  how  this  heart  is  breaking 

For  thy  own  peace  forget. 


WHEN  LOVE  IS  KIND. 

When  Love  is  kind, 
Cheerful  and  free, 

Love's  sure  to  find 
Welcome  from  me. 

But  when  Love  brings 
Heartache  or  pang. 

Tears,  and  such  things  — 
Love  may  go  hang  ! 

If  Love  can  sigh 

For  one  alone. 
Well  pleased  am  I 

To  be  that  one. 

But  should  I  see 
Love  giv'n  to  rove 

To  two  or  three, 
Then  —  good  by,  Love  I 

Love  must,  in  short, 
Keep  fond  and  true. 

Through  good  report, 
And  evil  too. 

Else,  here  I  swear, 
Young  Love  may  go. 

For  aught  I  care  — 
To  Jericho. 


THE  GARLAND  I   SEND  THEE. 

tHB  Garland  I  send  thee  was  cull'd  from  those 

bowers 
Where  thou  and  I  wander'd  in  long-vanish'd 

hours : 


Not  a  leaf  or  a  blossom  its  bloom  here  displays, 
But  bears  some  remembrance  of  those  happj 
days. 

The  roses  were  gathered  by  that  garden  gite 
Where   our    meetings,   though  early,   seeUii'l 

always  too  late  ; 
Where    ling'ring  full  oft  through  a  summer 

night's  moon. 
Our  partings,  though  late,  appeared  alwsy*  too 

soon. 

The  rest  were  all  cull'd  from  the  banks  of  thai 

glade. 
Where,  watching  the  sunset,   so  often  we'va 

stray' d, 
And  mourn' d,  as  the  time  went,  that  Love  had 

no  power 
To  bind  in  his  chain  even  one  happy  hour. 


HOW  SHALL  I  WOO? 

Jr  I  speak  to  thee  in  friendship's  name. 

Thou  think'st  I  speak  too  coldly  ; 
If  I  mention  Love's  devoted  flame. 

Thou  say'st  I  speak  too  boldly. 
Between  these  two  unequal  fires. 

Why  doom  me  thus  to  hover  ? 
I'm  a  friend,  if  such  thy  heart  requires. 

If  more  thou  seek'st,  a  lover. 
Which  shall  it  be  ?    How  shall  I  woo  ? 
Fair  one,  choose  between  the  two. 

Though  the  wings  of  Love  will  brightly  play, 

When  first  he  comes  to  woo  thee. 
There's  a  chance  that  he  may  fly  away 

As  fast  as  he  flies  to  thee. 
While  Friendship,  though  on  foot  she  coma 

No  flights  of  fancy  trying. 
Will,  therefore,  oft  be  found  at  home. 

When  Love  abroad  is  flying. 
Which  shall  it  be  i    How  shall  I  woo .' 
Dear  one,  choose  between  the  t»^ 

If  neither  feeling  suits  thy  heart. 

Let's  see,  to  please  thee,  whether 
We  may  not  learn  some  precious  art 

To  mix  their  charms  together ; 
One  feeling,  still  more  sweet,  to  form 

From  two  so  sweet  already  — 
A  friendship  that  like  love  is  warsi, 

A  love  like  friendship  steady. 
Thus  let  it  be,  thus  let  me  woo. 
Dearest,  thus  we'll  join  the  two- 


SACRED   SONGS. 


»4 


SPRING  AND  AUTUMN. 

KvBBT  season  hath  its  pleasures  ; 

Spring  may  boast  her  flowery  prime, 
Yet  the  vineyard's  ruby  treasures 

Brighten  Autumn's  sob'rer  time. 
Sc  Life's  year  begins  and  closes  ; 

Days,  though  short'ning,  still  can  shine  ; 
What  though  youth  gave  love  and  roses, 

Age  still  leaves  us  friends  and  wine. 

Phillis,  when  she  might  have  caught  me. 

All  the  Spring  looked  coy  and  shy. 
Yet  herself  in  Autumn  sought  me, 

^\'^len  the  flowers  were  all  gone  by. 
Ah,  too  late  ;  —  she  found  her  lover 

Calm  and  free  beneath  his  vine, 
Drinking  to  the  Spring  time  over, 

In  his  best  autumnal  wine. 

rhus  may  we,  as  years  are  flying, 
To  their  flight  our  pleasures  suit. 

Nor  regret  the  blossoms  dying, 
While  we  still  may  taste  the  frmt. 

O,  while  days  like  this  are  ours, 
Where's  the  lip  that  dares  repine } 


Spring  may  take  our  love*  and  flow'tt. 
So  Autumn  leaves  us  friends  and  wiuk 


LOVE  ALONE. 

Lp  thou  would'st  have  thy  charms  enchant  oca 

eyes, 
First  win  our  hearts,  for  there  thy  empire  Jes  . 
Beauty  in  vain  would  mount  a  heartless  throne 
Her  Right  Divine  is  given  by  Ix)ve  alone. 

What  would  the  rose  with  all  her  pride  be  worth, 
Were  there  no  sun  to  call  her  brightness  forth  f 
Maidens,    unloved,  like    flowers    in  darkneai 

thrown. 
Wait  but  that  light,  which  comes  from  Love 

alone. 

Fair  as  thy  charms  in  yonder  glass  appear, 
Tnist  not  their  bloom,  they'll  fade  from  year  t« 

year : 
Wouldst  thou  they  still  should  shine  as  first 

they  shone. 
Go,  fix  thy  mirror  in  Love's  eyes  alone. 


SACRED    SONGS. 


EDWARD    TUITE    DALTON,    ESQ. 

THIS  FiaST  NUMBBB 
or 

SACRED    SONGS 

la  nrtcBiBSD  bt  bis  sixcibe  xhd  ArrEcrioxATB  vbibkd, 

THOMAS  M(  ORE. 
Mt^field  CottAge,  Askbna-ne, 

May,  1816. 

THOU  ART,   O   GOD. 

(Ai*.  —  Ukbhowb.!) 

■■  Tlie  day  te  thine  ;  lU  xigbt  alio  b  thin*  t  thou  Mrt 
prepared  the  light  am)  U>«  «ili. 

"  Thou  hast  net  all  t^e  vorden  of  tb«  Mrth  t  tboa  birt 
Siade  ■umnier  aiid  vrkiCci  ■  —  Psalm  Ixxiv.  16, 17. 

Thou  art,  O  Ono,  the  life  and  light 
Of  all  Ol*  wundrous  world  we  see ; 

1  1  h*y.  tk.vd  \I^t  thifi  air  ii  by  the  late  Mn.  >  beridaa. 
U  ie  3UV 2  V  t)  a  ».«utiful  old  words,  *'  I  do  confew  tboa'R 

HOOoIX  dhd  'Bk." 


Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night. 

Are  but  reflections  c^ght  from  Thee. 
Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine. 
And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  lliine  f 

When  Day,  with  farewell  beam,  delays 
Among  the  opening  clouds  of  Even, 

And  we  can  almost  think  we  gaze 
Through  golden  vistas  into  Heaven  — 

Those  hues,  that  make  the  Sun's  decline 

So  soft,  so  radiant,  Loeo  I  are  Thine. 

When  Night,  with  wings  of  starr)  gloom, 
O'ershadows  all  the  earth  and  skies. 

Like    some    dark,    beauteoiu    bird,    whose 
plume 
Is  sparkling  with  nnnumber'd  eyes  — 

That  sacred  gloom,  those  fires  divine, 

So  grand,  so  countless,  Lobd  !  are  Thine 

• 
When  youthful  Spring  around  us  breath«b 
Tby  Spirit  warms  her  fragrant  sigh ; 


W4                                                         SACRED 

SONGS 

And  every  flower  the  Summer  wreathes 

Her  love  thy  fairest  heritage,* 

Is  bom  beneath  that  kindling  eye. 

Her  power  thy  glory's  throne.* 

Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine, 

Till  evil  came,  and  blighted 

And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  Thine. 

Thy  long-lov'd  olive  tree ;  *  — 

And  Salem's  shrines  were  lighted 

' 

For  other  gods  than  Thee. 

THE  BIRD,  LET  LOOSE. 

Then  sunk  the  star  of  Solyma  — 

(AiB.— Bbbthotkn.) 

Then  pass'd  her  glory's  day. 

The  bird,  let  loose  in  eastern  skies,' 

Like  heath  that,  in  the  wilderness,* 

When  hastening  fondly  home, 

The  wild  wind  whii'ls  away. 

Ne'er  stoops  to  earth  her  wing,  nor  flies 

Silent  and  waste  her  bowers. 

Where  idle  warblers  roam. 

Where  once  the  mighty  trod. 

But  high  she  shoots  through  air  and  light, 

And  sunk  those  guilty  towers. 

Above  all  low  delay, 

While  Baal  reign' d  as  God. 

Where  nothing  earthly  bounds  her  flight, 

Nor  shadow  dims  her  way. 

"  Go"  —  said  the  Lord  — "Ye  Conquerors! 

"  Steep  in  her  blood  your  swords, 

So  grant  me,  God,  from  every  care 

"  And  raze  to  earth  her  battlements,* 

And  stain  of  passion  free. 

"  For  they  are  not  the  Lord's. 

Aloft,  through  Virtue's  purer  air, 

"  TUl  Zion's  mournful  daughter                            ' 

To  hold  my  course  to  Thee  ! 

"  O'er  kindred  bones  shall  tread. 

No  sin  to  cloud,  no  lure  to  stay 

"  And  Hinnom's  vale  of  slaughter  ' 

My  Soul,  as  home  she  springs ;  — 

"  Shall  hide  but  half  her  dead  !  " 

Thy  Sunshine  on  her  joyful  way, 

Thy  Freedom  in  her  wings  ! 

. 

WHO  IS  THE  MAID' 

FALLEN  IS  THY  THRONE. 

BT.  jesohe's  love.* 

(AiB.  — Mabtibi.) 

(AiB.  —  Beeihotkv.) 

Fali'k  is  thy  Throne,  0  Israel ! 

Who  is  the  Maid  my  spirit  seoks. 

Silence  is  o'er  thy  plains  ; 

Through  cold  reproof  and  slander's  blight  f 

Thy  dwellings  aU  lie  desolate, 

Has  she  Love's  roses  on  her  cheeks  ? 

Thy  children  weep  in  chains. 

Is  hers  an  eye  of  this  world's  light  ? 

Where  are  the  dews  that  fed  thee 

No  —  wan  and  sunk  with  midnight  prayer 

On  Etham's  barren  shore  ? 

Are  the  pale  looks  of  her  I  love  ; 

That  fire  from  Heaven  which  led  thee 

Or  if,  at  times,  a  light  be  there. 

Now  lights  thy  path  no  more. 

Its  beam  is  kindled  from  above. 

Lord  !  thou  didst  love  Jerusalem  — 

I  chose  not  her,  my  heart's  elect, 

Once  she  was  all  thy  own  ; 

From  those  who  seek  their  Maker'*  shrme 

1  The  carrier  pigeon,  it  is  well  known,  flies  at  an  elevated 

T  "  Therefore,  behold,  the  days  come,  saith  the  Loud,  thai 

Utoh,  in  order  to  surmount  every  obstacle  between  her  and 

it  shall  no  more  be  called  Tophet,  nor  the  Valley  of  the  Son 

ihe  place  to  which  she  is  destined. 

of  Hinnom,  but  the  Valley  of  Slaughter;  for  they  shall  bury 

*  "  I  have  left  mine  heritage ;  I  have  given  the  dearly 

in  Tophet  till  there  be  no  place."  —  Jer.  vii.  32. 

beloved  of  my  soul  into  the  hand  of  her  enemies."— ./ere- 

*  These  lines  were  suggested  by  a  passage  in  one  of  St 

miah,  xii.  7. 

Jerome's  Letters,  replying  to  some  calumnious  remarks  that 

»  "  Do  not  disgrace  Jie  throne  of  thy  glory." — Jer.  xiv.  21. 

had  been  circulated  respecting  his  intimacy  with  the  matron 

*  "  The  Lord  called  thy  name  a  green  olive  tree ;  fair 

Paula:  — "  Numquid  me  vestes  series,  nitentes  gemmee, 

ind  of  goodly  fruit,"  ti.c—Jcr.  xi.  16. 

picta  facies,  aut  auri  rapuit  ambitio  ?    Nulla  fuit  alia  Roma 

(  "For  he  shall  be  like  the  heath  in  the  desert."— ^er. 

matronarum,  qua  meara  possit  edomare  mentem,  nisi  la» 

ivu.6. 

gens  atque  jejunan^  fletu  pene  cecata."  —  EpisL  "  8i  liAi 

«  •'  Take  away  he«  battlements ;  for  they  are  not  the 

putem." 

Fjoixi'i."  —Jer.  »  10. 

SACRED   SONGS. 


281 


In  gems  and 'garlands  proudly  deck'd, 
As  if  themselves  were  things  divine. 

No  —  Heaven  but  faintly  warms  the  breast 
That  beats  beneath  a  broider'd  veil  j 

\.nd  she  who  comes  in  glittering  vest 
To  mourn  her  frailty,  still  is  frail.' 

Not  so  the  faded  form  I  prize 

And  love,  because  its  bloom  is  gone  ; 
The  glory  in  those  sainted  eyes 

Is  all  the  grace  her  brow  puts  on. 
And  ne'er  was  Beauty's  dawn  so  bright, 

So  touching  as  that  form's  decay. 
Which,  like  the  altar's  trembling  light, 

In  holy  lustre  wastes  away. 


THIS   WORLD    IS    ALL   A   FLEETING 
SHOW. 

(Al«.  —  STBTEKiOir.) 

This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show, 

For  man's  illusion  given  ; 
The  smiles  of  Joy,  the  tears  of  Woe, 
Deceitful  shine,  deceitful  flow  — 

There's  nothing  true  but  Heaven  ! 

And  false  the  light  on  Glory's  plume. 

As  fading  hues  of  Even ; 
And  Love  and  Hope,  and  Boaut3r's  bloom, 
^  Are  blossoms  gather'd  for  the  tomb  — 

There's  nothing  bright  but  Heaven  ! 

Poor  wanderers  of  a  stormy  day, 

From  wave  to  wave  we're  driven. 

And  Fancy's  flash,  and  Reason's  ray. 

Serve  but  to  light  the  troubled  way  — 

There's  nothing  calm  but  Heaven. 


0  "raOU  WHO  DRY'ST  THE  MOURNER'S 
TEAR. 

(Ai«.  — Hatdit.) 
"  He  bealeth  the  broken  in  heart,  and  bindeth  up  tibeir 
•rounds  "  —  Psalm  cxivii.  3. 

0  Thotj  who  dry'st  the  mourner's  tear. 
How  dark  this  world  would  be. 

If,  when  deceived  and  wounded  here. 
We  could  not  fly  to  Thee  I 

1  Ot»  yap  rpvffo^optiv  rrjv  iatpvovoav  oti. —  Ckrft^it, 
HomH.  8,  in  EpitL  ad  Tim. 

»  This  second  verse,  which  I  wrote  lonft  after  the  first,  al- 
kiaes  M  the  fa>  of  a  very  lovely  and  amiable  (firl,  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  late  Colonel  Baiiibrigee,  who  waa  married  in  A«h- 
bo«me  church,  October  31,  1815,  and  died  of  a  fever  in  a 
%w  weeka  after:  the  sound  of  her  mam»«e  belli  aeenMd 


The  friends  who  in  our  sunshine  livew 

When  winter  comes,  are  flown  ; 
And  he  who  has  but  tears  to  give. 

Must  weep  those  tears  alone. 
But  Thou  wilt  heal  that  broken  heart* 

Which,  like  the  plants  that  '.hrow 
Their  fr^ranec  from  the  wounded  p«rtt 

Breathes  sweetness  out  of  wo« 

When  joy  no  longer  soothes  or  cbe«n. 

And  even  the  hope  that  threw 
A  moment's  sparkle  o'er  our  tean, 

Is  dimm'd  and  vanish'd  too, 
O,  who  would  bear  life's  stormy  doom* 

Did  not  thy  Wing  of  Love 
Come,  brightly  wafting  through  the  gloom 

Our  Peace  branch  from  above  ? 
Then  sorrow,  touch'd  by  Thee,  grows  bright 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray ; 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 

We  never  saw  by  day ! 


WEEP  NOT  FOR  THOSE. 

(Alt.  —  Atisos.) 

Weep  not  for  those  whom  the  veil  of  the  tomt, 
In  life's  happy  morning,  hath  hid  from  otu 
eyes, 
Ere  sin  threw  a  blight  o'er  the  spirif  ■  young 
bloom. 
Or  earth  had  profaned  what  was  bom  for  the 
skies. 
Death  chill'd  the  feir  fountain,  ere  sorrow  had 
Btain'd  it ; 
'Twas  frozen  in  all  the  pure  light  of  its  course, 
And  but  sleeps  till  the  sunshine  of  Heaven  hu 
unchain'd  it. 
To  water  that  Eden  where  first  was  its  source. 
Weep  not  for  those  whom  the  veil  of  the  tomb. 
In  life's  happy  morning,  hath  hid  from  ra» 
eyes, 
Ere  sin  threw  a  blight  o'er  the  spirit's  young 
bloom. 
Or  earth  had  profaned  what  was  bora  for  th# 
skies. 

Monrn  not  for  her,  the  young  Bride  of  tha  Vale,* 
Our  gayest  and  loveliest,  lost  to  us  now, 

■eaiceljr  out  of  our  ears  when  we  beard  of  h^i  leath.  tt*t 
ing  her  last  delirium  nhe  sung  several  hymn*,  in  a  vote* 
even  clearer  and  sweeter  than  usual,  and  among  them  wers 
■ome  fh>m  the  pivMnt  collection,  (parUoiIarty,  "  T*her»li 
nothing  bright  but  Heaven,")  which  this  very  InterwttoS 
girl  had  often  heard  me  sing  during  the  i 


Era  life's  early  lustre  had  time  to  grow  pale, 
And  the  garland  of  Love  was  yet  fresh  on  her 
brow. 
0,  then  was  her  moment,  dear  spirit,  for  flying 
From  tliis  gloomy  world,  while  its  gloom  was 
unknown  — 
And  the  wild  hymns  she  warbled  so  sweetly,  in 
dying, 
Were  echoed  in  Heaven  by  lips  like  her  own. 
Vv'eep  not  for  her  —  in  her  spring  time  she  flew 
T;  foiat  land  where  the  wings  of  the  soul  are 
unfurl'd ; 
And  now,  like  a  star  beyond  evening's  cold  dew. 
Looks  radiantly  down  on  the  tears  of  this 
world. 


IHE  TURF  SHALL  BE  MY  FRAGRANT 

SHRINE. 

(AlB.  —  STE  VEKSOH^.) 

The  turf  shall  be  my  fragrant  shrine  ; 
My  temple,  Lord  I  that  Arch  of  thine  ; 
My  censer's  breath  the  mountain  airs, 
And  silent  thoughts  my  only  prayers.' 

My  choir  shall  be  the  moonlight  waves. 
When  murmuring  homeward  to  their  caves. 
Or  when  the  stillness  of  the  sea, 
Even  more  than  music,  breathes  of  Thee  ! 

I'll  seek,  by  day,  some  glade  unknown, 
All  light  and  silence,  like  thy  Throne ; 
And  the  pale  stars  shall  be,  at  night, 
The  only  eyes  that  watch  my  rite. 

Thy  Heaven,  on  which  'tis  bliss  to  look. 
Shall  be  my  pure  and  shining  book. 
Where  I  shall  read,  in  words  of  flame, 
The  glories  of  thy  wondrous  name. 

I'll  read  thy  anger  in  the  rack 

That  clouds  a  while  the  daybeam's  track  ; 

Tliy  mercy  in  the  azure  hue 

Of  sunny  brightness,  breaking  through. 

There's  nothing  bright,  above,  below, 
From  flowers  that  bloom  to  stars  that  glow. 
But  in  its  light  my  soul  can  see 
Some  feature  of  thy  Deity  : 

I  Fii  orant  tacit*. 

I  I  have  so  much  altered  the  character  of  this  air,  which 
8  t'rom  the  beginning  of  one  of  Avison's  old-fashioned  con- 
tertua,  that,  without  this  acknowle'Igment,  it  could  hardly, 

think,  be  recognized 


There's  nothing  dark,  below,  above, 
But  in  its  gloom  I  trace  thy  Love, 
And  meekly  wait  that  moment,  whea 
Thy  touch  shall  turn  all  bright  again  ! 


SOUND  THE  LOUD  TIMBREL 
'    hibiam's  sono. 

(AlB.  — ATISOK.S) 

'•  And  Miriam  the  prophetess,  the  sister  of  Afiron,  took  4 
timbrel  in  her  hand  ;  and  all  the  women  went  out  after  her, 
with  timbrels  and  with  dances."  —  Ezod.  xv.  20. 

Sound  the  loud  Timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea  ! 
Jehovah  has  triumph' d  —  his  people  are  free. 
Sing  —  for  the  pride  of  the  Tyrant  is  broken. 
His  chariots,  his  horsemen,  all  splendid  and 
brave  — 
How  vain  was  their  boast,  for  the  Lord  hath 
but  spoken. 
And  chariots  and  horsemen  are  sunk  in  the 
wave. 
Sound  the  loud  Timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea  ; 
Jehovah  has  triumph'd  —  his  people  are  free. 

Praise  to  the  Conqueror,  praise  to  the  Lord  ! 
His  word  was  our  arrow,  his  breath  was  oui 

sword.  — 
Who  shall  return  to  tell  Egypt  the  story 

Of  those  she  sent  forth  in  the  hour  of  her 

pride  ? 
For  the  Lord  hath  look'd  out  from  his  pillar  of 

glory,' 
And  all  her  brave  thousands  are  dash'd  in  ihe 

tide. 
Sound  the  loud  Timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea  1 
Jehovah  has  triumph'd  —  his  people  are  free  ! 


GO,  LET  ME  WEEP. 

(AlB.  —  Stevbksok.) 

Go,  let  me  weep  —  there's  bliss  in  tears. 
When  he  who  sheds  them  inly  feels 

Some  lingering  stain  of  early  years 
Effaced  by  every  drop  that  steals. 

The  fruitless  showers  of  worldly  woe 
Fall  dark  to  earth  and  never  rise  ; 

»  "  And  it  came  to  pass,  that,  in  the  morning  watch,  trie 
Lord  looked  unto  the  host  of  the  Egyptians,  through  th« 
pillar  of  fire  and  of  the  cloud,  and  troubled  the  host  of  th« 
Egyptians."  —  Exod.  xiv.  24. 


While  tears  that  from  repentance  flow, 
In  bright  exhalement  reach  the  skies. 
Go,  let  me  weep. 

Leave  me  to  sigh  o'er  hours  that  flew 

More  idly  than  the  summer's  wind, 
And,  while  they  pass'd,  a  fragrance  threw, 

But  left  no  trace  of  sweets  behind.  — 
The  warmest  sigh  that  pleasure  heaves 

Is  cold,  is  faint  to  those  that  swell 
The  heart,  where  piire  repentance  grieves 

O'er  huurs  of  pleasure,  loved  too  welL 
Leave  me  to  sigh. 


COME  NOT,   O  LORD. 

(AlB.— Ratdx.) 

Comb  not,  O  Lord,  in  the  dread  robe  of  splendor 

Thou  wor'st  on  the  Mount,  in  the  day  of 

thine  ire ; 

Come  veil'd  in  those  shadows,  deep,  a\(-ful,  but 

tender. 

Which  Mercy  flings  over  thy  features  of  fire  I 

Ia)ud,  thou  rememb'rest  the  night,  when  thy 
Nation ' 
Stood   fronting  her  Foe  by  the  red-rolling 
stream ; 
O'er  Egypt  thy  pillar  shed  dark  desolation, 
'While  Israel  bask'd  all  the  night  in  its  beam. 

Bo,  when  the  dread  clouds  of  anger  infold  Thee, 
From  us,  in  thy  mercy,  the  dark  side  remove  ; 

While  shrouded  in  terrors  the  guilty  behold 
Thee, 
V,  turn  upon  us  the  mild  light  of  thy  Love  1 


WERE   NOT   THE    SINFUL  MARY'S 
TEARS. 

(Aic  — STKTEHaoir.) 

Webb  not  the  sinful  Mary's  tears 

An  offering  worthy  Heaven, 
When  o'er  the  faults  of  former  years, 

She  wept  —  and  was  forgiven  ? 

When,  bringing  every  balmy  sweet 
Her  day  of  luxury  stored, 

t  "  And  it  came  between  the  camp  of  the  Egjrptiana  and 
At  camp  of  Israel ;  and  it  was  a  ckiud  and  darknent  to 
tiem,  but  it  gave  light  by  night  to  theae."  —  Eiod.  ziv.  20. 

«  "  Her  sins,  which  are  many,  are  (brgiven  ;  for  she  loved 
niich.-'  —  Si.  Luke  vii  47. 

*  '•  And  he  will  destroy,  in  this  mountain,  the  &c«  of  tlM 


She  o'er  her  Savior's  hallow'd  feet 
The  precious  odors  pour*d ; 

And  wiped  them  with  that  golden  litbt 
Where  once  the  diamond  shone  ; 

Though  now  those  gems  of  grief  were  tbare 
Which  shone  for  God  alone  I 

Were  not  those  sweets,  so  humbly  shed  — 
That  hair — those  weeping  eyes  — 

And  the  sunk  heart,  that  inly  bled — 
Heaven's  noblest  sacrifice  i 

Thou,  that  hast  slept  in  error's  sleep, 
O,  wouldst  thou  wake  in  Heaven, 

Like  Mary  kneel,  like  Mary  weep, 
"  Love  much  "  *  and  be  forgiven  I 


AS  DOWN  IN  THE  SUNLESS  RETREATS 

(AlB.— Hatdit.) 

As  down  in  the  simless  retreats  of  the  Ocean, 

Sweet  flowers  are  springing  no  mortal  can  see, 
So,  deep  in  my  soul  the  still  prayer  of  devotion. 
Unheard  by  the  world,  rises  silent  to  Thee, 
My  God  !  sUent,  to  Thee  — 
Pure,  warm,  silent,  to  Thee. 

As  still  to  the  star  of  its  worship,  though  clouded, 

The  needle  points  faithfully  o'er  the  dim  sea, 

So,  dark  as  I  roam,  in  this  wintry  world  shrouded, 

The  hope  of  my  spirit  turns  tiembling  to  Thee, 

My  God  !  trembling,  to  Thee  — 

True,  fond,  trembling,  to  Thee. 


BUT  WHO  SHALL  SEE. 

(AlB.— Stbtcxoii.) 

Btrr  who  shall  see  the  glorious  day 

WTien  throned  on  Zion's  brow. 
The  Lord  shall  rend  that  veil  away 

Which  hides  the  nations  now .'  * 
When  earth  no  more  beneath  the  teu 

Of  his  rebuke  shall  lie ;  * 
When  pain  shall  cease,  and  every  tear 

Be  wiped  from  every  eye.* 


coveriBg  cast  over  all  people,  and  the  vefl  tm  to 
over  all  nations."  — /aaiaA,  xxr.  7. 

«  "  The  rebuke  of  hia  people  alun  he  lake  awajr  ftm  tM 
all  the  earth."  — /mmA,  xxv.  8. 

»  "  And  Cod  shall  wlpo  away  »ll  tear*  (nm  iheJr  tffm 
neither  shall  ibMe  be  any  man  pain  '— lt«  zxi  I 


«.8 


SACRED  SONGS. 


Then,  Judah,  thou  no  more  shalt  mourn 
Beneath  the  heathen's  chain  ; 

rhy  days  of  splendor  shall  return, 
And  all  be  new  again.' 

The  Fount  of  Life  shall  then  be  quaffd 
In  peace,  by  all  who  come ;  * 

And  every  wind  that  blows  shall  waft 
Some  long-lost  exile  home. 


ALAUGHTY  GOD! 

CH0KU8   OF   PEIEST8. 
(AlB.  — MOZABT.) 

Almighty  God  !  when  round  thy  shrine 
The  Palm  Tree's  heavenly  branch  we  twine,' 
(Emblem  of  Life's  eternal  ray. 
And  Love  that  "  fadeth  not  away,") 
We  bless  the  flowers,  expanded  all,* 
We  bless  the  leaves  that  never  fall. 
And  trembling  say, —  "  In  Eden  thus 
"  The  Tree  of  Life  may  flower  for  us  !  " 

When  round  thy  Cherubs  —  smiling  calm, 

Without  their  flames  *  —  we  wreathe  the  Palm, 

O  God  !  we  feel  the  emblem  true — 

Thy  Mercy  is  eternal  too. 

Those  Cherubs,  with  their  smiling  eyes. 

That  crown  of  Palm  which  never  dies. 

Are  but  the  types  of  Thee  above  — 

Eternal  Life,  and  Peace,  and  Love  I 


O  FAni!   O  PUREST! 

SAINT  AUGUSTINE   TO   HIS   SISTER.' 
(AlB.—  MOOBE.) 

0  FAIR  !  O  purest !  be  thou  the  dove 
That  flies  alone  to  some  sunny  grove. 


1  "  And  he  that  sat  upon  the  throne  said.  Behold,  I  make 
jU  things  new." —  Rev.  xxi.  5. 

*  "  And  whosoever  will,  let  him  take  the  water  of  life 
k»ely."— /i^  xxii.  17. 

»  "  The  Scriptures  tiavin|  declared  that  the  Temple  of 
firusalem  was  a  type  of  the  Messiah,  it  is  natural  to  con- 
dude  that  the  Palms,  which  made  so  conspicuous  a  figure 
in  that  structure,  rej- resented  that  Life  and  Immortality 
Which  were  brought  to  light  by  the  Gospel." —  Observations 
Crt  the  Palm,  as  a  sacred  Emblem,  by  W.  Tighe. 

4  "  And  he  carved  all  the  walls  of  the  house  round  about 
with  carved  figures  of  chnrubims,  and  palm  trees,  and  open 
foviers."  —  1  Kings,  vi.  29 

6  "  When  the  passover  of  the  tabernacles  was  revealed  to 
ttie  great  lawgiver  in  tl  e  mount,  then  the  cherubic  images 
Which  appearpd  in  that  structure  were  no  longer  surrounded 


And  lives  unseen,  and  bathes  her  wing. 
All  vestal  white,  in  the  limpid  spring. 
There,  if  the  hovering  hawk  be  near. 
That  limpid  spring  in  its  mirror  clear 
Reflects  him,  ere  he  reach  his  prey, 
And  warns  the  timorous  bird  away. 

Be  thou  this  dove  ; 
Fairest,  purest,  be  thou  this  dove. 

The  sacred  pages  of  God's  own  book 
Shall  be  the  spring,  the  eternal  brock. 
In  whose  holy  mirror,  night  and  day, 
Thou'lt  study  Heaven's  reflected  ray;  — 
And  should  the  foes  of  virtue  dare. 
With  gloomy  wing,  to  seek  thee  there, 
Thou  wilt  see  how  dark  their  shadows  lie 
Between  Heaven  and  thee,  and  trembling  flir 

Be  thou  that  dove ; 
Fairest,  purest,  be  thou  that  dove 


ANGEL  OF  CHARITY. 

(AiB.  —  Ha^tdel.) 

Angel  of  Charity,  who,  from  above, 

Comest  to  dwell  a  pilgrim  here. 
Thy  voice  is  music,  thy  smile  is  love. 

And  Pity's  soul  is  in  thy  tear. 
When  on  the  shrine  of  God  were  laid 

First  fruits  of  all  most  good  and  fair, 
That  ever  bloom'd  in  Eden's  shade. 

Thine  was  the  holiest  off'ering  there. 

Hope  and  her  sister,  Faith,  were  given 

But  as  our  guides  to  yonder  sky ; 
Soon  as  they  reach  the  verge  of  heaven 

There,  lost  in  perfect  bliss,  they  die  " 
But,  long  as  Love,  Almighty  Love, 

Shall  on  his  throne  of  thrones  abide 
Thou,  Charity,  shalt  dwell  above, 

Smiling  forever  by  His  side  ! 


by  flames ;  for  the  tabernacle  was  a  type  cif  tne  dispcnsalion 
of  mercy,  by  which  Jehovah  confirmed  his  gracious  cove 
nant  to  redeem  mankind."  —  Observations  on  the  Palm 

A  In  St.  Augustine's  Treatise  upon  the  advantage*  of  a 
Bolitary  life,  addressed  to  his  sister,  there  is  the  following 
fanciful  passage,  from  which,  the  reader  will  perceive  the 
thought  of  this  song  was  taken:  — "  Te,  soror,  nunquam 
nolo  esse  securam,  sed  timere  semperque  tuam  fragilitatem 
habere  suspectam,  ad  instar  pavidae  columbte  frequentare 
rivos  aquanim  et  quasi  in  speculo  accipitris  cemere  super- 
volantis  effigiem  et  cavere.  Rivi  aquanim  sententioe  suni 
scripturarum,  qua  de  limpidissimo  sapientis  fonte  proflu 
entes,"  &c.  &c.  —  De  fit.  F.remit.  ad  Sororem. 

T      "  Then  Faith  shall  fail,  and  holy  Hope  shall  die. 
One  lost  iQ  certainty,  and  one  in  joy."        •vr 


BEHOLD   THE   SUN! 


SACRED  SOXQS. 


BEHOLD  THE  SUN. 

(AIR.—  LOKD  MOIHINOTOV.) 

Oehold  the  Sun,  how  hright 

From  yonder  East  he  springs, 
Aj8  if  the  soul  of  life  and  light 

Were  breathing  from  his  wings. 

So  bright  the  Gospel  broke 

Upon  the  souls  of  men  ; 
So  fresh  the  dreaming  world  awoke 

In  Truth's  full  radiance  then. 

Before  yon  Sun  arose, 

Stars  clustcr'd  through  the  sky  — 
But  O  how  dim,  how  pale  were  those, 

To  His  one  burning  eye  I 

So  Truth  lent  many  a  ray 

To  bless  the  Pagan's  night  — 
But,  Lord,  how  weak,  how  cold  were  they 

To  Thy  One  glorious  Light ! 


LORD,  WHO  SHALL  BEAR  THAT  DAY. 

(AiB.—  Db.  Botce.) 

LoKD,  who  shall  bear  that  day,  so  dread,  so 
splendid. 
When  we  shall  see  thy  Angel,  hov'ring  o'er 
This  sinful  world,  with  hand  to  heav'n  extended, 
And  hear  him  swear  by  Thee  that  Time's  nc 
more  ?' 
When  Earth  shall  feel  thy  fast  consuming  ray  — 
WTio,    Mighty   God,   O  who  shall   bear  that 
day  ? 

Whon  through  the  world  thy  awful  call  hath 
sounded  — 
••  Wake,  all  ye  Dead,  to  judgment  wake,  ye 
Dcad!"» 

And  from  the  clouds,  by  seraph  eyes  surrounded, 
The  Savior  shall  put  forth  his  radiant  head  ; ' 


1  *  And  the  nngel  which  I  Mw  stand  ujion  the  oea  and 
apon  the  earth  lifted  up  his  hand  to  heaven,  and  aware  by 
Him  that  livptti  Torever  and  ever,     .  .  that  there 

•hoiild  be  time  no  lonjter." —  Rev.  x.  5,  R. 

*  "  Awake,  ye  Dead,  and  come  to  Judgment" 

«  '*  They  shall  nee  the  Son  of  Man  coming  in  th«  cloada 
of  heaven  —  and  all  the  angela  with  him." — Matt.  xzir.  30, 
and  sTv.  31. 

*  "  Prtim  w>iofle  face  the  earth  and  the  heaven  fled  •way.'* 
R#i).  tx.  II 


37 


While    Earth  and    Hear  i    before    Him  p«wi 

away  *  — 
Who,  Mighty  God,  O  who  shall  bear  that  d«)  f 

When,  with  a  glance,  th'  Eternal  Judge  ahalj 
sever 
Earth's  evil  spirits  firom  the  pure  and  bright. 
And  say  to  tAose,  "  Depart  from  me  fortver  ! " 
To  these,  '•  Come,  dwell  with  me  in  endlr« 
light !  "  » 
When  each  and  all  in  silence  take  their  way  — 
Who,  Mighty  God,  O  who  shall  bear  that  Hay  i 


O,  TEACH  ME  TO  LOVE  THEE 

(AiB.  —  Hatdic.) 

O,  TEACH  me  to  love  Thee,  to  fnel  what  thou  art, 
Till,  fiU'd  with  the  one  sacred  image,  my  heart 

Shall  all  other  passions  disown ; 
Like  some  pure  temple,  that  shines  apart. 

Reserved  for  Thy  worship  alone. 

In  joy  and  in  sorrow,  through  praise  and  through 

blame. 
Thus  still  let  me,  living  and  dying  the  sum^ 

In  Thy  service  bloom  and  decay  — 
Like  some  lone  altar,  whose  votive  flame 

In  holiness  wasteth  away. 

Though  bom  in  this  desert,  and  doom'd  by  mj 

birth 
To  pain  and  affliction,  to  darkness  and  dearth. 

On  Thee  let  my  spirit  rely  — 
Like  some  rude  dial,  that,  fix'd  on  earth. 

Still  looks  for  its  light  from  the  sky. 


WEEP,  CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEL. 

(Aia.  —  Sravivtoir.) 

Webp,  weep  for  him,  the  Man  of  Goo,*  — 
In  yonder  vale  he  sunk  to  rest : 


*  "  And  before  Him  xhall  be  RUhered  all  natinm,  M  d  M< 
(hall  aeparate  them  one  fnim  amifher.    . 

"Then  vhatl  the  King  My  iinbi  (hem  on  hi*  r<(tN  hni^ 
Come,  ye  UeaRed  of  my  Father,  inherit  the  kinydoM  /** 
pared  fur  you,  tie. 

"Then  ibalt  He  My  aku  unto  Ibeai  :■  lb*  hit  muU.  U» 
part  fmm  me,  ye  riined,  Ac 

"  And  (hern  iihall  p>  away  into  everlaating  pnnMMNMll 
but  the  riichteou*  into  life  Mtmtt"  —  JUtM.  tsv.  93, «  aa^ 

•  "And  the  children  of  larMlwapl  far  MoMikitf»|Ma> 
a(  Moid>  "  —  D-mL  usiv.  8. 


But  none  of  earth  can  point  the  sod  ' 
That  flowers  above  his  sacred  breast. 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep  ! 

His  do'itnne  fell  like  Heaven's  rain,* 
His  words  refresh'd  like  Heaven's  dew 

0.  ne'er  shall  Israel  see  again 
A  Chief,  to  God  and  her  so  true. 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep  ! 

Kemember  ye  his  parting  gaze, 
llis  farewell  song  by  Jordan's  tide, 

When,  full  of  glory  and  of  days. 
He  saw  the  promised  land  —  and  died.' 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep  ! 

Yet  died  he  not  as  men  who  sink. 
Before  our  eyes,  to  soulless  clay  ; 

But,  changed  to  spirit,  like  a  wink 
Of  summer  lightning,  pass'd  away.* 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep  ! 


TIKE  MORNING,  "SVHEN  HER  EARLY 
BREEZE. 

(AiB.  —  Beetroteit.) 

Like  morning,  when  her  early  breeze 
Breaks  up  the  surface  of  the  seas. 
That,  in  those  furrows,  dark  with  night, 
Her  hand  may  sow  the  seeds  of  light  — 

Thy  Grace  can  send  its  breathings  o'er 
The  Spirit,  dark  and  lost  before. 
And,  fresh' ning  all  its  depths,  prepare 
For  Truth  divine  to  enter  there. 

fill  David  touch'd  his  sacred  lyre. 
In  silence  lay  th'  unbreathing  wire  ; 
But  when  he  swept  its  chords  along, 
Ev'n  Angels  stoop'd  to  hear  that  song. 

So  sleeps  the  soul,  till  Thou,  O  Lord, 
Skalt  ieign  to  touch  its  lifeless  chord  — 


I  •'  And  he  buried  him  in  a  valley  in  the  land  of  Moab; 

.  .  but  no  man  knowetb  of  his  sepulchre  unto  this  day." 
~Deut.  xxxlv.  b. 

s  "  My  doctrine  shall  drop  as  the  rain,  my  speech  shall 
.istil  as  the  dew."  —  JMoses'  Songt  Deut.  xxxii.  2. 

*  "  I  have  caused  thee  to  see  it  with  thine  eyes,  but  thou 
•Halt  not  go  over  tliither." —  Dent,  xxxiv.  4. 

*  "  As  he  was  going  to  embrace  Eleazer  and  Joshua,  and 
wnn  still  discoursing  with  them,  a  cloud  stood  over  him  on 
rtie  (ludden,  and  he  disappeared  in  a  certain  valley,  although 
«•  wrote  in  the  Uuly  B<'uKs  tliat  he  died,  which  was  done 


Till,  waked  by  Thee,  its  breath  shall  rise 
In  music,  worthy  of  the  skies  ! 


COME,   YE  DISCONSOLATE. 

(AiB.  —  GiBUAir.) 

Come,  ye  disconsolate,  where'er  you  langulsJi, 
Come,  at  God's  altar  fervently  kneel ; 

Here  bring  your  wounded  nearts,  here  tt-U  yta^ 
anguish  — 
Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  heal 

Joy  of  the  desolate,  Light  of  the  straying, 

Hope,  when  all  others  die,  ttdsless  and  ^mre. 
Here    speaks  the   Comforter,   in   God's   nam« 
saying  — 
••  Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot 
cure." 

Go,  ask  the  infidel,  what  boon  he  brings  us, 
What  charm  for  aching  hearts  he  can  reveal. 

Sweet  as  that  heavenly  promise  Hope  sings  us  - 
"  Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  God  cannot  heal." 


AWAKE,  ARISE,  THY  LIGHT  IS  COME. 

(Air.—  STETEKSOlf.) 

Awake,  arise,  thy  light  is  come  ;  * 
The  nations,  that  before  outshone  thee, 

Now  at  thy  feet  lie  dark  and  dumb  — 
The  glory  of  the  Loud  is  on  thee ! 

Arise  —  the  Gentiles  to  thy  ray. 

From  ev'ry  nook  of  earth  shall  cluster } 

And  kings  and  princes  haste  to  pay 
Their  homage  to  thy  rising  lustre.® 

Lift  up  thine  eyes  around,  and  see, 
O'er  foreign  fields,  o'er  farthest  waters. 

Thy  exiled  sons  return  to  thee. 
To  thee  return  thy  home-sick  daughters.* 


out  of  ten',  lest  they  should  venture  to  say  that,  because  ■! 
his  extraordinary  virtue,  he  went  to  God."  —  Joscphus,  book 
iv  chap.  viii. 

■>  "  Arise,  shine  ;  for  thy  light  is  come,  and  the  glory  of 
the  Lord  is  risen  upon  thee."  —  Isaiah,  Ix. 

8  "  And  the  Gentiles  shall  come  to  thy  light,  and  kings  to 
the  brightness  of  thy  rising."  —  lb. 

1  "  Lift  up  thine  ey«s  round  about  and  see ;  all  they  gatnei 
themselves  together,  they  come  to  thee :  thy  sons  shall  com* 
from  afar,  and  thy  daLighters  shall  be  nurwd  at  thy  side  "— 
A. 


knd  camels  rich,  from  Midian's  tents, 
Shall  lay  their  treasures  down  before  thee  ; 

A.nd  Saba  bring  her  gold  and  scents. 
To  fill  thy  air  and  sparkle  o'er  thee.' 

Bee,  who  are  these  that,  like  a  cloud,' 
Are  gathering  from  all  earth's  dominions, 

Like  doves,  long  absent,  when  allow'd 
Uomeward  to  shoot  their  trembling  pinions. 

Surely  the  isles  shall  wait  for  me,* 
The  ships  of  Tarshish  round  will  hover. 

To  bring  thy  sons  across  the  sea. 
And  wait  their  gold  and  silver  over. 

A.nd  Lebanon  thy  pomp  shall  grace  *  — 
The  fir,  the  pine,  the  palm  victorious 
Shall  beautify  our  Holy  Place, 
And  make  the  ground  I  tread  on  glorious. 

No  more  shall  Discord  haunt  thy  ways,' 
Nor  ruin  waste  thy  cheerless  nation  ; 

But  thou  shalt  call  thy  portals.  Praise, 
And  thou  shalt  name  thy  walls,  Salvation. 

The  sun  no  more  shall  make  thee  bright,* 
Nor  moon  shall  lend  her  lustre  to  thee  ; 

But  God,  Himself,  shall  be  thy  Light, 
And  flash  eternal  glory  through  thee. 

Thy  sun  shall  never  more  go  down  ; 

A  ray,  from  heav'n  itself  descended, 
Shall  light  thy  everlasting  crown  — 

Thy  days  of  mourning  all  are  ended.' 

My  own,  elect,  and  righteous  Land  1 
The  Branch,  forever  green  and  vernal. 

Which  I  have  planted  with  this  hand  — 
Live  thou  shalt  in  Life  EternaL' 


1  "  IIm  multitude  of  camels  ahall  cover  thee  ;  the  drome- 
iirieii  of  .Midian  and  Epiinli ;  all  they  from  Sheba  shall 
K>me  ;  they  ohall  brinn  gold  and  Inrense." — haiak,  \x. 

*  '■■  U'hu  are  theiie  tliat  fly  as  a  cloud,  and  as  the  dovee  to 
0«U  windoWK .' "  —  Jb, 

*  "Siiiely  tlie  isles  fiball  wait  for  me,  and  the  ship*  of 
rir«hi>li  first,  to  bring  thy  sons  from  far,  tiieir  silver  and 
ffieir  gold  with  them."  — /S. 

*  "  The  glory  of  Lebanon  shall  come  unto  thee ;  the  fir 
b««,  the  pine  tree,  and  the  box  togetlier,  to  beautify  the  place 
•fray  sanctuary  ;  and  I  will  make  the  place  of  my  feet  glo- 
»i<nw."  —  lb. 

*  "  \'iolence  shall  no  more  be  beard  in  thy  land,  wasting 
.or  destruction  witliin  tliy  borden  ;  but  thou  shall  call  thy 
*a'U,  Salvation,  and  thy  gates,  Praise-"  — Aw 


THERE  IS  A  BLEAK  DKSKRT. 

(AiB.  — CaiscMTurU 

Tbbsb  is  a  bleak  Desert,  where  daylight  groin 

weary 
Of  wasting  its  smile  on  a  region  so  dr««ry  - 

What  may  that  Desert  be  ? 
'Tis  Life,  cheerless  Life,  where  the  few  joj*  iL«i 

come 
Are  lost,  like  that  daylight,  for  tis  not  thrii 

home. 

There  is  a  lone  Pilgrim,  before  whoso  faint  eym 
The  water  he  pants  for  but  sparkles  and  flies  — 

Who  may  that  Pilgrim  be  ? 
'Tis  Man,  hapless  Man,  through  this  life  tempted 

on 
By  fair  shining  hopes,  that  in  shining  are  gon* 

There  \»  a  bright  Fountain,  through  that  Desert 

stealing 
To  pure  lips  alone  its  refreshment  revealing  — 

What  may  that  Fountain  be  ? 
'Tis  Truth,  holy  Truth,  that,  like  springs  under 

ground. 
By  the  gifted  of  Heaven  alone  can  be  found.* 

There  is  a  fair  Spirit,  whose  wand  hath  the  »^U 
To  point  where  those  waters  in  siHirecy  dwell  — 

Who  may  that  Spirit  be  ? 
'Tis  Faith,  humble  Faith,  who  hath  leton'd  that, 

where'er 
Her  wand  bends  to  worship,  the  Truth  mtist  be 

there ! 


SINCE  FIRST  THY  WORD. 

(AiB.— NicnoLAa  Fkiimas.) 

SixcE  first  Thy  Word  awaked  my  heart. 
Like  new  life  dawning  o'er  me. 

•  **  Thy  sun  shall  be  no  more  thy  light  by  day ;  nellfMi 
for  brightness  abaU  the  moon  give  light  unto  thee  :  but  ttas 
Loan  shall  be  unto  thee  an  everlasting  light,  and  lh>  Ota 
thy  glory." —  lb. 

'  "  Thy  sun  shall  no  more  go  down  ;  ...  *or  tlM  Lomt 
shall  be  thine  everlasting  light,  and  the  day*  ol  ity  Mtiuni 
ing  shall  bo  ended."  —  ib. 

•  "  Thy  people  also  uliall  be  all  righteous ;  they  shall  m 
herit  the  land  forever,  tlie  branch  of  my  planting,  the  wort 
of  my  hands."  —  lb. 

•  In  singing,  the  following  Une  had  bennr  bt  aAapl 

"  Cu  bat  bjr  the  gifted  of  Hmvmi  be  tovA 


192                                                            SACRED 

SONGS 

Wliere'er  I  turn  mine  eyes,  Thou  art, 

Look  to  that  world  of  Spirits, 

All  light  and  love  before  mo. 

Or  hope  to  dwell  with  you  th(re? 

Nought  else  I  feel,  or  hear  or  see  — 

All  bonds  of  earth  I  sever  — 

Sages!  who,  ev'n  in  exploring 

Thee,  0  God,  and  f/alj  Thee 

Nature  through  all  her  bright  ways, 

I  live  for,  now  and  ever. 

W^ent,  like  the  Seraphs,  adoring. 

And  veil'd  your  eyes  in  the  blaze  — 

Like  him  whose  fetters  dropp'd  away 

MartjTS  !  who  left  for  our  reaping 

When  light  shone  o'er  his  prison,* 

Truths  you  had  sown  in  j'our  blood  — 

My  spirit,  touch'd  by  Mercy's  ray, 

Sinners !  whom  long  years  of  weeping 

Rath  from  her  chains  arisen. 

Chasten'd  from  evil  to  good  — 

And  shall  a  soul  Thou  bidst  be  free, 

Return  to  bondage  ?  —  never  ! 

Maidens  !  who,  like  the  young  Crescent, 

The«,  0  God,  and  only  Thee 

Turning  away  your  pale  brows 

I  live  for,  now  and  ever. 

From  earth,  and  the  light  of  the  Prcsentf 

Look'd  to  your  Heavenlj-  Spouse  — 

Say,  through  what  region  enchanted 

Walk  ye,  in  Heaven's  sweet  air  r 

HARK!   'TIS  THE  BREEZE. 

Say,  to  what  spirits  'tis  granted. 

(AlB BODSSEAD.) 

Bright  souls,  to  dwell  with  you  there  ? 

Hark  !  'tis  the  breeze  of  twilight  calling 

Earth's  weary  children  to  repose  ; 

"While,  round  the  couch  of  Nature  falling. 

Gently  the  night's  soft  curtains  close. 

Soon  o'er  a  world,  in  sleep  reclining, 

HOW  LIGHTLY  MOUNTS  THE   MIHEB 
WING. 

Numberless  stars,  through  yonder  dark. 

Shall  look,  like  eyes  of  Cherubs  shining 

(AiB.  —  Akovth  oua.) 

From  out  the  veUs  that  hid  the  Ark. 

How  lightly  mounts  the  Muse's  -wing. 

Guard  us,  0  Thou,  who  never  sleepest, 

Whose  theme  is  in  the  skies  — 

Thou  who,  in  silence  throned  above, 

Like  morning  larks,  that  sweeter  sing 

Throughout  all  time,  unwearied,  keepest 

Tlie  nearer  Heav'n  they  rise. 

Thy  watch  of  Glory,  Pow'r,  and  Love. 

Grant  that,  beneath  thine  eye,  securely. 

Though  Love  his  magic  lyre  may  tune. 

Our  souls,  a  while  from  life  withdrawn. 

Yet  ah,  the  flow'rs  he  round  it  wreathes 

May,  in  their  darkness,  stilly,  purely, 

Were  pluck'd  beneath  pale  Passion's  mooOj 

Like  "  sealed  fountains,"  rest  till  dawn. 

Whose  madness  in  their  odor  breathes. 

How  purer  far  the  sacred  lute, 

Round  which  Devotion  ties 

-SVHERE  is  your  DWELLING,  YE 

Sweet  flow'rs  that  turn  to  heaVnly  fruit, 

SAINTED  f 

And  palm  that  never  dies. 

(AlB.— HaS8K.> 

Though  War's  high-sounding  harp  may  bf 

Where  is  your  dwelling,  ye  Sainted  ? 

Most  welcome  to  the  hero's  ears 

Through  what  Elysium  more  bright 

Alas,  his  chords  of  victory 

Than  fancy  or  hope  ever  painted. 

Are  wet,  all  o'er,  with  human  tears 

Walk  ye  in  glory  and  light  ? 

Who  the  same  kingdom  inherits  ? 

How  far  more  sweet  their  numbers  run. 

Breathes  there  a  soul  that  may  dare 

Who  hymn,  like  Saints  above, 

No  victor,  but  th'  Eternal  One, 

I  "  And,  behold,  the  angel  of  the  Lord  came  upon  him, 

No  trophies  but  of  Love  I 

•nd  a  light  shined  in  the  prison.           .     .     And  his  chains 

*»U  of  from  his  hands."  —Acts,  xiL  7. 

SACRED   SONGS. 


Ml 


GO  FORTH  TO  THE  MOUNT. 

(All.— BTBVKlttOV.) 

So  forth  to  the  Mount  —  bring  the  olive  branch 

home;* 
And  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  our  Freedom  is  come  ! 
From  that  time,*  when  the  moon  upon  Ajalou's 

vale. 
Looking  motionless  down,*  saw  the  kings  of 

the  earth, 
la  the  presence  of  God's  mightj   Champion, 

grow  pale  — 
O,  never  had  Judah  an  hour  of  such  mirth  ! 
lio  forth  to  the  Mount  —  bring  the  olive  branch 

home, 
And.  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  our  Freedom  is  come  1 

3ting  myrtle  «nd  palm  —  bring  the  ooughs  of 

each  tree 
That's  worthy  to  wave  o'er  the  tents  of  the  Free.* 
From  that  day,  when   the  footsteps  of  Israel 

shone. 
With   a  light  not  their  own,   through  the 

Jordan's  deep  tide. 
Whose  waters  shrunk  back  as  the  Ark  glided 

on,*  — 
O,  never  had  Judah  an  hour  of  such  pride  ! 
Go  forth  to  the  Mount  —  bring  the  olive  branch 

home. 
And  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  oxu  Freedom  is  come ! 


IS  IT  NOT    S^^^EET  TO  THINK,  HERE- 
AFTER. 

(AlE.— HaTDIC.) 

Is  it  not  sweet  to  think,  hereafter. 
When  the  Spirit  leaves  this  sphere. 

Love,  with  deathless  wing,  shall  M-aft  her 
To  those  she  long  hath  mourn'd  for  here  ? 

Hearts,  from  which  'twas  death  to  sever, 
Eyes,  this  world  can  ne'er  restore. 

There,  as  wann,  as  bright  as  ever. 
Shall  meet  us  and  be  lost  no  more. 

"  And  tliat  tliey  should  publish  and  proclaim  in  all  their 
cities,  and  in  Jenisaleui,  sayinf;,  Go  forth  unto  the  mount, 
■nd  fetch  olive  branches,"  tc  Sec.  —  AVA.  viii.  15. 

*  "  For  since  the  days  of  Joshua  the  ion  of  Nun  unto  that 
Jay  bad  not  the  children  of  Israel  done  to  :  and  there  waa 
rery  great  gladn<>ss.  —  lb.  17, 

*  "Sun,  stand  thnu  still  upon  Gibeon  ;  and  tlHNi,  Moon, 
Ji  tbe  valley  of  Aja  on."— Josk.  z.  19. 

*  "  Fetch  olive  branches,  and  pine  branrhoa,  and  myrtle 
ftranches,  anj  palm  branches,  and  brandies  of  thick  trees, 
to  make  booths."  —  AltA.  viii.  15. 

*  "  And  the  priests  that  hare  the  ark  of  the  covenant  ot 
ka  Lama  stood  Ann  on  dry  ground  in  the  midst  of  Jordan, 


Wlien  wearily  we  wander,  asking 
Of  earth  and  heaven,  where  ar«  they. 

Beneath  whose  smile  we  once  lay  baakinc, 
Blest,  and  thinking  bliss  would  stay  ? 

Hope  still  lifts  her  radiant  finger 

Pointing  to  th'  eternal  Home, 
Upon  whose  portal  yet  they  linger, 

Looking  back  for  us  to  come. 

Alas,  alas  —  doth  Hope  deceive  ns } 

Shall  friendship — love  —  shall  all  thoae  tt 

That  bind  a  moment,  and  then  leave  lu, 
Be  found  again  where  nothing  dies  i 

O,  if  no  other  boon  were  given. 

To  keep  our  hearts  ^om  WTong  and  stain. 
Who  would  not  try  to  win  a  Heaven 

Where  all  we  love  shall  live  again  i 


WAR  AGAINST  BABYLON. 

(AlB.  —  NOTKLLO.) 

"  Wab  against  Babylon  I  "  shout  we  around,* 

Be  our  banners  through  earth  unfurl'd ; 
Rise  up,  ye  nations,  ye  kings,  at  the  sound  '  — 

"  War  against  Babylon  !  "  shout  through  tha 
world  ! 
O  thou  that  dwellest  on  many  waters,' 

Thy  day  of  pride  is  ended  now ; 
And  the  dark  curse  of  Israel's  daughters 

Breaks,  like  a  thunder  cloud,  over  thy  bro#  I 
War,  war,  war  against  Babylon  ! 

Make  bright  the  arrows,  and  gatUer  the  shields. 

Set  the  standard  of  God  on  high ; 
Swarm  we,  like  locusts,  o'er  all  her  fields, 

"  Zion  "  our  watchword,  and  '•  vengeance  " 
our  cry  1 
Woe  !  woe !  —  the  time  of  thy  visitation  '• 

Is  come,  proud  Land,  thy  doom  is  cast  — 
And  the  black  surge  of  desolation 

Sweeps  o'er  thy  guilty  head,  at  last  I 

War,  war,  war  against  Babylon  I 

and  all  tlM  Israelites  passed  over  on  dry  ground.'*—  -m^  M 
17. 

*  "Shout  against  her  rotind  about" — ftr.  L  15 

'  "  Set  ye  up  a  standard  in  the  land,  blow  tiie  tniapsk 
among  tbe  nations,  preiiare  the  nations  against  her,  cal 
together  against  her  the  kingdoms,"  ice  ttc  —  A.  U.  S7 

*  "  O  thou  that  dwellest  upon  many  waiefB,  .  .  t!iiM 
end  is  come."  —  Ih.  IX 

*  "  Makj  bright  ttie  arrows ;  gather  th«  shieWs .  . . .  s* 
up  tlie   standard    upon    Um  walls   o/  Babykw.'*— A  i 

11,  la. 

10  "  Woe  unto  tbem  !  (or  tiMii  day  is  o  wk,  tbe  timm  • 
their  visiution  !"  —  /*.  L  t7. 


THE    SUMMER    FETE. 


THE  HONOEABLE  MRS.   NORTON. 

Fob  the  groundwork  of  the  following  Poem 
I  am  indebted  to  a  memorable  Fete,  given  some 
years  since,  at  Boyle  Farm,  the  seat  of  the  late 
Lord  Henry  Fitzgerald.  In  commemoration  of 
that  evening  —  of  which  the  lady  to  whom 
these  pages  are  inscribed  was,  I  well  recollect, 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  ornaments  —  I 
was  induced  at  the  time  to  write  some  verses, 
ft'hich  were  afterwards,  however,  thrown  aside 
unfinished,  on  my  discovering  that  the  same 
task  had  been  undertaken  by  a  noble  poet,' 
whose  playful  and  happy ^ew  d'esprit  on  the  sub- 
ject has  since  been  published.  It  was  but  late- 
ly, that,  on  finding  the  fragments  of  my  own 
sketch  among  my  papers,  I  thought  of  found- 
ing on  them  such  a  description  of  an  imaginary 
Fete  as  might  furnish  me  with  situations  for  the 
bitroduction  of  music. 

Such  is  the  origin  and  object  of  the  follow- 
ing Poem,  and  to  Mrs.  Nokton  it  is,  with  every 
feeling  of  admiration  and  regard,  inscribed  by 
her  father's  warmly  attached  friend, 


THOMAS  MOORE. 


Sloperton  Cottage, 
JVoeember,  1831. 


*•  Where  ai'e  ye  now,  ye  summer  days, 

»•  That  once  inspired  the  poet's  lays  ? 

*'  Blest  time !  ere  England's  njinphs  and  swains, 

"  For  lack  of  sunbeams,  took  to  coals  — 
"  Summers  of  light,  undimm'd  by  rains, 
'*  Whose  only  mocking  trace  remains 

"  In  watering-pots  and  parasols." 

Thus  spoke  a  young  Patrician  maid. 
As,  on  the  morning  of  that  Fete 
Which  bards  unborn  shall  celebrate. 

She  backward  drew  her  curtain's  shade, 

And,  closing  one  half-dazzled  eye, 

Peep'd  with  the  other  at  the  sky  — 

In'  imjTortant  sky,  whose  light  or  gloom 

vV  as  to  iecide,  this  day,  the  doom 

1  Lort  Francis  Egerton. 


Of  some  few  hundred  beauties,  wiu>. 
Blues,  Dandies,  Swains,  And  Exqiiisites. 

Faint  were  her  hopes ;  for  June  nad  now 

Set  in  with  all  his  usual  rigor  ! 
Young  Zephyr  yet  scarce  knowing  how 
To  nurse  a  bud,  or  fan  a  bough, 

But  EuiuC  in  perpetual  vigor ; 
And,  such  the  biting  summer  au-, 
That  she,  the  nymph  now  nestling  there  — 
Snug  as  her  own  bright  gems  recline, 
At  night,  within  their  cotton  shrine  — 
Had,  more  than  once,  been  caught  of  late 
Kneeling  before  her  blazing  grate. 
Like  a  young  worshipper  of  fire. 

With  hands  uplifted  to  the  flame, 
Whose  glow  as  if  to  woo  them  nigher. 

Through  the  white  fingers  flushing  came. 

But  O,  the  light,  the  unhoped-for  light, 
That  "now  illum'd  this  morning's  heaven  ! 

Up  sprung  lanthe  at  the  sight. 

Though  —  hark  !  —  the    clocks    but    strik* 
eleven. 

And  rarely  did  the  n3'niph  surprise 

Mankind  so  early  with  her  eyes. 

Who  now  will  say  that  England's  sun 

(Like  England's  self,  these  spendthrift  days 

His  stock  of  wealth  hath  near  outrun. 
And  must  retrench  his  golden  rays  - 

Pay  for  the  pride  of  sunbeams  past. 

And  to  mere  moonshine  come  at  last  ? 

"  Calumnious  thought  '  "  lanthe  criea, 

While  coming  mirth  lit  up  each  glanse, 
And,  prescient  of  the  ball,  her  eyes 

Already  had  begun  to  dance . 
For  brighter  sun  than  that  which  now 

Sparkled  o'er  London's  spires  and  to-«  ers, 
Had  never  bent  from  heaven  his  brow 

To  kiss  Firenze's  City  of  Flowers 

What  must  it  be  —  if  thus  so  fair 

'Mid  the  smoked  groves  of  Grosvenor  Squai    • 

What  must  it  be  where  Thames  is  seen 

Gliding  between  his  banks  of  green. 

While  rival  '^  illas,  on  each  side, 

Peep  from,  their  bowers  to  woo  his  tide. 


THE  SUMMER  PfeTE. 


t» 


^aid,  like  a  Tu  rk  between  two  rows 
'.)f  Harem  beauties,  on  he  goes  — 
A  lover,  loved  for  ev'n  the  grace 
With  which  he  slides  from  their  embrace. 

[a  one  of  tV.ose  enchanted  domes. 

One,  the  most  flowery,  cool,  and  bright 
Oi  all  by  vliich  that  river  roams. 

The  Fete  )5  to  be  held  to-night— 
Hiat  F/Jte  already  link'd  to  fame, 

M'ho-'P  cards,  in  many  a  fair  one's  sight 
( \Mien  look'd  for  long,  at  last  they  came,) 

Sc^m'd  circled  \s'ith  a  fairy  light ;  — 
That  Fete  to  which  tbe  cull,  the  flower 

Of  England's  beauty,  rank  and  power, 
From  the  young  spinster,  just  come  out, 

To  the  old  Premier,  too  long  in  — 
From  legs  of  far-descended  gout. 

To  the  last  new-raiistp.chio'd  chin  — 
All  were  convoked  by  Fasliion's  spells 
To  the  small  circle  where  she  dwells, 
Collecting  nightly,  to  allure  us. 

Live  atoms,  which,  together  hurl'd. 
She,  like  another  Epicurus, 

Sets  dancing  thus,  and  calls  "  the  World." 

Behold  how  busy  in  those  bowers 

(Like  May  flies,  in  and  out  of  flowers,) 

fhe  countless  menials  swarming  run, 

To  furnish  forth,  ere  set  of  sun, 

The  banquet  table  richly  laid 

Beneath  yon  awning's  Icngthen'd  shade, 

■Where  fruits  shall  tempt,  and  wines  entice, 

And  Luxury's  self,  at  Gunter's  call, 
Hreathe  from  her  summer  throne  of  ice 

A  spiiit  of  coolness  over  all. 

And  now  the  important  hour  drew  nigh, 
When,  'neath  the  flush  of  evening's  sky, 
The  west  end  ••  world"  for  mirth  let  loose, 
And  moved,  as  he  of  Syracuse  • 
Ne'er  dreamt  of  moving  worlds,  by  force 
Of  four-horse  power,  had  all  combined 
Through  Orosvenor  Gate  to  speed  their  course, 
Leaving  that  portion  of  mankind. 
Whom  they  call  •*  Nobody,"  behind;  — 
No  star  for  London's  feasts  to-day. 
No  moon  of  beauty,  new  this  May, 
To  lend  the  night  her  crescent  ray ;  — 
Nothing  in  short,  for  ear  or  eye. 
But  veteran  belles,  and  wits  gone  by. 


1  Arcltim'fde* 

*  I  am  not  certain  wh>ther  lha  Oowagen  of  dib  Squan 
ton  yet  yieMed  to  tba  innovannns  a'Gaa  and  P<>Uc«.but  at 


The  relics  of  %  past  beau  monde, 
A  world,  like  Cuvier's,  long  dMhraosdl 
Ev'n  Parliament  this  »vcning  noda 
Beneath  th'  harangues  of  minor  godai 

On  half  its  usual  opiate  s  share ; 
The  great  disi^ensers  of  repose. 
The  flrst-rate  furnishers  of  pros* 

Being  all  call'd  to  —  prose  elsewhere. 

Soon  08  through  Qrosrenor's  lordly  sqoatt  *  — 

That  last  impregnable  redoubt. 
Where,  guarded  with  Patrician  care. 

Primeval  Error  still  holds  out 
Where  never  gleam  of  gas  must  dare 

'Gainst  ancient  Darkness  to  revolt. 
Nor  smooth  Macadam  hope  to  spare 

The  dowagers  one  single  jolt ;  — 
>Vhcre,  f^'  too  stately  and  sublime 
To  profit  by  the  lights  of  time. 
Let  Intellect  march  how  it  will. 
They  stick  to  oil  and  watchmen  still :  — 
Soon  as  through  that  illustrious  square 

The  first  epistolary  bell, 
Sounding  by  fits  upon  the  air. 

Of  parting  pennies  rung  the  knell ; 
Wam'd  by  that  telltale  of  the  hours, 

And  by  the  daylight's  westering  beam. 
The  young  lanthe,  who,  with  flowers 

Half  crown' d,  had  sat  in  idle  dream 
Before  her  glass,  scarce  knowing  ^  here 
Her  fingers  roved  through  that  bright  hair. 

While,  all  capriciously,  she  now 

Dislodged  some  curl  from  her  white  brc  f, 
And  now  again  replaced  it  there  ;  — 
As  though  her  task  was  meant  to  be 
One  endless  change  of  ministry  — 
A  routing  up  of  Loves  and  Graces, 
But  to  plant  others  in  their  places. 

Meanwhile  —  what  strain  is  that  which  fluats 

Through  the  small  boudoir  near  —  like  notes 

Of  some  young  bird,  its  task  repeating 

For  the  next  linnet  music  meeting  i 

A  voice  it  was,  whose  gentle  sounds 

Still  kept  a  modest  octave's  bounds, 

Nor  yet  had  ventured  to  exalt 

Its  rash  ambition  to  B  alt. 

That  point  towards  which  when  Itd'.es  rise. 

The  wise  man  takes  his  hat  and  —  flies. 

Tones  of  a  harp,  too,  gently  played. 

Came  with  this  youthful  voice  communing  , 


Um  tinM  when  iIm  above  lines  wms  wricien  Iksf  «uM  < 
nately  penevered  in  thrir  old  r*gim*t  and  wooM  KM  i 
UMimelvee  to  be  either  well  gtMrded  ur  well  U«lii«d 


»«                                                     THE  SUMMER  FETE. 

Tones  true,  for  once,  "without  the  aid 

The  sun's  below  —  the  mocn's  above  — 

Of  that  inflictive  process,  tuning  — 

And  Night  and  Bliss  obey  thee. 

A  process  which  must  oft  have  given 

Put  on  thee  all  that's  bright  and  rare, 

Poor  Mi]  ton's  ears  a  deadly  wound ; 

The  zone,  the  wreath,  the  gem. 

Bo  pleased,  among  the  joys  of  Heaven, 

Not  so  much  gracing  charms  so  fair. 

He  specifies  "  harps  ever  tuned."  * 

As  borrowing  grace  from  them, 

She  who  now  sung  this  gentle  strain 

Array  thee,  love,  array  thee,  love. 

Was  our  young  nymph's  stUl  younger  sister  — 

In  all  that's  bright  array  thee  ; 

^••ar  .e  ready  yet  for  Fashion's  train 

The  sun's  below  —  the  moon's  atore    - 

In  tneii  Jght  legions  fo  enlist  her, 

And  Night  and  Bliss  obey  thee. 

Cut  counted  on,  as  sure  to  bring 

Hei  force  into  the  field  next  spring. 

Put  on  the  plumes  thy  lover  gave. 

The  plumes,  that,  proudly  dancing, 

Ilie  song  she  thus,  like  Jubal's  shell, 

Proclaim  to  all,  where'er  tiiey  wave, 

Gave  forth  '•  so  sweetly  and  so  well," 

Victorious  eyes  advancing. 

Was  one  in  Morning  Post  much  famed, 

Bring  forth  the  robe,  whose  hue  of  heaven 

From  a  divine  collection,  named. 

From  thee  derives  such  light. 

*  Songs  of  the  Toilet  "  —  every  Lay 

That  Iris  would  give  all  her  seven 

Taking  for  subject  of  its  Muse, 

To  boast  but  o?ie  so  bright. 

Some  branch  of  feminine  array, 

Array  thee,  love,  array  thee,  love, 

Some  item,  with  full  scope,  to  choose. 

&c.  &c.  &c. 

From  diamonds  down  to  dancing  shoes  ; 

From  the  last  hat  that  Herbault's  hands 

Now  hie  thee,  love,  now  hie  thee,  love. 

Bequeath'd  to  an  admiring  world, 

Through  Pleasure's  circles  hie  thee, 

Down  to  the  latest  flounce  that  stands 

And  hearts,  where'er  thy  footsteps  move, 

Like  Jacob's  Ladder  —  or  expands 

Will  beat,  when  they  come  nigh  thee. 

Far  forth,  tempestuously  unfurl' d. 

Thy  every  word  shall  be  a  spell, 

Thy  every  look  a  ray, 

Speaking  of  one  of  these  new  Lays, 

And  tracks  of  wondering  eyes  shall  tell 

The  Morning  Post  thus  sweetly  says  :  — 

The  glory  of  thy  way  ! 

"  Not  all  that  breathes  from  Bishop's  lyre, 

Now  hie  thee,  love,  now  hie  thee,  love, 

••  That  Barnett  dreams,  or  Cooke  conceives, 

Through  Pleasure's  circles  hie  thee, 

"  Can  match  for  sweetness,  strength,  or  fire. 

And  hearts,  where'er  thy  footsteps  move. 

"  This  tine  Cantata  upon  Sleeves. 

Shall  beat  when  they  come  nigh  thee. 

"  The  very  notes  themselves  reveal 

"  The  cut  of  each  new  sleeve  so  well ; 

•  A  flat  betrays  the  Imbdcillcs,^ 

"  Light  fugues  the  flying  lappets  tell ; 

Now  in  his  Palace  of  the  West, 

•  While  rich  cathedral  chords  awake 

Sinking  to  slumber,  the  bright  Day, 

•  Our  homage  for  the  Manches  d'EvSqtie." 

Like  a  tired  monarch  fann'd  to  rest, 

'Mid  the  cool  airs  of  Evening  lay ; 

Twas  the  first  opening  song  —  the  Lay 

While  round  his  couch's  golden  rim 

Of  all  least  deep  in  toilet  lore, 

The  gaudy  clouds,  like  courtiers,  crept    - 

Oiat  the  young  nymph,  to  while  away 

Struggling  each  other's  light  to  dim. 

["he  tiring  hour,  thus  warbled  o'er  :  — 

And  catch  his  last  smile  ere  he  slept. 

How  gay,  as  o'er  the  gliding  Thames 

The  golden  eve  its  lustre  pour'd, 

SONG. 

Shone  out  the  high-born  knights  and  dan  f>$ 

Now  grouped  around  that  festal  board , 

Ibtvay  thee,  love,  array  tnee,  love. 

A  living  mass  of  plumes  and  flowers, 

In  all  thy  best  array  thee  ; 

As  though  they'd  robb'd  both  birds  and  bowers  - 

A  peopled  rainbow,  swarming  througii 

» their  golden  harps  they  took  — 

With  habitants  of  every  hue  ; 

?lirp«  ever  tuned.                                 Paradise  Lost,  book  iii. 

While,  as  the  sparkling  juice  of  France 

<  Tt  V  uame  given  to  those  large  sleeves  that  hang  loosely. 

High  ir  the  crystal  brimmers  flowed. 

THE   SUMMER  F^TR 


M 


Each  sunset  ray  that  mixed  by  chance 
With  the  wine's  sparkles,  showed 
How  sunbeams  may  be  taught  to  dance. 

If  not  in  written  form  express'd, 
'Twos  known,  at  least,  to  every  guest. 
That,  though  not  bidden  to  parade 
rheir  scenic  powers  in  masquerade, 
(A  pastime  little  found  to  thrive 

In  the  bleak  fog  of  England's  skies, 
Where  wit's  the  thing  we  best  contrive. 

As  masqucraders,  to  disffuUe,) 
It  yet  was  hoped  —  and  well  that  hope 

\Va3  answered  by  The  young  and  gay  — 

That,  in  the  toilet's  task  to-day, 
Fancy  should  take  her  wildest  scope ;  — 
That  the  rapt  milliner  should  be 
Let  loose  through  fields  of  poesy, 
The  tailor,  in  inventive  trance. 

Up  to  the  heights  of  Epic  chamber, 
And  all  the  regiouc  of  Romance 

Ue  ransacked  b}  the/emme  de  chambre. 

According  y,  with  gay  Sultanas, 
Rebeccas,  Sapphos,  Roxalanas  — 
Circassian  slaves  whom  Love  would  pay 

Half  his  maternal  realms  to  ransom  ;  — 
Young  nuns,  whose  chief  religion  lay 

In  looking  most  profanely  handsome ;  — 
Muses  in  muslin  —  pastoral  maids 
With  hats  from  the  Arcade-ian  shades. 
And  fortune  tellers,  rich,  'twas  plain, 
ks  fortune  hunter$  form'd  their  train. 

With  these,  and  more  such  female  groups. 

Were  mix'd  no  less  fantastic  troops 

Of  male  exhibiters  —  all  willing 

To  look,  even  more  than  \isual,  killing  ;  — 

U^au  tyrants,  smock-fac'd  braggadocios, 

And  brigands,  charmingly  ferocious  ;  — 

M.  P.s  turned  Turks,  good  Moslems  then. 

Who,  last  night,  voted  for  the  Greeks  ; 
And  Friars,  staunch  No-Popery  men. 

In  clMb  coniab  with  Whig  Caciques. 

But  where  if.  she  —  the  nymph,  whom  late 

We  left  before  her  glass  delaying. 
Like  Eve,  when  by  the  lake  she  sate. 

In  the  clear  wave  her  charms  surveying, 
And  saw  in  t'aat  first  glassy  mirror 
The  first  fair  face  that  lured  to  error. 
••  Where  is  she,"  ask'st  thou  ?  —  watch  all  looks 

As  cent'rng  to  one  point  they  bear, 
Iiike  sunOo'vers  by  the  sides  of  brooks, 

Toru'd  I'j  the  sun  —  and  she  is  there. 


Ev'n  in  disguise,  O  never  doubt 
By  her  own  light  you'd  UAck  her  tmt : 
As  when  the  moon,  close  shawl'd  in  Cog, 
Steals  as  she  thinks,  through  he«TMi 
Though  hid  herself  sooM  ^^j^JAng  ny, 
At  every  step,  detects  ber  wsj. 

But  not  in  dark  disguise  to-night 

Hath  our  young  heroine  vcil'd  her  light ;  — 

For  see,  she  walks  the  earth.  Love's  own 

His  wedded  bride,  by  holiest  tow 
Pledged  in  Olympus,  and  made  known 
To  mortals  by  the  typo  which  now 
Hangs  glittering  on  ber  snowy  brow, 
That  butterfly,  mysterious  trinket. 
Which  means  the  Soul  (though  few  would  think 

it). 
And  sparkling  thus  on  brow  so  white, 
Tells  us  we've  Psyche  here  to-night  I 

But  hark !  some  song  hath  caught  her  ears  — 

And,    lo,    how   pleased,    as    though   she'd 
ne'er 
Heard  the  Orand  Opera  of  the  Spheres. 

Her  goddess-ship  approves  the  air ; 
And  to  a  mere  terrestrial  strain. 
Inspired  by  nought  but  pink  champagnw. 

Her  butterfly  as  gsyly  nods 
As  though  she  sate  with  all  her  train 

At  some  great  Concert  of  the  Gods. 
With  PhcDbus,  leader  —  Jove,  director, 
And  half  the  audience  drunk  with  nectar. 

From  a  male  group  the  carol  came  — 

A  few  gay  youths,  whom  round  the  board 
The  last  tried  flask's  superior  fame 

Had  lured  to  taste  the  tide  it  pour'd ; 
And  one,  who,  iirom  his  youth  and  lyre, 
Seem'd  grandson  to  the  Teian  sire. 
Thus  gayly  sung,  while,  to  his  soug, 
Replied  in  chorus  the  gay  throng  :    - 


BONO. 

SoMB  mertals  there  may  be,  so  wise,  or  so  fini . 

As  in  evenings  like  tliis  no  enjoyment  to  see  f 
But,  as  rm  not  particular  —  wit,  love,  avd  wins^ 
Are  for  one  night's  amusement  sufficient  fM 
me. 
Nay  —  hxunblo  and  strange  as  my  taste*  may 
appear  — 
If  driv'n  to  the  worst,  1  could  manege  Ciudk 
Heaven, 


298                                                       THE  SUMMER  FETE. 

To  put  up  with  eyes  such  as  beam  round  me 

It  is,  alas,  that  Fancy  shrinks 

here, 

Even  from  a  bright  reality. 

And  such  wine  as  we're  sipping,  six  days  out 

And  turning  inly,  feels  and  thinks 

of  seven. 

Far  heavenlier  things  than  e'er  will  bt. 

So  pledge  me  a  bumper  —  your  sages  profound 

May   be  blest,  if  they  will,   on  their  own 

Such  was  th'  effect  of  twilight's  hour 

patent  plan : 

On  the  fair  groups  that,  round  and  rounds 

hut  as  we  are  not  sages,  why  —  send  the  cup 

From  glade  to  grot,  from  bank  to  bower. 

round  — 

Now  wander'd  through  this  fairy  ground  i 

We  must  only  be  happy  the  best  way  we  can 

And  thus  did  Fancy—  and  champagne- 

Work  on  the  sight  their  dazzling  spells. 

A  rewaid  by  some  king  was  once  offer'd,  we're 

Till  nymphs  that  look'd,  at  noonday,  plain, 

told, 

Now  brighten' d,  in  the  gloom,  to  beUea; 

To  whoe'er  could  invent  a  now  bUss  for  man- 

And the  brief  interval  of  time. 

kind; 

'Twixt  after  dinner  and  before. 

But  talk  of  new  pleasures  —  give  me  but  the  old, 

To  dowagers  brought  back  their  prime. 

And  I'll  leave  your  inventors  all  new  ones 

And  shed  a  halo  round  twoscore. 

they  find. 

Or  should  I,  in  quest  of  fresh  realms  of  bliss, 

Meanwhile,  new  pastimes  for  the  eye, 

Set  sail  in  the  pinnace  of  Fancy  some  day, 

The  ear,  the  fancy,  quick  succeed ; 

Let  the  rich  rosy  sea  I  embark  on  be  this. 

And  now  along  the  waters  fly 

And  such  eyes  as  we've  here  be  the  stars  of 

Like  gondoles,  of  "Venetian  breed. 

my  way ! 

With  knights  and  dames,  who  calm  reclined 

In  the  mean  time,  a  bumper  —  your  Angelf ,  on 

Lisp  out  love  sonnets  as  they  glide  — 

high. 

Afltonishing  old  Thames  to  find 

May  have  pleasures  unknown  to  life's  liy  Ited 

Such  doings  on  his  moral  tide. 

span; 

But,  as  we  are  mt  Angels,  why  —  let  the  lask 

So  bxight  was  still  that  tranquil  river. 

fly- 

With  the  last  shaft  from  Daylight's  quiver 

We  must  only  be  happy  all  ways  that  "   can. 

That  Tiany  a  group,  in  turn,  were  seen 

Embarking  on  its  wave  serene  ; 

And,  'mong  the  rest,  in  chorus  gay. 

A  band  of  mariners,  from  th'  isles 

Now  nearly  fled  was  sunset's  light, 

Of  sunny  Greece,  aU  song  and  smiles, 

Leaving  but  so  much  of  its  beam 

As  smooth  lh°y  floated,  to  the  play 

As  gave  to  objects,  late  so  bright. 

Of  their  oar's  cadence,  sung  this  lay :  — 

The  coloring  of  a  shadowy  dreatr  • 

And  there  was  still  where  Day  had  // 

A  flush  that  spoke  him  loath  to  dio  — 

TRIO. 

A  last  link  of  his  glory  yet. 

OuK  home  is  on  the  sea,  boy. 

Binding  together  earth  and  i'ly. 

Our  home  is  on  the  sea ; 

Say,  why  is  it  that  twilight  hrst 

When  Nature  gave 

Becomes  even  brows  the  Jov.liest  ? 

The  ocean  wave. 

That  dimness,  with  its  so^torjng  touch. 

She  mark'd  it  for  the  Free. 

Can  bring  out  grace>  nrJelt  before. 

Whatever  storms  befall,  boy, 

A.ud  charms  we  ne'er  ■zrv  pee  too  much 

Whatever  storms  befall, 

When  seen  but  hrl*'  enchant  the  more  ? 

The  island  bark 

Alas,  it  is  that  ev3'y  707 

Is  Freedom's  ark. 

In  fulness  fint's  i^s  v/rrnt  alloy. 

And  floats  her  safe  through  ;fc. 

And  half  a  bJ'^',  Yv.t  hoped  or  guess'd, 

Is  sweetor  th^r  fbe  whole  possess'd ;  — 

Behold  yon  sea  of  isles,  boy. 

That  Bei'ity  T/hen  least  shone  upon, 

Behold  yon  sea  of  isles, 

A  c-pftty-e  most  ideal  grows  ; 

Where  every  shore 

knd  thorn's  no  light  from  moon  or  eun 

Is  sparkling  o'er 

like  that  Imagination  thiowj  •  — 

With  Beauty's  richest  smiles. 

For  us  hath  Freedom  claim'd,  boy, 
Por  lis  hath  Freedom  claim'd 

Those  oceiji  nests 

^^^^e^e  Valor  rests 
His  eagle  wing  untamed. 

\nd  shall  the  Moslem  dare,  boy, 
And  shall  the  Moslem  dare, 

While  Grecian  hand 

Can  wield  a  brand. 
To  plant  his  Crescent  there ) 
So  —  by  our  fathers,  no,  boy, 
No,  by  the  Cross  we  show  -• 

From  Maina's  rills 

To  Thracia's  hills 
All  Greece  rcCchoes  "  No^.  " 


Like  pleasant  thoughts  that  o'er  the  mind 

A  minute  come,  and  go  again, 
Ev'n  so,  by  snatches,  in  the  wind. 

Was  caught  and  lost  that  choral  strain, 
Now  fiill,  now  faint  upon  the  ear, 
As  the  bark  floated  far  or  near. 
At  length  when,  lost,  the  closing  note 

Had  down  the  waters  died  along, 
Forth  from  another  fairy  boat, 

Freighted  with  music,  camo  this  song:  — • 


SONG. 

Smoothly  flowing  through  verdant  rales. 

Gentle  river,  thy  current  runs, 
Shelter'd  safe  from  winter  gales. 

Shaded  cool  from  summer  suns. 
Thus  our  Youth's  sweet  moments  glide, 

Fenced  with  flow'ry  shelter  round ; 
No  rude  tempest  wakes  the  tide. 

All  its  path  is  fair}'  ground. 

But,  fair  river,  the  day  will  come, 

When,  woo'd  by  whisp'ring  groves  in  vain, 
Thou'it  leave  those  banks,  thy  shaded  home, 

To  mingle  with  the  stormy  main. 
And  thou,  sweet  Youth,  too  soon  wilt  pass 

Into  the  world's  unshelter'd  sea. 
Where,  once  thy  wave  hath  mix'd,  alas. 

All  hope  of  peace  is  lost  for  thee. 


»  In  England  the  pariUion  of  this  opera  of  RoaRlni  wi» 
•nnsferred  to  tf  s  itory  of  Peter  the  Hermit  j  by  which  nMans 
3m   KteeoruiD   <f  giving  sue'-  «ubm  m  **  Moya*,"  "  Ph*- 


Next  turn  we  to  the  gay  saloon. 
Resplendent  as  a  summer  noon. 

Where,  'neath  a  peiulcnt  wreath  of  lighta, 
A  Zodiac  of  flowers  and  tapers  — 
(Such  as  in  Russian  ball  rooms  sheds 
Its  glory  o'er  young  dancers'  heads)  — 

Quadrille  performs  her  maxy  rites. 
And  reigns  supreme  o'er  slides  and  o«p«n  | 
Working  to  death  each  opera  strain* 

As,  with  a  foot  that  ne'er  reposes. 
She  jigs  through  sacred  and  profane. 

From  "Maid  and  Magpie  "up  to*' Moses  ;"• 
Wearing  out  tunes  as  fast  as  shoes. 

Till  fagg'd  Rossini  scarce  respires ; 
Till  Mayerbeer  for  mercy  sues. 

And  Weber  at  her  feet  expires. 

And  now  the  set  hath  ceased  —  the  how 
Of  fiddlers  taste  a  brief  rcj)08e. 
While  light  along  the  painted  floor, 

Arm  within  arm,  the  couples  stray. 
Talking  their  stock  of  nothings  o'er. 

Till  —  nothing's  left,  at  last,  to  say. 
When,  lo  !  —  most  opportunely  sent  — ^ 

Two  Exquisites,  a  he  and  she, 
Just  brought  from  Dandyland,  and  meant 

For  Fashion's  grand  Menagerie. 
Enter'd  the  room  —  and  scarce  were  thei« 
When  all  flock'd  round  them,  glad  to  stai* 
At  any  monsters,  ant/  where. 


Some  thought  them  perfect,  to  their 
"While  others  hinted  that  the  waists 
(That  in  particular  of  the  /le  thing) 
Left  far  too  ample  room  for  breathing  : 
■NMiereas,  to  meet  these  critics'  wishes. 

The  isthmus  there  should  be  so  small. 
That  Exquisites,  at  last,  like  fishes, 

Must  manage  not  to  breathe  at  all. 
The  female  (these  same  critics  said). 

Though  orthodox  from  toe  to  chin. 
Yet  lack'd  that  spacious  width  of  head 

To  hat  of  toadstool  much  akin  — 
That  build  of  bonnet,  whose  extent 
Should,  like  a  doctrine  of  dissent. 

Puzzle  church  doors  to  let  it  in. 

However  —  sad  as  'twas,  no  doubt. 
That  nymph  so  smart  should  go  abov^ 
With  head  unconscious  of  the  place 
It  ouffht  to  fill  in  Infinite  Space  — 


taoa,"  Itc  to  tte  daneM 
Puis),lMsbs 


MtoctsJ  Ana  It  (ss  was 


BOC                                                       THE   SUMMER  FETE.                                                          ^ 

Yet  all  allow'd  that,  of  her  kind. 

And,  should  the  charmer's  head  hold  cut, 

A  prettier  show  'twas  liard  to  find ; 

My  heart  and  heels  are  hers  till  death. 

While  of  that  doubtful  genus,  "  dressy  men," 

0  !  ah  !  &c. 

The  male  was  thought  a  first-rate  specimen. 

StUl  round  and  round  through  life  we'll  ^fl 

Such  Savans,  too,  as  wish'd  to  trace 

The  manners,  habits,  of  this  race  — 

SHE. 

To  know  what  rank  (if  rank  at  all) 

To  Lord  Fitznoodle's  eldest  son, 

Mong  reas'ning  things  to  than  should  fall  — 

A  youth  renown' d  for  waistcoats  smart, 

What  sort  of  notions  heaven  wnparts 

I  now  have  given  (excuse  the  pun) 

To  bigh-built  heads  and  f.f;ht-laced  hearts. 

A  vested  interest  in  my  heart. 

And  how  far  Soul,  whicb,  I'lato  says, 

O  !  ah  !  &c. 

Abhors  restraint,  can  act,  vi  stays  — 

Still  round  and  round  with  him  I'U  go. 

Might  now,  if  gifted  wif  Ji  discerning, 

Find  opportunities  of  If  wning  : 

HE. 

As  these  two  creatures  •- from  their  pout 

What  if,  by  fond  remembrance  led 

And  frown,  'twas  plajr.  —had  just  fall'n  out ; 

Again  to  wear  our  mutual  chain. 

And  all  their  little  thoughts,  of  course, 

For  me  thou  cutt'st  Fitznoodle  dead, 

Were  stirring  in  full  fret  and  force ;  — 

And  I  levant  from  Lady  Jane. 

Like  mites,  through  microscope  espied. 

0  !  ah  !  &c. 

A  world  of  no  chin  ga  magnified. 

Still  round  and  round  again  we'll  go. 

But  mild  thf  v.n'.  auch  beings  seek, 

SHE. 

The  tempest  of  their  souls  to  speak ; 

Though  he  the  Noodle  honors  give. 

As  Opera  swains  to  fiddles  sigh, 

And  thine,  dear  youth,  are  not  so  high, 

To  fiddles  fight,  to  fiddles  die. 

With  thee  in  endless  waltz  I'd  live. 

Even  so  this  tender  couple  set 

With  thee  to  Weber's  Stop  Waltz,  die ! 

Their  well-bred  woes  to  a  Duet. 

0!  ah!  &c. 

Thus  round  and  round  through  life  we'll  ga 

[Exeunt  wfUtzxtiff 

WAXTZ  DUET.» 

HE. 

While  thus,  like  motes  that  dance  away 

Long  as  I  waltz'd  with  only  thee. 
Each  blissful  Wednesday  that  went  by, 

STor  stylish  Stultz,  nor  neat  Nugee 
Adorn' d  a  youth  so  blest  as  I. 
0  !  ah  !  ah  !  0  ! 

Existence  in  a  summer  ray. 
These  gay  things,  bom  but  to  quadrille. 
The  circle  of  their  doom  fulfil  — 
(That  dancing  doom,  whose  law  decrees 
That  they  should  live,  on  the  alert  toe. 

Those  happy  days  are  gone  —  heighho  i 

A  life  of  ups  and  downs,  like  keys 

Of  Broadwood's  in  a  long  concerto  :  — "< 

SHE. 

While  thus  the  fiddle's  spell,  within. 

Long  as  with  thee  I  skimm'd  the  ground. 
Nor  yet  was  scorn'd  for  Lady  Jane, 

Nd  blither  nj-mph  tetotum'd  round 
To  Coliinet's  immortal  strain. 
0  !  ah  !  &c. 

Calls  up  its  realm  of  restless  sprites, 
Without,  as  if  some  Mandarin 

Were  holding  there  his  Feast  of  Lights, 
Lamps  of  all  hues,  from  walks  and  bowera. 
Broke  on  the  eye,  like  kindling  flowers, 

rhose  happy  days  are  gone  —  heighho ! 

TUl,  buddir.g  into  light,  each  tree 
Bore  its  full  fruit  of  brilliancy. 

HE. 

With  Lady  Jane  now  whirl'd  about, 
I  know  no  boimds  of  time  or  breath ; 

Here  shone  a  gmden  —  lamps  all  o'er. 

As  though  the  Spirits  of  the  Air 
Had  tak'n  it  in  their  heads  to  pour 

1  It  is  hardly  necessury  to  remind  the  reader  that  this  Duet 
B  a  Mrody  of  the  often  translated  an(f  parodied  ode  of  Hor- 
icfi,   '  Donsc  gratus  eram  tibi,"  &c. 

A  shower  of  summer  meteors  there ;  — 
While  here  a  lighted  shrubbery  led 
To  a  small  lake  that  sleeping  lay. 

THE  SUiMER  FETK. 


Cradled  in  foliage,  but,  o'erhcad, 
Open  to  heaven's  sweet  breath  and  ray ; 

Wliilc  round  its  rim  there  burning  stood 
Lamps,    with    young    flowers    beside    them 
bedded, 

riiat  shrunk  from  such  warm  neighborhood 

And,  looking  bashful  in  the  flood, 

Blush'd  to  behold  themselves  so  wedded. 

Hither,  U  this  embower'd  retreat. 
Fit  but  for  nights  so  still  and  sweet ; 
Nights,  such  as  Eden's  cabn  recall 
h\  its  tirst  lonely  hour,  when  all 

So  silent  is,  below,  on  high. 

That  if  a  star  falls  down  the  sky. 
You  almost  think  you  hear  it  fall  — 
Hither,  to  this  recess,  a  few. 

To  shun  the  dancers'  wildering  noise, 
And  give  an  hour,  ere  nighttime  flew, 

To  music's  more  ethereal  joys, 
Came,  w  ith  their  voices  —  ready  all 
As  Echo,  waiting  for  a  call  — 
In  hymn  or  ballad,  dirge  or  glee, 
To  weave  their  mingling  minstrelsy. 

And,  first,  a  dark-ey'd  nymph,  array'd  — 
Like  her,  whom  Art  hath  deathless  made, 
Bright  Mona  Lisa '  —  with  that  braid 
Of  hair  across  the  brow,  and  one 
Small  gem  that  in  the  centre  shone  — 
With  face,  too,  in  its  form  resembling 

Da  Vinci's  Beauties  —  the  dark  eyes, 
tiuw  lucid,  as  through  crystal  trembling, 

Now  soft,  as  if  suffused  with  sighs  — 
Her  lute,  that  hung  beside  her,  took. 
And,  bending  o'er  it  with  shy  look, 
More  beautiful,  in  shadow  thus, 
Than  when  with  life  most  luminous, 
Pass'd  her  light  finger  o'er  the  chords, 
And  sung  to  them  these  mournful  words :  — 


SONG. 

BwNO  hither,  bring   thy  lute,   while    day  is 
dying  — 

Here  will  I  lay  me,  and  list  to  thy  song ; 
Bhould  tones  of  other  days  mix  with  its  sighing. 

Tones  of  a  light  heart,  now  banish'd  so  long, 
Cha»e  them  away  —  they  bring  but  pain, 
And  let  thy  theme  be  woe  again. 

1  The  celebrated  portmit  by  Llonardo  da  Vind,  which  h« 
«  oaid  t  J  have  occupied  Jour  years  in  painting.  —  FoMri, 
tol.  vt\ 


Sing  on,  thou  mournful  lute  —  day  is  fut  going 
Soon  will  its  light  from  thy  chords  die  awftj 

One  little  gleam  in  the  west  is  still  glowing, 
^^'hcn  that  hath  vanish'd,  farewdl  to  th;  lif 

Mark,  how  it  fades !  —  see,  it  is  fled  I 

Now,  sweet  lute,  be  thou,  too,  da«d. 


The  group,  that  late,  in  garb  of  QredLi, 

Sung  their  light  chorus  o'er  the  tide  — 
Forms,  such  as  up  the  wooded  creeks 

Of  Helle's  shore  at  noonday  glide. 
Or,  nightly,  on  her  glist>>ning  sea, 
Woo  the  bright  waves  with  melody^ 
Now  link'd  their  triple  league  again 
Of  voices  sweet,  and  sung  a  strain. 
Such  as,  had  Sappho's  tuneful  ear 

But  caught  it,  on  the  fatal  steep. 
She  wotild  have  paused,  entranced,  to  hMT 

And,  for  that  day,  deferr'd  her  leap. 


SONG  AND  TRIO. 

On  one  of  those  sweet  nights  that  oA 
Their  lustre  o'er  th'  JEgetai  fling, 

Beneath  my  casement,  low  and  soft, 
I  heard  a  Lesbian  lover  sing ; 

And,  listening  both  with  ear  and  thought, 

These  sounds  upon  the  night  breeze  caught  — 
"  O,  happy  as  the  gods  is  he, 
«  Who  gazes  at  this  hour  on  thee  I " 

The  song  was  one  by  Sappho  sung. 
In  the  first  love  dreams  of  her  lyre, 

When  words  of  passion  from  her  tor  ^ue 
Fell  like  a  shower  of  living  fire. 

And  still,  at  close  of  every  strain, 

I  heard  these  burning  words  again  - 
•'  O,  happy  as  the  gods  is  he, 
••  Who  listens  at  this  hour  to  thee !  • 

Once  more  to  Mona  lisa  tum'd 

Each  asking  eye  —  nor  tum'd  in  rain  , 

Though  the  quick,  transient  blush  that  yvn  i 
Bright  o'er  her  cheek,  and  died  again, 

Show'd  with  what  inly  shame  and  fear 

Was  uttcr'd  what  all  loved  to  bear 

Yet  not  to  sorrow's  languid  lay 
Did  she  her  lute  song  now  devote ; 

But  thus,  with  voice  that,  like  a  ray 
Of  southern  sunshine,  scem'd  to  float  — 
So  rich  with  climate  was  each  note  — 

Call'd  up  in  every  heart  a  dream 

Of  Italy  with  this  soft  theme :  — 


102                                                        THE   SUMMER  F^TE. 

And  ninepins  set,  like  systems,  up. 

SONG. 

To  be  knock'd  down  the  following  minute. 

Who'll  buy  —  'tis  FoUy's  shop,  who'll  buy 

0,  WHERE  art  thou  dreaming, 

On  land,  or  on  sea  ? 

Gay  caps  we  here  of  foolscap  make. 

In  my  lattice  is  gleaming 

For  bards  to  wear  in  dog-day  weather  ; 

The  watch  light  for  thee ; 

Or  bards  the  bells  alone  may  take. 

And  this  fond  heart  is  glowing 

And  leave  to  wits  the  cap  and  feather. 

To  welcome  thee  home, 

Tetotums  we've  for  patriots  got. 

And  the  night  is  fast  going, 

Who  court  the  mob  with  antics  humble } 

But  thou  art  not  come  : 

Like  theirs  the  patriot's  dizzy  lot, 

No,  thou-  com'et  not ! 

A  glorious  spin,  and  then  —  a  tumble. 

Who'U  buy,  &c.  &c. 

'Tis  the  time  when  night  ilowers 

Should  wake  from  their  rest  ; 

Here,  wealthy  misers  to  inter, 

'Tis  the  hour  of  all  hours, 

We've  shrouds  of  neat  post-obit  paper ; 

When  the  lute  singeth  best. 

While,  for  their  heirs,  we've  quicksihrev, 

Eat  the  flowers  are  half  sleeping 

That,  fast  as  they  can  wish,  will  caper. 

Till  thy  glance  they  see  ; 

For  aldermen  we've  dials  true. 

And  the  hush'd  lute  is  keeping 

That  tell  no  hour  but  that  of  dinner  ; 

its  music  for  thee. 

For  courtly  parsons  sermons  new, 

Yet,  thou  com'st  not ! 

That  suit  alike  both  saint  and  sinner. 

Who'll  buy,  &c.  &c. 

No  time  we've  now  to  name  our  term*, 

Scarce  had  the  last  word  left  her  lip 
•    When  a  light,  boyish  form,  with  trip 

But,  whatsoe'er  the  whims  that  seize  you, 

This  oldest  of  all  mortal  firms, 

Fantastic,  up  the  green  walk  came, 

Folly  and  Co.,  will  try  to  please  you. 

Prank'd  in  gay  vest,  to  which  the  flame 

Or,  should  you  wish  a  darker  hue 

Of  every  lamp  he  pass'd,  or  blue. 

Of  goods  than  we  can  recommend  you, 

Or  green,  or  crimson,  lent  its  hue ; 

Why  then  (as  we  with  lawyers  do) 

As  though  a  live  chameleon's  skin 

To  Knavery's  shop  next  door  we'U  send  you 

He  had  despoil'd,  to  robe  him  in. 

Who'll  buy,  &c.  &c. 

A  zone  ho  wore  of  clattering  shells. 

And  from  his  lofty  cap,  where  shone 

A  peacock's  plume,  there  dangled  bella 

That  rung  as  he  came  dancing  on. 
Close  after  him,  a  page  —  in  dress 

While  thus  the  blissful  moments  roU'J, 

And  shape,  his  miniature  express  — 

Moments  of  rare  and  fleeting  light, 

An  ample  basket,  fiU'd  with  store 

That  show  themselves,  like  grains  of  gold 

v'^f  toys  and  trinkets,  laughing  bore  ; 

In  the  mine's  refuse,  few  and  bright ; 

rill,  having  reach'd  this  vordan  scat, 

Behold  where,  opening  far  away. 

He  laid  it  at  his  master's  feet. 

The  long  Conservatory's  range. 

W'h.o,  half  in  speech  and  half  in  song. 

Stripp'd  of  the  flowers  it  wore  all  day, 

Chanted  this  invoice  to  the  throng  :    — 

But  gaining  lovelier  in  exchange. 

Presents,  on  Dresden's  costliest  ware. 

A  supper  such  as  Gods  might  share. 

SONG. 

Ah  much-lov'd  Supper  !  —  blithe  repast 

Of  other  times,  now  dwindling  fast, 

Who'll  buy  ?  —  'tis  Folly's  shop,  who'll  buy  ? — 

Since  Dinner  far  into  the  night 

We've  toys  to  suit  all  ranks  and  ages ; 

Advanced  the  march  of  appetite  ; 

Besides  our  usual  fools'  supply, 

Deployed  his  never-ending  forces 

We've  lots  of  playthings,  too,  for  sages. 

Of  various  vintage  and  three  courses. 

For  reasoners,  here's  a  juggler's  cup, 

And,  like  those  Goths  who  pla}''d  the  dicket* 

Thqt  ful'est  seems  when  nothing'    in  it ; 

With  Rome  and  all  her  sacred  chicken?. 

THE  SUMMER  FETE. 


M) 


Put  Supper  and  hor  fowls  so  while, 
Legs,  wings,  and  dnuusticks,  all  to  flight. 

Sow  waked  once  more  by  wine  —  whose  tide 

[s  the  true  Hippocrene,  where  glide 

ITie  Mvise's  swans  with  happiest  wing, 

Dii'ping  their  bills,  before  they  sing  — 

rh*  minstrels  of  the  tab'o  greet 

rb«  listenmg  car  with  descant  sweet :  — 


SONQ  AND  TRIO. 

XnE    LKVEE    AND    COUCHEB. 

Call  the  Loves  around, 

Let  the  whisp'ring  sound 
Of  their  wings  be  heard  alone, 

Till  soft  to  rest 

My  Lady  blest 
At  this  bright  hour  hath  gone. 

Let  Fancy's  beams 

Play  o'er  her  dreams. 
Till,  touch'd  with  light  all  through, 

Her  spirit  be 

Like  a  summer  sea. 
Shining  and  slumbering  too. 
And,  while  thus  hush'd  she  lies. 
Let  the  whisper'd  chorus  rise  — 
Good  evening,  good   evening,  to  our  Lady's 
bright  eyes." 

But  the  dnybeam  breaks, 

See,  our  Ijttdy  wakes  ! 
Call  the  Loves  around  once  more, 

Tike  stars  that  wait 

At  Morning's  gate, 
Her  first  steps  to  adore. 

Let  the  veil  of  night 

From  her  dawning  sight 
All  gently  pass  away, 

Like  mists  that  flee 

From  a  summer  sea. 
Leaving  it  full  of  day. 
And,  while  her  last  dream  flies, 
Let  the  whisper'd  chorus  rise  — 
aood  morning,  good  morning,  to  ouj  Lady's 
bright  eyes." 


SONO. 

If  to  sec  thee  bt>  to  love  thee, 

If  to  love  thee  be  to  prize 
Houglit  of  earth  or  heuv'n  above  thee, 

Kof  lo  live  but  for  those  evee* : 


If  such  lore  to  mortal  giren. 
Be  wrong  to  earth,  be  wrong  tn  haarM* 
'Tis  not  for  thte  the  fault  to  bUme, 
For  &om  those  eyes  the  madness  cam*. 
Forgive  but  the  i  the  crime  of  loring. 

In  this  heart  noro  pride  'twill  raise 
To  be  thus  wro  ig,  with  thee  approTing, 

Than  right,  with  all  a  world  to  praiM  t 


But  say,  while  light  these  songt  i 

What  means  that  buM  of  whispering  ronn^ 

From  lip  to  lip  —  as  if  the  Power 

Of  Mystery,  in  this  gay  hour. 

Had  thrown  some  secret  (as  we  fling 

Nuts  among  children)  to  that  ring 

Of  rosy,  restless  lips,  to  be 

Thus  scrambled  for  so  wantonly  } 

And,  mark  ye,  still  as  each  reve\ls 

The  mystic  news,  her  hearer  steab 

A  look  towards  yon  enchanted  chair, 

WTiere,  like  the  Lay  of  the  Mask, 
A  nymph,  as  exquisitely  fair 

As  Love  himself  for  bride  could  ask« 
Sits  blushing  deep,  as  if  aware 
Of  the  wing'd  secret  circling  there. 
Who  is  this  nymph  ?  and  what,  O  Muse, 

What,  in  the  name  of  all  odd  things 
That  woman's  restless  brain  pursues, 

What  mean  these  mystic  whisperings  \ 

Thus  runs  the  tale  :  —  yon  blushing  maid. 
Who  sits  in  beauty's  light  array* d. 
While  o'er  her  leans  a  tall  young  Dervise 
(Who  from  her  eyes,  as  all  observe,  is 
Learning  by  heart  the  Marriage  Service,) 
Is  the  bright  heroine  of  our  song,  — 
The  Love-wed  Psyche,  whom  so  long 
We've  miss'd  among  this  mortal  (rain. 
We  thought  her  wing'd  to  heaven  again 

But  no  —  earth  still  demands  her  smilo ; 
Her  friends,  the  Gods,  must  wait  a  whila 
And  if,  for  maid  of  heavci  ly  birth, 

A  young  Duke's  proffer'd  heart  and  ii*n«. 
Be  things  worth  waiting  for  on  earth. 

Both  are,  this  hour,  at  her  command. 
To-night,  in  yonder  half-lit  shade. 

For  love  concerns  expressly  mMOt, 
The  fond  proposal  first  was  made. 

And  love  and  silence  blush'd  conatnt. 
Parents  and  friends  (all  here,  as  Jewa, 
Enchanters,  housemaids  Tutk-i.  Hindoos 


t04 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


Have  heard,  approved,  and  bless'd  the  tie  ; 

And  now,  hadsl  thou  a  poet's  eye. 

Thou  might'st  behold,  in  th'  air,  above 

That  brilliant  brow,  triumphant  Love, 

Holding,  as  if  to  drop  it  down 

Gently  upon  her  curls,  a  c  'Own 

Of  Ducal  shape  —  but,  O,  such  gems  ! 

Pilfer' d  from  Peri  diadems, 

And  set  in  gold  like  that  which  shines 

To  deck  the  Fairy  of  the  Mines : 

Ir.  short,  a  crown  all  glorious  —  such  as 

Love  orders  when  he  makes  a  Duchess. 

But  see,  'tis  morn  in  heaven  :  the  Sun 

Up  the  bright  orient  hath  begun 

To  canter  his  immortal  team ; 

And,  though  not  yet  arrived  in  sight, 

His  leaders'  nostrils  send  a  steam 
Of  radiance  forth,  so  rosy  bright 
As  makes  their  onward  path  all  light. 


What's  to  be  done  ?  if  Sol  will  be 

So  deused  early,  so  must  we  ; 

And  when  the  day  thus  shines  outright, 

Ev'n  dearest  friends  mast  bid  good  night. 

So,  farewell,  scene  of  mirth  and  masku  s:. 

Now  almost  a  by-gone  tale ; 
Beauti'js,  late  in  lamplight  basking, 

Now,  by  daylight,  dim  and  pale  ; 
Harpers,  yawning  o'er  your  harps, 
Scarcely  knowing  flats  from  sharps  ; 
Mothers  who,  while  bored  you  keep 
Time  by  nodding,  nod  to  sleep  ; 
Heads  of  hair,  that  stood  last  night 
Cripi,  crispy,  and  upright, 
But  have  now,  alas,  one  sees,  a 
Leaning  like  the  tower  of  Pisa ; 
Fare  ye  well  —  thus  sinks  away 

All  that's  mighty,  all  that's  bright , 
Tyre  and  Sidon  had  their  day. 

And  even  a  Ball  —  has  but  its  nigldt ' 


EVENINGS    IN    GREECE. 


PREFACE 

TO  THE  FIFTH  VOLUME. 

Iji  spite  of  the  satirist's  assertion,  that 

"  next  to  singing,  the  most  foolish  thing 
Is  gravely  to  harangue  on  what  we  sing,"  — 

i  shall  yet  venture  to  prefix  to  this  Volume  a 
few  i^itroductory  pages,  not  relating  so  much  to 
the  Songs  which  it  contains  as  to  my  own 
thoughts  and  recollections  respecting  song  writ- 
ing in  general. 

The  close  alliance  knoAvn  to  have  existed  be- 
tween poetrj-  and  music,  during  the  infancy  of 
both  these  arts,  has  sometimes  led  to  the  con- 
clusion that  they  are  essentially  kindred  to  each 
other,  and  that  the  true  poet  ought  to  be,  if  not 
practically,  at  least  in  taste  and  ear,  a  musician. 
That  such  was  the  case  in  the  early  times  of 
ancient  Greece,  and  that  her  poets  then  not  only 
Bet  their  own  verses  to  music,  but  sung  them  at 
public  festivals,  there  is  every  reason,  from  all 
we  know  on  the  subject,  to  believe.    A  similar 

1  The  following  is  a  specimen  of  these  memorandums,  as 
given  by  Foscolo: — "I  must  make  these  two  verses  over 
igain  singing  them,  ar  d  I  must  transpose  ttiem — 3  (r'.tloc^ 


union  between  the  two  arts  attended  the  dawn 
of  modem  literature,  in  the  twelfth  century,  ana 
was,  in  a  certain  degree,  continued  down  as  far 
as  the  time  of  Petrarch,  when,  as  it  appears  from 
his  own  memorandums,  that  poet  used  to  sing 
his  verses,  in  composing  them  ; '  and  when  it 
was  the  custom  with  all  writers  of  sonnets  and 
canzoni  to  prefix  to  their  poems  a  sort  of  key 
note,  by  which  the  intonation  in  reciting  or 
chanting  them  was  to  be  regulated. 

As  the  practice  of  uniting  in  one  individual, 
—  whether  Bard,  Scald,  or  Troubadour,  —  the 
character  and  functions  both  of  musicia*  and 
poet,  is  known  to  have  been  invariably  the  mark 
of  a  rude  state  of  society,  so  the  gradual  sepa- 
ration of  these  two  callings,  in  accordance  ■with 
that  great  principle  of  Political  Economy,  th« 
division  of  labor,  has  been  found  an  equauy 
sure  index  of  improving  civilizatjou.  So  far, 
in  England,  indeed,  has  this  partition  of  worfc 
manship  been  carried,  that,  with  the  signal  ex- 
ception of  Milton,  there  is  not  to  be  found,  I 
believe,  among  all  the  eminent  poets  of  Eng- 

A.  M.  19th  October."  Fiequently  to  sonnets  of  that  tim« 
such  notices  as  the  following  were  p»eflxed :  — /ifOTtafiuF 
per  Francum"— "  ScriDtoi  Jedit  «o»ttoi." 


land,  a  single  musician.  It  is  but  fair,  at  the 
same  tune,  to  acknowledge,  that  out  of  the  works 
of  these  very  poets  might  be  produced  a  select 
number  of  songs,  surpassing,  in  fancy,  grace, 
and  tenderness,  all  that  the  language,  perhaps, 
of  any  other  country  could  furnish. 

We  witness,  in  our  own  times,  —  as  far  as  the 
knowledge  or  practice  of  music  is  concerned,  — 
•  similar  divorce  between  the  two  arts ;  and  my 
friend  and  neighbor,  Mr.  Bowles,  is  the  only 
distinguished  poet  of  our  day  whom  I  can  CfJl 
to  mind  as  being  also  a  musician.'  Not  to 
dwell  further,  however,  on  living  writers,  the 
Btrong  feeling,  even  to  tears,  with  which  I  have 
8e<»n  IByron  listen  to  some  favorite  melody,  has 
bcvn  elsewhere  described  by  me ;  and  the  mu- 
sical taste  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  I  ought  to  be  the 
last  person  to  call  in  question,  after  the  very 
cordial  tribute  he  has  left  on  record  to  my  own 
untutored  minstrelsy.*  But  I  must  say,  that, 
pleased  as  my  illustrious  friend  appeared  really 
to  be,  when  I  first  sung  for  him  at  Abbotsford, 
it  was  not  till  an  evening  or  two  after,  at  hia 
own  hospitable  supper  table,  that  I  saw  hini  in 
his  true  sphere  of  musical  enjoyment.  No 
•ooner  had  the  quaigh  taken  its  round,  after  our 
repast,  than  hia  friend,  Sir  Adam,  was  called 
upon,  with  the  general  acclaim  of  the  whole 
table,  for  the  song  of  ••  Hey  tuttie  tattie,"  and 
gave  it  out  to  us  with  all  the  true  national  rel- 
ish. But  it  was  during  the  chorus  that  Scott's 
delight  at  this  festive  scene  chiefly  showed  itself. 
At  the  end  of  every  verse,  the  whole  company 
rose  from  their  scats,  and  stood  round  the  table 
with  arms  crossed,  so  as  to  grasp  the  hand  of 
the  neighbor  on  each  side.  Thus  interlinked, 
we  continued  to  keep  measure  to  the  strain,  by 
moving  our  arms  up  and  down,  all  chanting 
forth  vooi<orously,  "  Hey  tuttie  tattie,  Hey  tut- 
tie tattie."  Sir  Walter's  enjoyment  of  this  old 
Jacobite  chorus, —  a  little  increased,  doubtless, 
by  seeir}^  how  I  entered  into  the  spirit  of  it,  — 
gave  to  the  whole  scene,  I  confess,  a  zest  and 
eharm  in  my  eyes  such  as  the  finest  musical 
performance  could  not  have  bestowed  on  it. 

Having  been  thus  led  to  allude  to  this  y-isit,  I 


I  Tbo  late  Rev.  William  Crowe,  author  of  the  noble  poem 
ol  "  Lewisdcn  Ilill,"  was  likewise  a  musician,  and  haa  left 
a  'l're.iti''e  on  English  Vereiflcation,  to  which  his  knowledge 
of  the  sister  art  lends  a  peculiar  intereat 

So  liiile  does  even  the  origin  of  the  word  «« lyric,"  a*  ap- 
plied to  poetry,  seem  to  be  present  to  the  minds  of  aoine 
wn'.eTs.  that  the  poet,  Young,  ha«  left  h»  an  Gnay  on  Lyric 
Poc/y,  in  which  there  ta  not  a  single  allurioo  to  Miuk, 
from  beginning  to  end. 

39 


am  tempted  to  mention  a  few  other  cin-umstAneM 
connected  with  it.  From  Abbot«ford  1  prorec<>«d 
to  Edinburgh,  whither  Sir  Walter,  in  a  few  dayi 
after,  followed ;  and  during  my  »hort  May  in 
that  city  an  incident  occurred,  which,  thougV 
already  mentioned  by  .Scott  in  hia  Diary.*  and 
owing  iU  chief  interest  to  the  connection  of  ids 
name  with  it,  ought  not  to  be  omitted  UBonf 
these  memoranda.  As  I  had  oxpreued  •  deairt 
to  visit  the  Edmburgh  theatre,  which  o))ene<* 
but  the  evening  before  my  departure,  it  wa» 
proposed  to  Sir  Walter  and  myself,  by  our  friend 
Jeffrey,  that  we  should  dine  with  him  at  »»n  early 
hour,  for  that  pur])ose,  and  both  were  good  na- 
turcd  enough  to  accompany  me  to  the  theatre. 
Having  found,  in  a  volume «  sei  t  to  me  by  aome 
anonymous  correspondent,  a  more  circumatan- 
tial  account  of  the  scene  of  that  evening  than 
Sir  Walter  has  given  in  his  Diary,  I  shall  here 
avail  myself  of  its  graphic  and  (with  one  ex- 
ception) accurate  details.  After  adverting  to 
the  sensation  produced  by  the  appearance  of 
the  late  Duchess  of  St.  Albans  in  one  of  thr 
boxes,  the  writer  thus  proceeds :  —  "  lliere  wa* 
«  general  buzs  and  stare,  for  a  few  seconds  ;  the 
audience  then  turned  their  backs  to  the  lady, 
and  their  attention  to  the  stage,  to  wait  till  the 
first  piece  should  be  over  ere  they  intended  star- 
ing again.  Just  as  it  terminated,  another  party 
quietly  glided  into  a  box  near  that  filled  by  the 
Duchess.  One  pleasing  female  was  with  the 
three  male  comers.  In  a  minute  the  cry  ran 
round  :  —  •  Eh,  yon's  Sir  Walter,  wi'  Lockhan 
an'  his  wife,*  and  wha's  the  wee  bit  bodie  wi' 
the  pawkie  een  ?  Wow,  but  it's  Tam  Moore, 
just  —  Scott,  Scott !  Moore,  Moore  ! '  —  wit)\ 
shouts,  cheers,  bravos,  and  applause.  But  Scott 
would  not  rise  to  appropriato  these  tribute*. 
One  could  see  that  he  urged  iloore  to  do  so ; 
and  he,  though  modestly  reluctant,  at  la»t  yield- 
ed, and  bowed  hand  on  heart,  with  much  ani 
mation.  The  cry  for  Scott  was  then  redoubled 
He  gathered  himself  up,  and,  with  a  benevolent 
bend,  acknowledged  this  deserved  welcome 
The  orchestra  played  alternately  Scotch  and 
Irish  Melodi#>s." 


«  Life  by  Lockhan,  toL  vi.  p.  I9B. 

*  "  We  went  t»  Uie  theatre  bicpther,  and  lk»  I 
luckily  a  good  .me,  received  T.  M.  wWi  rapeim.  I  «p«M 
have  hugged  them,  U<t  it  paid  back  tiM  4«W  uT  tlw  kiB4  I* 
ceptiiMi  I  met  with  in  Ireland.** 

«  Written  by  Mr.  i(en«m  IlilL 

»  The  writer  was  here  mkatakML    Tlm»  ww  «••  Ml 
of  our  party  ;  but  neiUier  .Mr.  nor  Mia.  Lockliaif  ws«  i 


t06 


EVENINGS  IN   GREECE 


Among  the  choicest  of  my  recollections  of 
that  flying  visit  to  Edinburgh,  are  the  few  days 
I  passod  with  I/ord  Jeffrey  at  his  agreeable  re- 
treat, Craig  Crjok.  I  had  then  recently  written 
the  words  and  music  of  a  glee  contained  in  this 
volume,  "  Ship  ahoy  !  "  which  there  won  its 
first  honors.  So  often,  indeed,  was  I  called 
opou  to  repeat  it,  that  the  upland  echoes  of 
Craig  Crook  ought  long  to  have  had  its  burden 
by  heart. 

Having  thus  got  on  Scottish  ground,  I  find 
myself  awakened  to  the  remembrance  of  a  name 
which,  whenever  song  writing  is  the  theme,  ought 
CO  rank  second  to  none  in  that  sphere  of  poetical 
fame.  Robert  Burns  was  wholly  unskilled  in 
music  ;  yet  the  rare  art  of  adapting  words  suc- 
cessfully to  notes,  of  wedding  verse  in  congenial 
union  with  melody,  which,  were  it  not  for  his 
example,  I  should  say  none  but  a  poet  versed 
in  the  sister  art  ought  to  attempt,  has  yet,  by 
him,  with  the  aid  of  a  music,  to  which  my  own 
country's  strains  are  alone  comparable,  been 
exercised  with  so  workmanly  a  hand,  as  well  as 
with  so  rich  a  variety  of  passion,  playfulness, 
and  power,  as  no  song  writer,  perhaps,  but  him- 
self, has  ever  yet  displayed. 

That  Burns,  however  untaught,  was  yet,  in 
oar  and  feeling,  a  musician,*  is  clear  from  the 
skill  with  which  he  adapts  his  verse  to  the 
structure  and  character  of  each  different  strain. 
Still  more  strikingly  did  he  prove  his  fitness  for 
this  peculiar  task,  by  the  sort  of  instinct  with 
which,  in  more  than  one  instance,  he  discerned 
the  real  and  innate  sentiment  which  an  air  Avas 
calculated  to  convey,  though  always  before  as- 
sociated with  words  expressing  a  totally  differ- 
ent feeling.  Thus  the  air  of  a  ludicrous  old 
song,  "  Fee  him,  father,  fee  him,"  has  been 
made  the  medium  of  one  of  Burns's  most  pa- 
thetic effusions  ;  while,  still  more  marvellcusl)', 
"  Hey  tuttie  tattie  "  has  been  elevated  by  him 
tnto  that  heroic  strain,  "  Scots,  wha  hae  wi' 
Wallace  bled;" — a  song  which,  in  a  great 
national  crisis,  would  be  of  more  avail  than  all 
the  eJofiaence  of  a  Demosthenes.* 

It  was  impossible  that  the  example  of  Bums, 
m  these,  his   higher   inspirations,    should  not 

1  It  appears  certain,  notwithstanding,  tliat  he  wag,  in  his 
)outh,  wholly  insensible  to  music  In  speaking  of  him  and 
his  brother,  Mr.  Murdoch,  their  preceptor,  says,  "  Robert's 
»ar,  m  particular,  was  remarkably  dull  and  his  voice  untun- 
»bl8.  It  was  long  before  I  could  get  him  to  distinguish  one 
•iiie  from  anolher." 

»  I  know  not  whether  it    as  ever  been  before  remarked, 


materially  contribute  to  elevate  the  character  of 
English  song  writing,  and  even  to  lead  to  a 
reunion  of  the  gifts  which  it  requires,  if  not, 
as  of  old,  in  the  same  individual,  yet  in  that 
perfect  sympathy  between  poet  and  musician 
which  almost  amounts  to  identity,  and  of  which 
we  have  seen,  in  our  own  times,  so  interesting 
an  example  in  the  few  songs  bearing  the  united 
names  of  those  two  sister  muses,  Mrs.  Ark 
Wright  and  the  late  Mrs.  Hemans 

Very  different  was  the  state  of  the  song  de- 
partment of  English  poesy  at  the  time  when 
first  I  tried  my  novice  hand  at  the  lyre.  The 
divorce  between  song  and  sense  had  then  reached 
its  utmost  range ;  and  to  all  verses  connected 
with  music,  from  a  Birthday  Ode  down  to  the 
libretto  of  the  last .  new  opera,  might  fairly  be 
applied  the  solution  Figaro  gives  of  the  qualitj 
of  the  words  of  songs,  in  general,  —  "  Ce  quj 
ne  vaut  pas  la  peine  d'fitre  dit,  on  le  chante." 

It  may  here  be  suggested  that  the  convivial 
lyrics  of  Captain  Morris  present  an  exception  to 
the  general  character  I  have  given  of  the  songs 
of  this  period ;  and,  assuredly,  had  Morris  writ- 
ten much  that  at  all  approached  the  following 
verses  of  his  "  Reasons  for  Drinking,"  (which  1 
quote  from  rccoUectioii,)  few  would  have 
equalled  him  either  in  fancy,  or  in  that  lighter 
kind  of  pathos,  which  comes,  as  in  this  instance, 
like  a  few  melancholy  notes  in  the  middle  of  a 
gay  air,  throwing  a  soft  and  passing  shade  over 
mirth :  — 

"  My  muse,  too,  when  her  wings  are  dry, 

No  frolic  flights  will  take  ; 
But  round  a  bowl  she'll  dip  and  fly, 

Like  swallows  round  a  lake. 
If  then  the  nymph  must  have  her  share. 

Before  she'll  bless  her  swain. 
Why,  that  I  think's  a  reason  fair 

To  fill  my  glass  again. 

"  Then,  many  a  lad  I  lik'd  is  dead, 

And  many  a  lass  grown  old  ; 
And,  as  the  lesson  strikes  my  head, 

My  weary  heart  grows  coid. 
But  wine  a  while  holis  off  despair, 

Nay,  l)ids  a  hope  remain  ;  — 
And  that  I  think's  a  reason  fair 

To  fill  my  glass  again." 

that  the  well-known  lines  in  one  of  Burns's  most  spirit*^ 

songs, 

"  The  title's  but  the  guinea's  stamp. 
The  man's  the  gold  for  a'  that," 
may  possibly  have  been  suggested  by  the  following  passngf 
in  Wycherley's  p'ay,  the  "Country  Wife:" — "I  vveiglj 
the  man,  not  his  -itZ«;  'tis  not  the  King's  stamp  can  n»ak« 
the  metal  better.' 


EVENINGS  IN   GREECE. 


Wi 


How  fai  my  own  labors  in  this  field  —  i£  in- 
deed, the  gathering  of  such  idle  flowers  may 
oe  80  designated  —  have  helped  to  advance,  or 
even  kept  pace  with  the  progressive  improve- 
ment I  have  here  described,  it  is  not  for  me  to 
presume  to  decide.  I  only  know  that  in  a 
strong  and  inborn  feeling  for  music  lies  the 
Bource  of  whatever  talent  I  may  have  shown 
for  poetical  composition ;  and  that  it  was  the 
rffbrt  to  translate  into  language  the  emotions 
ind  passions  which  music  appeared  to  me  to 
express,  that  first  led  to  my  wTiting  any  poetry 
«t  all  deserving  of  the  name.  Dryden  has  hap- 
pily described  music  as  being  ••  inarticulate  po- 
etry ; "  and  I  have  always  felt,  in  adapting 
words  to  an  expressive  air,  that  I  was  but  be- 
stowing upon  it  the  gift  of  articulation,  and 
thus  enabling  it  to  speak  to  others  all  that  was 
conveyed,  in  its  wordless  eloquence,  to  myself. 

Owing  to  the  space  I  was  led  to  devote  to  my 
Irish  reminiscences,  in  our  last  Volume,  I  found 
myself  obliged  to  postpone  some  recollections, 
of  a  very  different  description,  respecting  the 
gala  at  Boyle  Farm,  by  which  my  Poem,  en- 
titled The  Summer  Ffite,  was  suggested.  In 
an  old  letter  of  my  own,  to  which  I  have  had 
access,  giving  an  account  of  this  brilliant  festi- 
val to  a  friend  in  Ireland,  I  find  some  memoran- 
dums which,  besides  their  reference  to  the  sub- 
ject of  the  poem,  contain  some  incidents  also 
connected  with  the  first  appearance  before  the 
public  of  one  of  the  most  successful  of  all  my 
writings,  the  story  of  the  Epicurean.  I  shall 
give  my  extracts  from  this  letter,  in  their  origi- 
nal diary-like  form,  without  alteration  or  dress- 
ing:— 

June  30,  1837.  —  Day  threatening  for  the 
F6te.  Was  with  Lord  Essex '  at  three  o'clock, 
and  started  about  hoK  an  hour  after.  The 
whole  road  swarming  with  carriages  and  four 
all  the  way  to  Boyle  Farm,  which  Lady  de  Roos 
has  lent,  for  the  occasion,  to  Henry ;  —  the  five 
givers  of  the  F6te  being  Lords  Chesterfield, 
Castlcrcagh,  Alvanley,  Henry  de  Roos,  and 
P^'bert  Grosvenor,  subscribing  four  or  five 
oundied  pounds  each  towards  it.  The  arrange- 
ments all  in  the  very  best  taste.  The  pavilion 
for  quadrilles,  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  with 
Iteps  descending  to  the  water,  quite  eastern  — 
hke  what  one  sees  in  Daniel's  pictures.  To- 
xaxds  five  the  iUte  of  the  gay  world  was  assem- 


I  I  unnct  let  pan  the  incidental  mention  here  of  this  ity- 
(lai  and  pi  blic-npirited  nobleman,  wilhnut  exprewing  my 
uong  aeoMt  of  hia  kindly  qualities,  and  Umenting  tlM  Iom 


bled  —  the  women  all  looking  their  best,  tii4 
scarce  a  single  ugly  face  to  be  found.  About 
half  past  five,  sat  down  to  dinnei.  450  under  ■ 
tent  on  the  lawn,  and  fifty  to  the  Koyal  Tabic 
in  the  conservatory.  The  TjroleM  moaietaiu 
sung  during  dinner,  and  there  w«?re,  after  din- 
ner, gondolas  on  the  river,  with  Caradori,  De 
Bcgnis,  Velluti,  &c.,  singing  bareeroIlM  and 
rowing  off  ocoasionally,  so  as  to  let  theii  voleM 
die  away  and  again  rettim.  After  th«M  soo* 
cceded  a  party  in  dominoa,  Madame  Vestria, 
Fanny  Ayton,  &c.,  who  rowed  about  in  the 
same  manner,  and  sung,  among  other  things, 
my  gondola  song,  *•  O  come  to  me  when  day- 
light  sets."  line  evening  was  delicious,  and, 
as  soon  as  it  grew  dark,  the  grovee  were  all 
lighted  up  with  colored  lamps,  in  different 
shapes  and  devices.  A  little  lake  near  a  grotto 
took  my  fancy  particularly,  the  shruba  all 
around  being  illuminated,  and  the  lights  re- 
flected in  the  water.  Six-and-twenty  of  the 
prettiest  girls  of  the  world  of  fashion,  the 
Y  *  •  •  *t«r8,Br»d«»«lla,  De 
R  •  •  s's,  Miss  F  •  *  Id  •  •  •  g,  Miss  F  •  x. 
Miss  R  •  ss  •  11,  Miss  B  •  •  ly,  were  dressed 
as  Rosieres,  and  opened  the  quadrilles  in  the 

pavilion While  talking  with  D — n 

(Lord  P.'s  brother),  he  said  to  me,  "I  nevisr 
read  any  thing  so  touching  as  the  death  of  yoiu 
heroine."  "  What !  "  said  I,  "  have  you  got  so 
far  already  ? "  *  "  O,  I  read  it  in  the  Literary 
Gazette."  This  anticipation  of  ray  catastrophe 
is  abominable.  Soon  after,  the  Marquis  P — !• 
m — a  said  to  me,  as  he  and  I  and  B — m  stooo 
together,  looking  at  the  gay  scene,  ••  Tlus  is 
like  one  of  your  F6tes."  "  O  yes,"  said  B — m, 
thinking  he  alluded  to  Lalla  Rookh,  *'  quite 
oriental."  "  Non,  non,"  repUcd  P — Im — a, 
«« Je  veux  dire  cette  Ffite  d'Athines,  dont  j'ai 
lu  la  description  dans  la  Gazette  d'aujotird'hui." 
Respecting  the  contents  of  the  present  Vol- 
ume I  have  but  few  more  words  to  add.  Ac- 
customed as  I  have  always  been  to  consider  mt 
songs  as  a  sort  of  compound  creations,  in  whirl 
the  music  forms  no  less  essential  a  part  thai 
the  verses,  it  is  with  a  feeling  which  I  can  hsrdlj 
expect  my  unlyrical  readers  to  understand,  that 
I  see  such  a  swarm  of  songs  as  crowd  thesa 
pages  all  separated  from  the  beautiful  «us  whict. 
have  formed  hitherto  their  chief  omauicnt  ami 
strength  —  their  "  dcctts  et  tutamcn."     BuU  is 


which  not  only  aoclrty,  but  the  csms  of  tanui  m4  \ 
five  PoUtlcal  Refurm,  has  muUiMd  by  W*  4m*. 
1  Tha  Efkonan  bad  bass  puMMM  kat  Ika  tfai  biAn 


dependently  of  this  uneasy  feeling,  or  fancy, 
there  is  yet  another  inconvenient  consequence 
»f  the  divorce  of  the  words  from  the  music, 
which  will  be  more  easily,  perhaps,  compre- 
nended,  and  which,  in  justice  to  myself,  as  a 
metre-monger,  ought  to  be  noticed.  Those  oc- 
casional breaches  of  the  laws  of  rhythm,  which 
thi  task  of  adapting  words  to  airs  demands  of 
the  poet,  though  very  frequently  one  of  the 
happiest  results  of  his  skill,  become  blemishes 
^hen  the  verse  is  separated  from  the  melody, 
and  require,  to  justify  them,  the  jjresence  of  the 
music  to  whose  wildness  or  sweetness  the  sacri- 
3ce  had  been  made. 

In  a  preceding  page  of  this  preface,  I  have 
mentioned  a  Treatise  by  the  late  Rev.  Mr. 
Crowe,  on  English  versification  ;  and  I  remem- 
Der  his  telling  me,  in  reference  to  the  point  I 
have  just  touched  upon,  that,  should  another 
edition  of  that  work  be  called  for,  he  meant  to 
produce,  as  examples  of  new  and  anomalous 
forms  of  versification,  the  following  songs  from 
the  Irish  Melodies :  —  ♦'  O  the  days  are  gone 
when  Beauty  bright "  —  "  At  the  dead  hour  of 
night,  when  stars  are  weeping,  I  fly,"  —  and, 
••  Through  grief  and  through  danger  thy  smile 
hath  cheered  my  way."' 


In  thus  connecting  together  a  series  of  Songs 
by  a  thread  of  poetical  narrative,  my  chief  object 
has  been  to  combine  Recitation  with  Music,  so 
as  to  enable  a  greater  number  of  persons  to  join 
in  the  performance,  by  enlisting,  as  readers, 
those  who  may  not  feel  willing  or  competent  to 
take  a  part,  as  singers. 

The  Island  of  Zea,  where  the  scene  is  laid, 
was  called  by  the  ancients  Ceos,  and  was  the 
birthplace  of  Simonides,  Bacehylides,  and  other 
eminent  persons.  An  account  of  its  present 
•tate  may  be  found  in  the  Travels  of  Dr.  Clarke, 
Mho  says,  that  "it  appeared  to  him  to  be  the 
best  cultivated  of  any  of  the  Grecian  Isles."  — 
Vol,  yi.  p.  174. 

T.  M. 


»  1  Biiau  nvail  myself  of  this  opportunity  of  noticing  tlie 
charge  brought  by  Mr.  Bunting  against  Sir  John  Stevenson, 
of  having  made  alterations  in  many  of  tlie  airs  that  formed 
•ur  Irish  Collection.  Whatever  changes  of  this  liind  have 
MM  ventured  upon  (and  they  are  but  few  and  slight),  the 


FIRST  EVENING. 

"  The  sky  is  bright  —  the  breeze  is  fair, 
"  And  the  mainsail  flowing,  full  and  frep  — 

"  Our  farewell  word  is  woman's  pray'r, 
"  And  the  hope  before  us  —  Liberty  ! 
"  Farewell,  farewell. 

"  To  Greece  we  give  our  shining  blades, 

'•  And  our  hearts  to  you,  young  Zean  Maid*  I 

"  The  moon  is  in  the  heavens  above, 

"  And  the  wind  is  on  the  foaming  sea  — 

"  Thus  shines  the  star  of  woman's  love 
•'  On  the  glorious  strife  of  Liberty  ! 
"  Farewell,  fareweU. 

"  To  Greece  we  give  our  shining  blades, 

*'  And  our  hearts  to  you,  young  Zean  Maids  ! ' 


Thus  sung  they  from  the  bark,  that  now 
Tum'd  to  the  sea  its  gallant  prow, 
Bearing  within  it  hearts  as  brave. 
As  e'er  sought  Freedom  o'er  the  wave  ; 
And  leaving  on  that  islet's  shore. 

Where  still  the  farewell  beacons  burn. 
Friends,  that  shall  many  a  day  look  o'er 

The  long,  dim  sea  for  their  return. 

Virgin  of  Heaven  !  speed  their  way  — 

O,  speed  their  way,  —  the  chosen  flow'r. 
Of  Zea's  youth,  the  hope  and  stay 

Of  parents  in  their  wintry  hour. 
The  love  of  maidens,  and  the  pride 
Of  the  young,  happj',  blushing  bride. 
Whose  nuptial  wreath  has  not  yet  died  — 
All,  all  are  in  that  precious  bark, 

Which  now,  alas,  no  more  is  seen  — 
Though  every  eye  still  turns  to  mark 

The  moonlight  spot  where  it  had  been. 

Vainly  you  look,  ye  maidens,  sires, 

And  mothers,  your  beloved  are  gone  !  -  - 
Now  may  you  quench  those  signal  fires. 

Whose  light  they  long  look'd  back  upon 
From  their  dark  deck  —  watching  the  flame 

As  fast  it  faded  from  their  view. 
With  thoughts,  that,  but  for  manly  shame, 

Had  made  them  droop  and  weep  like  you. 
Home  to  your  chambers  !  hojue,  and  pray 
For  the  bright  coming  of  that  day, 

responsibility  for  tliem  rests  solely  with  me  ;  as,  leaving  thi 
Harmonist's  department  to  my  friend  Stevenson,  I  reseiverf 
the  selection  and  management  of  the  melodies  entirely  b 
myself. 


When,  bless'd  by  heaven,  the  Cross  shall  sweep 
I'ho  Crescent  from  the  ^gean  deep, 
.\nd  yoxir  brave  warriors,  hastening  back, 
Will  bring  such  glories  in  their  track, 
is  shall,  for  many  an  age  to  come, 
Bhed  ligUt  around  their  name  and  home. 

There  is  a  Fount  on  Zea's  isle, 
Etiund  which,  in  soft  luxuiiance,  smile 
\       A.11  the  sweet  flowers,  of  every  kind. 

On  which  the  sun  of  Greece  looks  down. 

Pleased  as  a  lover  on  the  crown 
His  mistress  for  her  brow  hath  twined. 
When  he  boliolds  each  floweret  there. 
Himself  had  wish'd  her  most  to  wear ; 
Here  bloon^'d  the  laurel  rose,'  whose  wreath 

Hangs  railiant  round  the  Cypriot  shrines. 
And  here  those  bramble  flowers,  that  breathe 

Their  odor  into  Zante's  wines  ;  *  — 
The  splendid  woodbine,  that,  at  eve. 

To  grace  their  floral  diadems, 
'fhe  lovely  maids  of  Patmos  weave  :  *  — 

And  that  fair  plant,  whose  tangled  stems 
Shine  like  a  Nereid's  hair,*  when  spread, 
Dislievell'd,  o'er  her  azure  bed  ;  — 
All  these  bright  children  of  the  clime, 
(Each  at  its  own  most  genial  time. 
The  summer,  or  the  year's  sweet  prime,) 
Like  beautiful  earth  stars,  adorn 
The  Valley,  where  that  Fount  is  bom  : 
While  round,  to  grace  its  cradle  green. 
Groups  of  Velani  oaks  are  seen. 
Towering  on  every  verdant  height  — 
Tall,  shadowy,  in  the  evening  light. 
Like  Genii,  set  to  watch  the  birth 
Of  some  enchanted  chUd  of  earth  — 
Fair  oaks,  that  over  Zea's  vales. 

Stand  with  their  leafy  pride  unfurl'd ; 
Wliile  Commerce,  from  her  thousand  sails. 

Scatters  their  fruit  throughout  the  world  I  * 

'Twas  here  —  as  soon  as  prayer  and  sleep 
(TTiose  truest  friends  to  all  who  weep) 
Had  lighten'd  every  heart,  and  made 
Fv'n  sorrow  wear  a  softer  shade  — 
Twas  here,  in  this  secluded  spot, 

Amid  whose  breathings  calm  and  sweet 


I  **  Neriuni  Oleander.  In  Cyprus  it  relaina  it*  ancient 
lame,  Rliodudaptine,  and  tbe  Cypriots  adurn  their  chiircbe* 
irith  the  flowers  on  feast  dtya."  —  Journal  ^  Dr.  Sittktrf*, 
Walpole't  Titrkeg. 

«  Id. 

*  Lonicera  Caprirolium,  used  by  tbe  fii\t  of  Patmoa  tot 
tarlands. 

«  Cuscuta  europsa.    "  Fi  m  ttie  twistiii(  and  twloing  of 


Grief  might  be  soothed,  il  not  fbrgo^ 
The  Zean  nymphs  resolved  to  meet 

Each  evening  now,  by  the  sain«  light 

That  saw  their  farewell  tear*  that  ui^ht ; 

And  try,  if  sound  of  lute  and  song. 
If  wandering  'mid  the  moonlight  flowon 

In  various  talk,  could  chann  along 
With  lighter  step,  the  lingering  houra. 

Till  tidings  of  that  Bark  should  come, 

Or  Victory  waft  their  warriors  home  ! 

When  first  they  met  —  the  wonted  smile 
Of  greeting  having  gleam'd  a  while  — 
'T would  touch  er'n  Moslem  heart  to  see 
The  sadness  that  came  suddenly 
O'er  their  young  brows,  when  they  look'd  rouni 
Upon  that  bright,  enchanted  ground ; 
Aill  thought,  how  many  a  time,  with  thoa* 

Who  now  were  gone  to  the  rude  wars. 
They  there  had  met,  at  evening's  dose. 

And  danced  till  morn  outshone  the  staia  I 

But  seldom  long  dotk  hang  th'  eclipse 
Of  sorrow  o'er  such  youthful  breasts  — 

The  breath  from  her  own  blushing  lipa. 
That  on  the  maiden's  mirror  rests, 

Not  swifter,  lighter  from  the  glass. 

Than  sadness  from  her  brow  doth  pass. 

Soon  did  they  now,  as  round  the  Well 
They  sat,  beneath  the  rising  moon  — 

And  some,  with  voice  of  awe,  would  tell 

Of  midnight  fays,  and  nymphs  who  dwell 
In  holy  founts  —  w^hilc  some  would  tune 

Their  idle  lutes,  that  now  had  lain. 

For  days,  without  a  single  strain ;  — 

And  others,  from  the  rest  apart. 

With  laugh  that  told  the  lighten'd  heart. 

Sat,  whispering  in  each  other's  ear 

Secrets,  that  all  in  turn  would  hear ;  — 

Soon  did  they  find  this  thoughtless  play 

So  swiftly  steal  their  griefs  away. 

That  many  a  nymph,  though  pleased  the  m>u)^ 
Reproach'd  her  own  forgetful  smile. 

And  sigh'd  to  think  she  oouJd  be  gay. 

Among  these  maidetu  there  wa/k  one. 
Who  to  Leucadia*  late  had  been  - 


the  Items,  It  H  compared  bjr  the  Giwks  to  Hm 
hair  of  the  ttenidt."  -  IfalpcU't  Turtttf. 

»  « Tbe  produce  of  the  islaMl  ia  Ums*  acotw  (^otM 
amounu  annually  tu  fifteen  tbuuaaiid  qulptak,**—  Clw*^ 
TVaeeb. 

•  Now  Santa  Maura  — the  Miand,  bom  ' 
pbo  leaped  into  Ibe  aea. 


110 


ENENINGS  Df  GREECE. 


Had  stood,  beneath  the  evening  sun, 

On  its  white  towering  cliffs,  and  seen 
The  very  spot  where  Sappho  sung 
Her  swanlike  music,  ere  she  sprung 
(Still  holding,  in  that  fearful  leap, 
By  jier  loved  lyre,)  into  the  deep, 
AJii  dying  quench'd  the  fatal  fire, 
A.t  once,  of  both  her  heart  and  lyre. 

Mutely  they  listen'd  all —  and  weU 
Did  the  young  travell'd  maiden  tell 
Of  the  dread  height  to  which  that  steep 
'Beetles  above  the  eddying  deep '  — 
Of  the  lone  sea  birds,  wheeling  round 
The  dizzy  edge  with  mournful  sound  — 
And  of  those  scented  lilies  '  found 
Still  blooming  on  that  fearful  place  — 
As  if  call'd  up  by  Love,  to  grace 
The  immortal  spot,  o'er  which  the  last 
Bright  footsteps  of  his  martyr  pass'd  ! 

"While  fresh  to  every  listener's  thought 
These  legends  of  Leucadia  brought 
All  that  of  Sappho's  hapless  flame 
Is  kept  alive,  still  watch' d  by  Fame  — 
The  maiden,  tuning  her  soft  lute. 
While  all  the  rest  stood  round  her,  mute, 
Thus  sketch'd  the  languishment  of  soul,     , 
That  o'er  the  tender  Lesbian  stole ; 
And,  in  a  voice,  whose  thrilling  tone 
Fancy  might  deem  the  Lesbian's  own, 
One  of  those  fervid  fragments  gave, 

Which  still,  —  like  sparkles  of  Greek  Fire, 
Undying,  ev'n  beneath  the  wave,  — 

Bum  on  through  Time,  and  ne'er  expire. 


SONG. 

As  o'er  her  loom  the  Lesbian  Maid 

In  lovesick  languor  hung  her  head, 
Unknowing  where  her  fingers  stray'd, 

She  weeping  turn'd  away,  and  said, 
••O,  my  sweet  Mother  —  'tis  in  vain  — 

'•  I  cannot  weave,  as  once  I  wove  — 
"*  So  wilder' d  is  my  heart  and  brain 

"  With  thinking  of  that  youth  I  love  !  "  • 

Again  the  web  she  tried  to  trace, 

But  tears  fell  o'er  each  tangled  thread  ; 

I  "  The  precipice,  which  la  fearfully  dizzy,  is  about  one 
suiulred  and  lourteen  feet  from  the  water,  which  is  of  a  pro- 
ound  depth,  as  appears  from  the  dark-blue  color  and  the 
iddy  that  plays  round  the  pointed  and  projecting  rocks,"  — 
Boodtsson'a  Ionian  Isle*. 


While,  looking  in  her  mother's  face, 
Who  watchful  o'er  her  lean'd,  she  said, 

"  O,  my  sweet  Mother  —  "tis  in  vain  — 
"I  cannot  weave,  as  once  I  wove  — 

"  So  wilder'd  is  my  heart  an  i  brain 

"  With  thinking  of  that  youth  I  love  !  " 


A  silence  follow'd  this  sweet  air, 

As  each  in  tender  musing  stood, 
Thinking,  with  lips  that  mov'd  in  pray'r. 

Of  Sappho  and  that  fearful  flood : 
While  some,  who  ne'er  till  now  had  known 

How  much  their  hearts  resembled  hers, 
Felt  as  they  made  her  griefs  their  own, 

That  they,  too,  were  Love's  worshippers. 

At  length  a  murmur,  all  but  mute. 
So  faint  it  was,  came  from  the  lute 
Of  a  young  melancholy  maid, 
Whose  fingers,  all  uncertain,  play'd 
From  chord  to  chord,  as  if  in  chuse 

Of  some  lost  melody,  some  strain 
Of  other  times,  whose  faded  trace 

She  sought  among  those  chords  again. 
Slowly  the  half-forgotten  theme 

(Though  born  in  feelings  ne'er  forgot) 
Came  to  her  memory  —  as  a  beam 

Falls  broken  o'er  some  shaded  spot ;  — 
And  while  her  lute's  sad  symphony 

Fill'd  up  each  sighing  pause  between  ; 
And  Love  himself  might  weep  to  see 

What  ruin  comes  where  he  hath  been  — 
As  wither'd  still  the  grass  is  found 
Where  fays  have  danced  their  merry  round  • 
Thus  simply  to  the  listening  throng 
She  breath'd  her  melancholy  song  ;  — 


SONG. 
Weeping  for  thee,  my  love,  through  the  long  daj 
Lonely  and  wearily  life  wears  away. 
Weeping  for  thee,  my  love,  through  the  Ictxi 

night  — 
No  rest  in  darkness,  no  joy  in  light ! 
Nought  left  but  Memory,  whose  dreary  traad 
Sounds  through  this  ruin'd  heart,  where  all  lien 

dead  — 
Wakening  the  echoes  of  joy  long  fled  ! 

s  See  Mr.  Goodisson's  very  interesting  descriptioc  wf  aL 
these  circumstances. 

8  I  have  attempted,  in  these  four  lines,  to  give  some  ii'<!| 
of  that  beautiful  fragment  of  Sappho,  beginning  T\t KCta 
liSrip,  which  represents  so  truly  (as  Warton  rem.irks)  '  tJJ« 
languor  and  listlessness  of  a  person  deeply  in  love  " 


EVENINGS  IN  GRLECE- 


111 


Of  many  pl  stanza,  this  alone 
Had  'scaped  obl\vion  —  like  the  one 
Stray  fragment  of  a  wreck,  which  thrown, 
With  the  lost  vessel's  name,  ashore, 
f  ellfl  who  they  were  that  live  no  more. 

When  th\i8  the  heart  is  in  a  vein 
Uf  tender  thought,  the  simplest  strain 
Can  touch  it  with  peculiar  power  — 

As  when  the  air  is  warm,  the  scent 
Of  the  most  wild  and  rustic  flower 

Can  fill  the  whole  rich  element  — 
A.nd,  in  such  moods,  the  homeliest  tone 
That's  link'd  with  feelings,  once  our  own  — 
With  friends  or  joys  gone  by  —  will  be 
Worth  choirs  of  loftiest  harmony  ! 

But  some  there  were,  among  the  group 

Of  damsels  there,  too  light  of  heart 
To  let  their  spirits  longer  droop, 

Ev'n  under  music's  melting  art ; 
And  one  upspringing,  with  a  bound, 
From  a  low  bank  of  flowers,  look'd  round 
With  eyes  that,  though  so  full  of  light. 

Had  still  a  trembling  tear  within  ; 
And,  while  her  fingers,  in  swift  flight, 

Flew  o'er  a  fairy  mandolin. 
Thus  sang  the  song  her  lover  late 

Had  sung  to  her  —  the  eve  before    ' 

That  joyous  night,  when,  as  of  yore, 
^  U  Zea  act,  to  celebrate 

The  Feast  of  May,  on  the  sea  shore. 


SONG. 

When  the  Balaika  • 

Is  heard  o'er  the  sea, 
m  dance  the  Romaika 

By  moonlight  with  thee. 
If  waves  then,  advancing. 

Should  steal  on  our  play, 
Thy  white  fee*^,  in  dancing, 

Shall  chase  them  away.' 
When  the  Balaika 

Is  heard  o'er  the  sea. 


1  Thh  Word  is  defrauded  here,  I  mispect,  of  a  ijrllabie ; 
fr.  Clarke,  if  I  recollect  right,  uakei  it  "  Balalaika." 

*  **  I  saw  above  thirty  parties  engaged  in  dancing  the  R(^ 
feiaika  \i\ton  the  sand  ;  in  some  orthuee  groups,  the  girl  who 
tod  them  chased  the  retreating  wave" — DomgUi  •»  tts 
Moitm  Greeks. 

*  '*  In  dajicing  the  Romaika  (sayi  Mr.  Douglas)  thejr  b»- 
gm  in  slow  and  solemn  step  till  they  have  gained  the  Ubm, 
bat  hr  degrees  the  air  becomes  mor»    nrightly  i  tba  vm- 


Thou'lt  dance  the  RomaDu, 
My  own  love,  with  me. 

Then,  at  the  closing 

Of  each  merry  Uy, 
How  sweet  'tis  repomng. 

Beneath  the  night  ray  I 
Or  if,  declining, 

The  moon  leave  the  akias, 
We'll  talk  by  the  shining 

Of  each  other's  eyes. 

O  then,  how  featly 

The  dance  we'll  renew, 
Treading  so  fleetly 

Its  light  mazes  through : ' 
Till  stars,  looking  o'er  us 

From  heaven's  high  bow'rs. 
Would  change  their  bright  chorat 

For  one  dance  of  ours  I 
When  the  Balaika 

Is  heard  o'er  the  sea, 
Thou'lt  dance  the  Romaiki, 

My  own  love,  with  me. 


How  changingly  forever  veers 
The  heart  of  youth,  'twixt  smiles  and 
Ev'n  as  in  April,  the  light  vane 
Now  points  to  sunshine,  now  to  nun. 
Instant  this  lively  lay  dispell'd 

The  shadow  from  each  blooming  bro«. 
And  Dancing,  joyous  Dancing,  held 

Full  empire  o'er  each  fancy  now. 

But  say  —  what  shall  the  measure  be ) 

•<  Shall  we  the  old  Romaika  tread, 
(Some  eager  ask'd)  "  as  anciently 

>'  'Twas  by  the  maids  of  Delos  led, 
"  When,  slow  at  first,  then  circling  £Mt, 
"  As  the  gay  spirits  rose  —  at  last. 
<'  With  hand  in  hand,  like  links,  cnlock'd, 

*<  Through  the  light  air  they  seem'd  to  fill 
"  In  labyrinthine  maze,  that  mock'd 

"  The  dazzled  eye  that  foUow'd  it  ? " 


ductress  of  the  dance  sooMUMS  ••atagto  har  partasr, 
time*  darting  before  the  nat,  and 
nKMt rapid  revolutions ; aomaHmaa aimimtvmtmUm 
which  are  held  up  to  let  her  pass,  and  giring  aa 
liness  and  intricacy  as  she  can  lo  tiie  flrurek,  lata 
conducu  ber  co«pania««,  while  tMr  buiiawi  U  •» 
her  in  all  bar  laovMiMBls, 
loalng  tba  iiaaia^'* 


U2 


EVENINGS  IN   GREECE. 


Some  call'd  aloud  "  the  Fountain  Dance  ! "  — 

While  one  young,  dark-ey'd  Amazon, 
Whose  step  M-as  air-like,  and  whose  glance 

Flash'd,  like  a  sabre  in  the  sun, 
Sportively  said,  "  Shame  on  these  soft 
'♦  And  languid  strnins  we  hear  so  oft. 
'*  Da'ightcrs  of  Fieedom  !  have  not  we 

••  Ijcarn'd  from  our  lovers  and  our  sires 
-*  Vb.9  Dance  of  Greece,  while  Greece  was  free  — 

'•  Tliat  Dance,  where  neither  flutes  nor  lyres, 
'  But  sword  and  shield  clash  on  the  ear, 
"  A  music  tyrants  quake  to  hear  ? ' 
«♦  Heroines  of  Zea,  arm  with  me, 
»  And  dance  the  dance  of  Victory  !  " 

Thus  saying,  she,  with  playful  grace, 
Loosed  the  wide  hat,  that  o'er  her  face 
(From  Anatolia*  came  the  maid) 

Hung,  shadowing  each  sunny  charm  ; 
And,  with  a  fair  young  armorer's  aid, 

Fixing  it  on  her  rounded  arm, 
A  mimic  shield  with  pride  display'd ; 
Then,  springing  towards  a  grove  that  spread 

Its  canopy  of  foliage  near, 
Pluck'd  off  a  lance-like  twig,  and  said, 
'  To  arms,  to  arms  !  "  while  o'er  her  head 

She  waved  the  light  branch,  as  a  spear. 

Promptly  the  laughing  maidens  aU 
Obey'd  their  Chief's  heroic  call;  — 
Round  the  shield  arm  of  each  was  tied 

Hat,  turban,  shawl,  as  chance  might  be  ; 

The  grove,  their  verdant  armory. 
Falchion  and  lance  '  alike  supplied ; 

And  as  their  glossy  locks,  let  free, 

Fell  do\vn  their  shoulders  carelessly, 
You  might  have  dream'd  you  saw  a  throng 

Of  youthful  Thy  ads,  by  the  beam 
3f  a  May  moon,  bounding  along 

Peneus'  silver-eddied*  stream! 

\nd  now  they  stepp'd,  with  measured  tread. 

Martially,  o'er  the  shining  field ; 
i'Jftw,  to  the  mimic  combat  led 
J  A  heroine  at  each  squadron's  head), 

Struck  lance  to  lance  and  sword  to  shield  : 
While  Btill,  through  every  varying  feat, 
Their  voices,  heard  in  contrast  sweet ' 
With  some,  of  deep  but  soften'd  sound, 
From  lips  of  aged  sires  around, 

1  For  a  description  of  tlie  Pyrrhic  Dance  see  De  Guys,  &c. 
—  It  appears  from  Apuleiiis  (lib.  x.)  that  this  war  dance  was, 
im'<ng  tlio  ancients,  soinetinies  i)crfortned  l)y  females. 

'  See  the  castumt  of  the  Greek  women  of  Natolia  in  Cas- 
tOan'a  Mtruri  dit  O'h  ni-,: 


Who  smiling  watch' d  their  children's  play  — 
Thiis  sung  the  ancient  Pyrrhic  lay  :  - 


SONG. 

"  Raise  the  buckler  —  poise  the  lance  — 

"  Now  here  —  now  there  —  retreat  —  advance  1  * 

Such  were  the  sounds,  to  which  the  warrior  coy 
Danced   in  those  happy  days,  when  Greec* 
was  free ; 

When  Sparta's  youth,  ev'n  in  the  hour  of  joy. 
Thus  train'd  their  steps  to  war  and  victory. 

"  Raise  the  buckler  —  poise  the  lance  — 

"  Now  here  —  now  there  —  retreat  —  advance ! 

Such  was  the  Spartan  warriors'  dance. 

"  Grasp  the  falchion  —  gird  the  shield  — 

"  Attack  —  defend  —  do  all  but  yield." 

Thus   did  thy  sons,   O   Greece,   one   g.orioiu 
night, 

Dance  by  a  moon  like  this,  till  o'er  the  sea, 
That  morning  dawn'd  by  whose  immorta.  light 

They  nobly  died  for  thee  and  liberty  !  * 
"  Raise  the  buckler  —  poise  the  lance  — 
"  Now  here  —  now  there  —  retreat  — adva  ico ! ' 
Such  was  the  Spartan  heroes'  dance. 


Scarce  had  they  closed  this  martial  lay 
When,  flinging  their  light  spears  away, 
The  combatants,  in  broken  ranks. 

All  breathless  from  the  war  field  fiy  , 
And  down,  upon  the  velvet  banks 

And  flowery  slopes,  exhausted  lit-. 
Like  ros)'  huntresses  of  Thrace, 
Resting  at  sunset  from  the  chase. 

"  Fond  girls  .  "  an  aged  Zean  said  • 
One  who,  himself,  had  fought  and  bled. 
And  now,  with  feelings,  half  dp'jght, 
Half  sadness,  watch'd  their  mimic  fight  — 
«'  Fond  maids  !  who  thus  with  War  can  jest   - 
"  Like  Love,  in  Mars's  helmet  dress' d, 
"  When,  in  his  childish  innocence, 

"  Pleased  with  the  shade  that  hebret  flii:88. 
"  He  thinks  not  of  the  blood,  that  thence 

"  Is  dropping  o'er  his  snowy  wings. 

3  The  sword  was  the  weapon  chiefly  useu  in  this  daiic« 

4  Homer,  II.  2,  753. 

6  It  is  said  that  Leonidas  and  hw  cnm|  anions  employe* 
themselves,  on  the  eve  of  the  battle,  in  raasir  and  the  gym 
na^tic  exercises  of  their  country. 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECB. 


Sli 


•«  Ay  —  true  it  is,  young  patriot  maids, 
*•  If  Honor's  arm  still  won  the  fray, 

«  Ii  luck  but  shone  on  righteous  blades, 
"  War  were  a  game  for  gods  to  play  I 

•  But,  no,  alas  !  —  hear  one,  who  well 

♦«  JIath  track'd  the  fortunes  of  the  braye  — 

•  Hear  me,  in  mournful  ditty,  tell 

"  What  glory  waits  the  patriot's  grave  : "  — 


SONG. 

A.8  by  the  shure,  at  break  of  day, 
A  vanquish'd  Chief  expiring  lay. 
Upon  the  sands,  with  broken  sword. 

He  traced  his  farewell  to  the  Free  ; 
And,  there,  the  last  unfinish'd  word 

He  dying  wrote  was  •'  Liberty  !  " 

At  night  a  Sea  Bird  shriek'd  the  knell 
r»t"  him  who  thus  for  Freedom  fell  > 
I'he  words  he  wrote,  ere  evening  came, 

Wfcre  cover'd  by  the  sounding  sea ;  — 
So  pass  away  the  cause  and  name 

Of  him  who  dies  for  Liberty  ! 


iTiat  tribute  of  subdued  applause 
A  charm'd,  but  timid,  audience  pays. 

That  murmur,  which  a  minstrel  draws 
From  hearts,  that  feel,  but  fear  to  praise, 

Follow'd  this  song,  and  left  a  pause 

Of  silence  after  it,  that  hung 

Like  a  fix'd  spell  on  every  tongue. 

At  length,  a  low  and  tremulous  sound 
Was  heard  from  'midst  a  group,  that  round 
A  bashful  maiden  stood,  to  hide 
Her  blushes,  while  the  lute  she  tried  — 
Like  roses,  gathering  round  to  veil 
The  song  of  some  young  nightingale, 
Whoso  trembling  notes  steal  out  between 
The  cluster'd  leaves,  herself  unseen. 
And,  while  that  voice,  in  tones  that  more 

I'liro  -.gh  fecUng  than  through  weakness  err'd, 
(lame,  with  a  stronger  sweetness,  o'er 

IV  attentive  ear,  this  strain  was  heard :  — 


SONG. 

I  saw,  from  yonder  silent  c«ve,' 

Two  Foimtains  running,  wde  by  side. 

•  ••  IWb  moming  we  paid  our  vUU  In  Ui«  Cave  of  Tio- 
tnontiK,  an4  the  Fountain*  of  Memoiy  and  ObUvk)o,Ja«» 
40 


The  one  was  Mem'ry's  limpid  waro. 
The  other  cold  Oblivion's  tide. 

"  O  Love  !  "  said  I,  in  thoughtless  icood, 
As  deep  I  drank  of  Lethe's  streftm, 

"  Be  all  my  sorrows  in  this  flood 
"  Forgotten  like  a  vanish'd  draaa  I  * 

But  who  could  bear  that  gloomy  blarJK, 

AVhere  joy  was  lost  as  well  ui  pain  f 
Quickly  of  Mem'ry's  fount  I  drank. 

And  brought  the  past  all  back  again 
And  said,  "  O  Love  !  whate'er  my  lot, 

"  Still  let  this  soul  to  thee  be  true— 
*'  Rather  than  have  one  bliss  forgot, 

•<  Be  all  my  pains  remember'd  too  1  ' 


The  group  that  stood  around,  to  shad* 
The  blushes  of  that  bashful  maid. 
Had,  by  degrees,  as  came  the  lay 
More  strongly  forth,  retired  away. 
Like  a  fair  shell,  whoso  valves  divide. 
To  show  the  fairer  pearl  inside  : 
For  such  she  was  —  a  creature,  bright 

And  delicate  as  those  day  flow'rs. 
Which,  while  they  last,  make  up,  in  llghl 

And  sweetness,  what  they  want  in  houxA 

So  rich  upon  the  ear  had  grown 
Her  voice's  melody  —  its  tone 
Gathering  new  cjurage,  as  it  found 
An  echo  in  eacii  bosom  round  — 
That,  ere  the  nymph,  with  downcast  ey« 
Still  on  the  chords,  her  lute  laid  by, 
"  Another  Song,"  all  lips  exclaim' d. 
And  each  some  matchless  favorite  named ; 
While  blushing,  as  her  fingers  ran 
O'er  the  sweet  chords,  she  thus  began  :  — 


SONG. 

O,  Memory,  how  coldly 

Thou  paintest  joy  gone  by . 
Like  rainbows,  thy  pictures 

But  mournfully  shine  and  die 
Or,  if  some  tints  thou  kocpest. 

That  former  days  recall. 
As  o'er  each  line  thou  weapert. 

Thy  tears  efface  them  alL 


upon  the  watar  of  nercjma,  whkh  Howa 
focka"— irUUam'a  TnvtU  i*  Orui*. 


114 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE. 


But,  Memory,  too  truly 

Thou  paintest  grief  that's  past ; 
Joy's  colors  are  fleeting, 

But  those  of  Sorrow  last. 
And,  while  thou  bring' st  before  us 

Dark  pictures  of  past  ill, 
life's  evening,  closing  o'er  us, 

But  makes  them  darker  stiH. 


80  went  the  moonlight  hours  along, 
In  this  sweet  glade  ;  and  so,  with  song 
A.nd  witching  sounds  —  not  such  as  they, 

The  cymbalists  of  Ossa,  play'd, 
To  chase  the  moon's  eclipse  away,' 

But  soft  and  holy  —  did  each  maid 
Lighten  her  heart's  eclipse  a  while, 
And  win  back  Sorrow  to  a  smile. 

Not  far  from  this  secluded  place, 

On  the  sea  shore  a  ruin  stood ;  — 
A  relic  of  th'  extinguish'd  race, 

Who  once  look'd  o'er  that  foamy  flood, 
When  fair  loulis,*  by  the  light 
Of  golden  sunset,  on  the  sight 

Of  mariners  who  sail'd  that  sea, 
Rose,  like  a  city  of  chrysolite, 

Call'd  from  the  wave  by  witchery. 
This  ruin  —  now  by  barbarous  hands 

Debased  into  a  motley  shed, 
Where  the  once  splendid  column  stands, 

Inverted  on  its  leafy  head  — 
Form'd,  as  they  tell,  in  times  of  old, 

The  dwelling  of  that  bard,  whose  lay 
Could  melt  to  tears  the  stern  and  cold, 

And  sadden,  'mid  their  mirth,  the  gay  - 
Simonides,^  whose  fame,  through  years 
And  ages  past,  still  bright  appears — 
Like  Hesperus,  a  star  of  tears  ! 

'Twas  hither  now  to  catch  a  view 

Of  the  white  waters,  as  they  play'd 
Silently  in  the  light —  a  few 

C*   the  more  restless  damsels  stray'd  ; 
AzA  lome  would  linger  'mid  the  scent 

Of  hanging  foliage,  that  perfumed 
I'Ls  ruin'd  walls  ;  while  others  went. 

Culling  whatever  floweret  bloom'd 
In  the  lone  leafy  space  between 
Where  gilded  chambers  once  had  beea  ; 


1  J'his  superstitious  custom  of  the  Thessalians  exists  also, 
!■  ^'«tTo  della  Valle  tells  us,  among  the  Persians. 

I  An  ancient  city  of  Zea,  the  walls  of  which  wereof  mar- 
Ue     Its  remains  (says  Clarke)  "  extend  from  the  shore, 


Or,  turning  sadly  to  the  sea, 

Sent  o'er  the  wave  a  sigh  unbless'd 
To  some  brave  champion  of  the  Free  — 
Thinking,  alas,  how  cold  might  be. 
At  that  still  hour,  his  place  of  rest ! 

Meanwhile  there  came  a  sound  of  song 
From  the  dark  ruins  —  a  faint  strain, 

As  if  some  echo,  that  among 

Those  minstrel  halls  had  slumbered  long, 
Were  murmuring  into  life  again. 

But,  no  —  the  nymphs  knew  well  the  tone  • 

A  maiden  of  their  tr.-iin,  who  loved. 
Like  the  night  bird,  to  sing  alone, 

Had  deep  into  those  ruins  roved. 
And  there,  all  other  thoughts  forgot, 

Was  warbling  o'er,  in  lone  delight, 
A  lay  that,  on  that  very  spot. 

Her  lover  sung  one  moonlight  night :  — 


SONG. 

Ah  !  where  aije  they,  who  heard,  in  former  honM, 
The  voice  of  Song  in  these  neglected  bow'rs  ? 
They  are  gone  —  all  gone  ! 

The  youth,  who  told  his  pain  in  such  sweet  tune, 
That  all,  who  heard  him,  wish'd  his  pain  theli 
own  — 
He  is  gone  —  he  is  gone  ! 

And  she,  who,  while  he  su:ig;  sa*  lister ang  by, 
And  thought,  to  strair^j  )lkf  thes'  'twe::*  8we«i 
to  die  — 
She  is  gone—  she  ♦do  is  gor.e  ! 

'Tis  thus,  in  futu-  e  'lours,  some  bard  wiU  lay 

Of  her,  who  J^eaxs,  and  him,  who  sings  this  lay 

They  &re  gone  —  they  both  are  gone  ! 


The  rc.dO'1  was  now,  from  heaven's  steep* 
Bending  to  dip  her  silvery  urn 

Into  the  bright  and  silent  deep  — 

And  the  young  nymphs,  on  their  return 

From  those  romantic  ruins,  found 

Their  other  playmates,  ranged  around 


quite  into  a  valley  watered  by  the  streams  of  a  fnuaw.^ 
whence  loulis  received  its  name." 

8  Zea  was  tJie  birthplace  of  this  poet,  whose  veims  an  %i 
Catullus  called  "  tears." 


EVENINGS  IN   GREECE. 


Ill 


fbe  sacred  Spring,  prepared  to  tune 
rbeir  parting  hymn,'  ere  8\ink  the  moon, 
To  that  fair  Fountain,  by  whose  stream 
Their  hearts  had  form'd  so  many  a  dream. 

Wl  :  -«s  not  read  the  tales,  that  tell 
( rf  old  Eleusis'  sacred  Well, 
Oi  heard  what  legend  songs  recount 
01  S}Ta,  and  its  holy  Fount,* 
3udhing,  at  once,  from  the  hard  rock 

Into  the  laps  of  living  flowers  — 
Where  village  maidens  loved  to  flock. 

On  summer  nights,  and,  like  the  Hours, 
Link'd  in  harmonious  dance  and  song,' 
Charm'd  the  unconscious  night  along ; 
While  holy  pilgrims,  on  their  way 

To  Dclos'  isle,  stood  looking  on, 
Enchanted  with  a  scene  so  gay, 

Nor  sought  their  boats,  till  morning  shone. 

i^uch  was  the  scene  this  lovely  glade 
And  its  fair  inmates  now  display'd. 
As  round  the  Fount,  in  linked  ring. 

They  went,  in  cadence  slow  and  light. 
And  thus  to  that  enchanted  Spring 

Warbled  their  Farewell  for  the  night  :— 


SONG. 

Here,  while  the  moonlight  dim 
Falls  on  that  mossy  brim. 
Sing  we  our  Fountain  Hymn, 

Maidens  of  Zea ! 
Nothing  but  Music's  strain, 
When  Lovers  part  in  pain, 
Soothes,  till  they  meet  again, 

O,  Maids  of  Zea ! 

£right  Fount,  so  clear  and  cold. 
Round  which  the  nymphs  of  old 
Stood,  with  their  locks  of  gold. 

Fountain  of  Zea ! 
Not  even  Castaly, 
Famed  though  its  streamlet  oe, 


I  It:«ae  "'Songs  of  the  Well,"  astbejr  werecalled  among 
8m  ancients,  (till  exist  in  Greece.  De  Ouft  tells  us  thai  he 
tut  seen  "  the  youni;  women  in  Prince's  Island,  aaaembled 
in  the  evening  at  a  public  well,  suddenly  strike  up  a  dance, 
while  others  sung  in  concert  tn  them." 

*  "  The  mhabitants  of  Syra,  both  ancient  and  modam, 
■ay  be  considered  as  the  worshippers  of  water.  The  old' 
fountain,  at  which  the  nymphs  of  the  island  aaaembled  in 
Ibe  earliest  ages,  exists  in  its  original  state  ;  the  sajne  ren- 
4azToua  as  H  was  formerly,  whether  of  love  and  (allantijr. 


Murmurs  or  shine*  like  thee, 
O,  Fount  of  Zea  I 

Thou,  while  otur  hymn  we  ajifg, 
Thy  silver  voice  shalt  bring, 
Anawering,  aiuwering, 

Sweet  Fount  of  Zea ! 
For,  of  all  rills  that  run. 
Sparkling  by  moon  or  sua, 
Thou  art  the  fairest  one, 

Bright  Fount  of  Zea  1 

Now,  by  those  stars  that  glaaoa 
Over  heav'n'g  still  expanse, 
Weave  we  our  mirtliful  danc«. 

Daughters  of  Zea ! 
Such  as,  in  former  dajrs. 
Danced  they,  by  Dian's  raya, 
Where  the  Eurotas  strays,* 

O,  Maids  of  Zea! 

But  when  to  merry  fiset 
Hearts  with  no  echo  beat, 
Say,  can  the  dance  be  sweet  > 

Maidens  of  Zea ! 
No,  nought  but  Mtisic's  strain. 
When  lovers  part  in  pain, 
Soothes,  till  they  meet  again, 

O,  Maids  of  Zea ! 


SECOND  EVENING. 
SONG. 

When  evening  shades  arc  falliig 

O'er  Ocean's  sunny  sleep. 
To  pilgrims'  hearts  recalling 

Their  home  beyond  the  deep  ; 
When,  rest  o'er  all  descending. 

The  shores  with  gladness  smile, 
And  lutes,  their  echoes  blending, 

Are  heard  from  isle  to  isle, 
ITien,  Mary,  Star  of  the  Sea,* 
We  pray,  we  pray  to  thee ! 


or  of  goasiping  and  ule  telling.  It  is  near  to  dM  kMra  SM 
iba  most  linipid  water  giatias  oMtinuatiy  tnm  tkm  mUi 
rock.  It  is  regarded  by  tha  iabsMianli  wilk  a  ttpti  ol 
ratigkNU  Tenerstkm ;  and  Ihajr  |waanr»  a  indllfiia,  IhM  dH 
pUgrims  of  old  tima,  in  tbair  way  to  Dalai,  naotlatf  htm 
for  porUlcation."  —  Clark*. 

•        "  aualis  in  Eurutc  npu,  aut  par  Jags  CyaiW 
Exerect  Diana  cboros."—  fir/il. 

«  One  of  the  Utiea  at  tbe  Vir^:  >"  Maria  illMirfaaall 
aiva  BtelU  Maris."  —  IMsp. 


910 


EVENINGS  IN   GREECE. 


The  noonday  tempest  over, 

Now  Ocean  toils  no  more, 
And  wings  of  halcyons  hover, 

Where  all  was  strife  before. 
O  thus  may  life,  in  closing 

Its  short  tempestuous  day, 
Beneath  heaven's  smile  reposing, 

Shine  all  its  storms  away : 
Thus,  Mary,  Star  of  the  Sea, 
We  pray,  we  pray,  to  thee  ! 


On  Hello's  sea  the  light  grew  dim. 
As  the  last  sounds  of  that  sweet  hymn 

Floated  along  its  azure  tide  — 
Floated  in  light,  as  if  the  lay 
Had  mix'd  with  sunset's  fading  ray, 

And  light  and  song  together  died. 
So  soft  through  evening's  air  had  breath'd 
That  choir  of  j'outhful  voices,  wreath'd 
In  many-linked  harmony. 
That  boats,  then  hurrying  o'er  the  sea. 
Paused,  when  they  reach'd  this  fairy  shore, 
And  linger'd  till  the  strain  was  o'er. 

Of  those  young  maids  who've  met  to  fleet 

In  song  and  dance  this  evening's  hours, 
Far  happier  now  the  bosoms  beat. 

Than  when  they  last  adorn'd  these  bowers  ; 
For  tidings  of  glad  sound  had  come. 

At  break  of  day,  from  the  far  isles  — 
Tidings  like  breath  of  life  to  some  — 
That  Zea's  sons  would  soon  wing  home, 

Crown'd  with  the  light  of  Victory's  smiles, 
To  meet  that  brightest  of  all  meeds 
That  wait  on  high,  heroic  deeds, 
When  gentle  eyes  that  scarce,  for  tears. 

Could  trace  the  warrior's  parting  track, 
Shall,  like  a  misty  morn  that  clears, 
When  the  long- absent  sun  appears. 

Shine  out,  all  bliss,  to  hail  him  back. 

How  tickle  still  the  youthful  breast !  — 

More  fond  of  change  than  a  young  moon, 
S^i  joy  so  new  was  e'er  possess'd 

But  Youth  would  leave  for  newer  soon, 
rhese  Zcan  nymphs,  though  bright  the  spot. 

Where  first  they  held  their  evening  play, 
As  ever  fell  to  fairy's  lot 

To  wanton  o'er  by  midnight's  ray, 
Ead  now  exchanged  that  shelter'd  scene 

For  a  wide  glade  beside  the  sea  — 
A.  lawn,  whose  soft  expanse  of  green 

Tura'd  to  the  west  sun  smilingly, 


As  though,  in  conscious  beauty  bright. 
It  joy'd  to  give  him  light  for  light. 

And  ne'er  did  evening  more  serene 
Look  down  from  heaven  on  lovelier  scene. 
Calm  lay  the  flood  around,  while  fleet, 

O'er  the  blue  shining  element. 
Light  barks,  as  if  with  fairj'  feet 

That  stirr'd  not  the  hush'd  waters,  went; 
Some  that,  ere  rosy  eve  fell  o'er 

The  blushing  wave,  with  mainsail  free, 
Had  put  forth  from  the  Attic  shore. 

Or  the  near  Isle  of  Ebony  ;  — 
Some,  Hydriot  barks,  that  deep  in  cavfcs 

Beneath  Colonna's  pillar'd  cliffs, 
Had  all  day  lurk'd,  and  o'er  the  waves 

Now  shot  their  long  and  dart-like  skiffs. 
W^oe  to  the  craft,  however  fleet. 
These  sea  hawks  in  their  course  shall  meet, 
Laden  with  juice  of  Lesbian  vines. 
Or  rich  from  Naxos'  emery  mines ; 
For  not  more  sure,  when  owlets  flee 
O'er  the  daik  crags  of  Pendelee, 
Doth  the  night  falcon  mark  his  prey, 
Or  pounce  on  it  more  fleet  than  they. 

And  what  a  moon  now  lights  the  glade 

Where  these  young  island  nymphs  are  met 
Full  orb'd,  yet  pure,  as  if  no  shade 
Had  touch'd  its  virgin  lustre  yet ; 
And  freshly  bright,  as  if  just  made 
By  Love's  own  hands,  of  new-born  light 
Stol'n  from  his  mother's  star  to-night. 

On  a  bold  rock,  that  o'er  the  flood 
Jutted  from  that  soft  glade,  there  stood 
A  Chapel,  fronting  towards  the  sea,  — 
Built  in  some  by-gone  century,  — 
Where,  nightly,  as  the  seaman's  mark. 
When  waves  rose  high  or  clouds  were  dark, 
A  lamp,  bequeath' d  by  some  kind  Saint, 
Shed  o'er  tlie  wave  its  glimmer  faint. 
Waking  in  way-worn  men  a  sigh 
And  prayer  to  heaven,  as  they  went  by. 
'Twas  there,  around  that  rock-built  shrire, 

A  group  of  maidens  and  their  sires 
Had  stood  to  watch  the  d  ly's  decline. 

And,  as  the  light  fell  o'er  their  lyres, 
Sung  to  the  Queen  Star  of  the  Sea 
That  soft  and  holy  melody. 

But  lighter  thoughts  and  lighter  song 
"Now  woo  the  coming  hours  along. 
For,  mark,  where  smooth  the  herbage  lieS; 
Yon  gay  pavilion,  curtain' d  deer 


EVENINGS  IN  GREECE 


i\: 


Witl.  silken  folds,  through  which,  bright  eyes. 

From  time  to  time,  are  seen  to  peep  ; 
While  twinkling  lights  that,  to  and  fro. 
Beneath  those  veils,  like  meteors,  go. 

Tell  of  some  spells  at  work,  and  keep 
Voiing  fancies  chain'd  in  mute  suspense. 
Watching  what  next  may  shine  from  thence 
Nor  long  the  pause,  ere  hands  unseen 

Tliot  mystic  curtain  backward  drew, 
And  all,  that  late  but  shone  between. 

In  half-caught  gleams,  now  burst  to  view. 
A-  picture  'twas  of  the  early  days 
Of  glorious  Greece,  ere  yet  those  rays 
Of  rich,  immortal  Mind  were  hers 
That  made  mankind  her  worshippers  ; 
While,  yc*;  unsung,  her  landscapes  shone 
With  glory  lent  by  heaven  alone ; 
Nor  tenr.plcs  crown'd  her  nameless  hills. 
Nor  Muse  immortalized  her  rills  ; 
Nor  (lUght  but  the  mute  poesy 
Of  Lun,  and  stars,  and  shining  sea 
Dlumcd  that  land  of  bards  to  be. 
While,  prescient  of  the  gifted  race 

That  yet  would  realm  so  blest  adorn. 
Nature  took  pains  to  deck  the  place 

Where  glorious  Art  was  to  be  bom. 

Such  was  the  scene  that  mimic  stage 

Of  Athens  and  her  hills  portray'd  ; 
Athens,  in  her  first,  youthful  age. 

Ere  yet  the  simple  violet  braid,' 
Which  then  adom'd  her,  had  shone  down 
The  glory  of  earth's  loftiest  crown. 
While  yet  undrcam'd,  her  seeds  of  Art 

Lay  sleeping  in  the  marble  mine  — 
Bleeping  till  Genius  bade  them  start 

To  all  but  life,  in  shajjes  divine ; 
Pill  deified  the  quarry  shone. 
And  all  Olympus  stood  in  stone  ! 

There,  in  the  foreground  of  that  scene, 

On  a  soft  bank  of  living  green, 

Bate  a  young  nymph,  with  her  lap  full 

Of  newly-gather'd  flowers,  o'er  which 
Bhe  graceful  lean'd,  intent  to  cull 

All  that  was  there  of  hue  most  rich. 
To  form  a  •wreath,  such  as  the  eye 
Of  her  young  lover,  who  stood  by, 
With  pallet  mingled  fresh,  might  choose 
To  fix  by  Painting's  rainbow  hues. 

rhe  wreath  was  form'd  ;  the  maiden  raised 
Her  speaking  eyes  to  his,  while^he  — 

I  «  Violet-crowned  Atheni."—  Pindar. 

•  The  whole  of  tbia  fcene  wa»  ■ufgcaled  »ijr  VMofH  te- 


O  not  upon  the  flowers  now  gas'd. 

But  on  that  bright  look's  witchery. 
Willie,  quick  as  if  but  then  the  thought. 
Like  light,  had  reach'd  liis  soul,  he  ean^U 
His  pencil  up,  and,  warm  and  true 
As  life  itself,  that  love  look  drew  ; 
And,  as  his  raptured  task  went  on. 
And  forth  each  kindling  feature  shone. 
Sweet  voices,  through  the  moonlight  air, 
From  lips  as  moonlight  fresh  and  pure. 
Thus  hail'd  the  bright  dream  passing  Thwt, 
And  sung  the  Birth  of  Portraiture.* 


BONG. 

As  once  a  Grecian  maiden  wore 

Her  garland  'mid  the  summer  bowers, 

There  stood  a  youth,  with  eyes  of  love, 

To  watch  her  while  she  wreath'd  the  flowen 

The  youth  was  skill'd  in  Painting's  art, 
But  ne'er  had  studied  woman's  brow, 

Nor  knew  what  magic  hues  the  heart 

Can  shed  o'er  Natiuo's  charms,  till  now 

CHOBUS. 

Blest  be  Love,  to  whom  we  owe 
All  that's  fair  and  bright  below. 

"AiB  hand  had  pictured  many  a  rose. 

And  sketch'd  the  rays  that  light  the  brook  ■ 
But  what  were  these,  or  what  were  thom 

To  woman's  blush,  to  woman's  look  } 
••  O,  if  such  magic  power  there  be, 

"  This,  this,"  he  cried,  "  is  all  my  prayer, 
••  To  paint  that  living  light  I  see, 

•«  And  fix  the  soul  that  sparkles  there." 

His  prayer,  as  soon  as  breath'd,  was  heard ; 

His  pallet,  touch'd  by  Love,  grew  warm, 
And  Painting  saw  her  hues  transferr'd 

From  lifeless  flowers  to  woman's  fo»^». 
Still  as  from  tint  to  tint  he  stole, 

ITie  fair  design  shone  out  the  more 
And  there  was  now  a  life,  a  soul. 

Where  only  colors  glow  d  before 

Then  first  carnations  Icam'd  to  speak. 

And  lilies  into  life  were  brought ; 
NVhile,  mantling  on  the  maiden's  cheek* 

Young  roses  kindled  into  thought. 
Then  hyacinths  their  darkest  d)es 

Upon  the  locks  of  Beauty  threw ; 

amnt  or  tiM  sitiM  Puiiias  and  Us  mbtiwk  UyeM,  L^  » 


And  violets,  transform' d  to  eyes, 
Enshrin'd  a  soul  within  their  blue. 

CHORUS. 

Blest  be  Love,  to  whom  we  owe 
All  that's  fair  and  bright  below 
Song  was  cold  and  Painting  dim 
Till  song  and  Painting  leam'd.from  him. 


Soon  as  the  scene  had  closed,  a  cheer 

Of  gentle  voices,  old  and  young, 
Rose  from  the  groups  that  stood  to  hear 

Ihis  tale  of  yore  so  aptly  sung  ; 
And  while  some  nymphs,  in  haste  to  tell 
The  workers  of  that  fairy  spell 
How  crown  d  with  praise  their  task  had  been, 
Stole  in  behind  the  curtain'd  scene, 
I'he  rest,  in  happy  converse  stray'd  — 

Talking  that  ancient  love  tale  o'er  — 
Some,  to  the  groves  that  skirt  the  glade, 

Some,  to  the  chapel  by  the  shore, 
To  look  what  lights  were  on  the  sea, 
And  think  of  th'  absent  silently. 

But  soon  that  summons,  known  so  well 

Through  bower  and  hall,  in  Eastern  lands, 
Whose  sound,  more  sure  than  gong  or  bell. 
Lovers  and  slaves  alike  commands,  — 
i'he  clapping  of  young  female  hands, 
«Jalls  back  the  groups  from  rock  and  field 
To  see  some  new-form'd  scene  reveal'd  ;  — 
And  fleet  and  eager,  down  the  slopes 
Of  the  green  glade,  like  antelopea. 
When,  in  their  thirst,  they  hear  th«>  sound 
Of  distant  rills,  the  light  nymphs  Dound. 

Far  different  now  the  scene  —  a  waste 
Of  Lybian  sands,  by  moonlight's  ray ; 

An  ancient  well,  whereon  were  traced 
The  warning  words,  for  such  as  stray 
Unarmed  there,  "  Drink  and  away  !  "  ' 

A'hile,  near  it,  from  the  night  ray  screen' d, 
And  like  his  bells,  in  hush'd  repose, 

•  The  tinveller  Shaw  mentions  a  beautiful  rill  in  Barbary, 
,f hirh  is  received  into  a  large  bason  called  Skrub  toee  ki%b, 
'  Prink  and  away  "  —  there  being  great  danger  of  meeting 
n  itli  tliieves  and  assassins,  in  such  places. 

li  Tlie  Araliian  shepherd  has  a  peculiar  ceremony  in 
fvcaning  the  young  camel :  when  the  proper  time  arrive"",  he 
nims  tlie  camel  towards  the  rising  star,  Cp.nopus,  and  says, 
'Do  you  see  Canopus?  from  this  moment  you  taste  not 
wolher  drop  of  aiiiit.'  —  Richardson. 

»  "  Whoever  returns  from  a  pilgrimattp  to  Mecca  hangs 
U|)i  plant  (the  mitre-shaped  Alo»}  ?7%i  his  straet  doci,  as  a 


A  camel  slept  —  young  as  if  wean'd 
When  last  the  star,  Canopus,  roso  • 

Such  was  the  background's  silent  scene ;  — 

While  nearer  lay,  fast  slumbering  too, 
In  a  rude  tent,  with  brow  serene, 

A  youth  whose  cheeks  of  way-worn  hii8 
And  pilgrim  bonnet,  told  the  talc 
That  he  had  been  to  Mecca's  Vale : 
Haply  in  pleasant  dreams,  ev'n  now 

Thinking  the  long-wish'd  hour  is  come 

When,  o'er  the  well-known  porch  at  homQi 
His  hand  shall  hang  the  aloe  bough  — 
Trophy  of  his  accomplish'd  vow.^ 
But  brief  his  dream  —  for  now  the  call 

Of  the  camp  chiefs  from  rear  to  van, 
'*  Bind  on  your  burdens,"  *  wakes  up  all 

The  widely-slumbering  caravan ; 
And  thus  meanwhile,  to  greet  the  ear 

Of  the  young  pilgrim  as  he  wakes, 
The  song  of  one  who,  lingering  near. 

Had  watch'd  his  slumber,  cheerly  breaks 


SONG. 

Up  and  march  !  the  timbrel's  souftd 
Wakes  the  slumb'ring  camp  around ; 
Fleet  thy  hour  of  rest  hath  gone. 
Armed  sleeper,  up,  and  on  ! 
Long  and  weary  is  our  way 
O'er  the  burning  sands  to-day ; 
But  to  pilgrim's  homeward  feet 
Ev'n  the  desert's  path  is  sweet. 

When  we  lie  at  dead  of  night, 
Looking  up  to  heaven's  light, 
Hearing  but  the  watchman's  tone 
Faintly  chanting  "  God  is  one,"  * 
O  what  thoughts  then  o'er  us  come 
Of  our  distant  village  home, 
Where  that  chant,  when  evening  seU, 
Sounds  from  all  the  minarets. 

Cheer  thee  !  —  soon  shall  signal  lights, 
Kindling  o'er  the  Red  Sea  heights, 

token  of  his  having  performed  this  lioly  jouniej."  —  H»» 
selguisU 

*  This  form  of  notice  to  the  caravans  to  prepare  for  march- 
ing was  applied  by  Hafiz  to  the  necessity  of  relinquishing 
the  pleasures  of  this  world,  and  preparing  for  death :  -  -  "  Foi 
me  what  room  is  there  for  pleasure  in  the  bower  of  Beauty 
■when  every  moment  the  bell  makes  proclamation,  '  Bina  oa 
your  burdens? '  " 

6  Tlie  watchmen,  in  the  camp  of  the  caravans,  go  tMi 
rounds,  crying  one  after  another,  '•  God  is  one,"  fee  iu. 


EVENINGS  IN   GREECE. 


lit 


Kindling  quick  from  man  to  man. 
Hail  our  coming  caravan  :  ' 
Think  what  bliss  that  hour  will  be  ! 
Looks  of  home  again  to  see, 
And  our  names  again  to  hear 
Murmur'd  out  by  voices  dear. 


ht  f  a*s'd  the  desert  dream  away. 
Floating  as  his  who  heard  tliis  lay. 
Xor  long  the  pause  between,  nor  moved 

The  spell-bound  audience  from  that  spot ; 
WTiile  still,  as  usual.  Fancy  roved 

On  to  the  joy  that  yet  was  not ;  — 
Fancy,  who  hath  no  present  home, 
13  ut  builds  her  bower  in  scenes  to  come, 
Walking  forever  in  a  light 
That  flows  from  regions  out  of  sight. 

But  see,  by  gradual  dawn  descried, 
A  mountain  realm  —  rugged  as  e'er 
Uprais'd  to  hcav'n  its  summits  bare. 

Or  told  to  earth,  with  frown  of  pride. 
That  Freedom's  falcon  nest  was  there, 

Too  high  for  hand  of  lord  or  king 

To  hood  her  brow,  or  chain  her  wing. 

"lis  Maina's  land  —  her  ancient  hills. 

The  alK)de  of  nymphs  •  —  her  countless  rills 

And  torrents,  in  their  downward  dash, 

Shining,  like  silver,  through  the  shade 
Of  the  sea  pine  and  flowering  ash  — 

All  with  a  truth  so  fresh  portray' d 
As  wants  but  touch  of  life  to  bo 
A  world  of  warm  reality. 

And  now,  light  bounding  forth,  a  band 

Of  mountaineers,  all  smiles,  advance  — 
Nymphs  with  their  lovers,  hand  in  hand, 

Link'd  in  the  Ariadne  dance  ; ' 
And  while,  apart  from  that  gay  throng, 
A  minstrel  youth,  in  varied  song, 
r.'lls  of  the  loves,  the  joys,  the  ills 
Of  these  wild  children  of  the  hills. 
The  rest  by  turns,  or  fierce  or  gay, 
As  war  or  sport  inspires  the  lay, 
F'oUow  each  change  that  wakes  the  strings, 
A.nd  act  what  thus  the  l3rrist  sins  :  — 


•  "  It  WM  ciirtotnan',"  say*  Irwin,  "  to  light  op  flrM  on 
•«  mouitaiii!<,  within  view  of  Coaseir,  to  give  notice  ottbt 
i^fiomcb  of  tlie  caravans  that  came  from  the  Nil*." 


SONG. 

No  life  is  like  the  mountaineer'a. 

His  home  is  near  t)ie  sky. 
Where,  throned  above  this  world,  he 

Its  strife  at  distance  die. 
Or,  should  the  sound  of  hostile  drum 
Proclaim  below,  •*  We  come  —  we  come," 
Each  crag  that  towers  in  air 
Gives  answer,  ••  Come  who  dare  !  " 
Whik>,  like  bees,  from  dell  and  dingle, 
Svnlt  the  swarming  warriors  mingle. 
And  their  cry  "  Hurrah  ! "  will  be, 
•'  Hurrah,  to  victory  I  " 

Then,  when  battle's  hour  is  oyer. 

See  the  happy  mountain  lover, 

With  the  nymph,  who'll  soon  be  brides 

Seated  blushing  by  his  side,  - 

Every  shadow  of  his  lot 

In  her  sunny  smile  forgot. 

O,  no  life  is  like  the  mountaineer  s. 

His  home  is  near  the  sky, 
Where,  throned  above  this  world,  he  he«n 

Its  strife  at  distance  die. 
Nor  only  thus  through  summer  suns 
His  bhthe  existence  checrly  runs  • 

Ev'n  winter,  bleak  and  dim. 

Brings  joyous  hours  to  him  ; 
When,  his  rifle  behind  him  flinging, 
Ho  watches  the  roebuck  springing. 
And  away,  o'er  tlie  hills  away 
ReCchoes  his  glad  "  hurrah." 

Then  how  blest,  when  night  is  closing, 
By  the  kindled  hearth  reposing, 
To  his  rebec's  drowsy  song. 
He  beguiles  the  hour  along  ; 
Or,  provoked  by  merrj'  glances. 
To  a  brisker  movement  dances. 
Till,  weary  at  last,  in  slumber's  chain, 
He  dreams  o'er  chase  and  dance  agaiiit 
Dreams,  dreams  them  o'er  again. 


As  slow  that  minstrel,  at  the  close. 
Sunk,  while  he  sung,  to  fcigti'd  repoaa, 
Aptly  did  they,  whose  mimic  art 
Follow'd  the  change*  of  his  lay. 

a  virgicibua  baccnati  I.ar>i«>* 

a  fif^  ^  u  account  of  ibb  daac*.  Oa  Ow**  in**  * 


320                                                  EVENINGS 

IN  GEEECE. 

Portray  the  lull,  tue  nod,  the  start, 

Through  which,  as  faintly  died  away 

SONG. 

His  lute  and  voice,  the  minstrel  pass'd, 

Thou  art  not  dead  —  thou  art  not  dead  I ' 

'Till  voice  and  lute  lay  hush'd  at  last. 

Ni>,  dearest  Harmodius  no. 

Thy  soul,  to  realms  above  us  fled, 

But  now  far  other  song  came  o'er 

Though,  like  a  star,  it  dwells  o'erhead. 

Their  startled  ears  —  song  that,  at  first. 

Still  lights  this  world  below. 

As  solemnly  tho  night  wind  bore 

Thou  art  not  dead  —  thou  art  not  dead  ' 

Across  the  wave  its  mournful  burst. 

No,  dearest  Harmodius,  no. 

Seem'd  to  the  /ancy,  like  a  dirge 

Of  some  lone  Spirit  of  the  Sea, 

Through  isles  of  light,  where  heroes  tread 

Singing  o'er  Halle's  ancient  surge 

And  flowers  ethereal  blow, 

The  requiem  of  her  Brave  and  Free. 

Thy  godlike  Spirit  now  is  led. 

Thy  lip,  with  life  ambrosial  fed, 

Sudden,  ami  1  their  pastime,  pause 

Forgets  all  taste  of  woe. 

The  wondering  nymphs  ;  and,  as  the  sound 

Thou  art  not  dead  —  thou  art  not  dead  [ 

Of  that  strange  music  nearer  draws, 

No,  dearest  Harmodius,  no. 

With  mute  inquiring  eye  look  round, 

Asking  each  other  what  can  be 

The  myrtle,  round  that  falchion  spread 

The  source  of  this  sad  minstrelsy  ? 

Which  struck  the  immortal  blow, 

Nor  longer  can  they  doubt,  the  song 

Throughout  all  time,  with  leaves  unshed  — 

Comes  from  some  island  bark,  which  now 

The  patriot's  hope,  the  tvrant's  dread  -  • 

Courses  the  bright  waves  swift  along. 

Round  Freedom's  shrine  shall  grow- 

And  scon,  perhaps,  beneath  the  brow 

Thou  art  not  dead  —  thou  art  not  dead  ! 

Of  the  Saint's  liock  will  shoot  its  prow. 

No,  dearest  Harmodius,  no. 

Instantly  all,  with  hearts  that  sigh'd 

Where  hearts  like  thine  have  broke  or  bledi 

'Twixt  fear's  and  fancy's  influence. 

Though  quench' d  the  vital  glow. 

Flew  to  the  rock,  and  saw  from  thence 

Their  memory  lights  a  flame,  instead. 

A  red-sail'd  pinnace  towards  them  glide. 

Which,  ev'n  from  out  the  narrow  bed 

Whose 'shadow,  as  it  swept  the  spray, 

Of  death  its  beams  shall  throw. 

Scatter'd  the  moonlight's  smiles  away. 

Thou  art  not  dead — thou  art  not  dead  J 

Soon  as  the  mariners  saw  that  throng 

No,  dearest  Harmodius,  no. 

From  the  cliff"  gazing,  young  and  old. 

Sudden  they  slack'd  their  sail  and  song. 

Thy  name,  by  myriads  sung  and  said, 

And,  while  their  pinnace  idly  roU'd 

From  age  to  age  shall  go. 

On  the  light  surge,  these  tidings  told  :  — 

Long  as  the  oak  and  ivy  wed, 

As  bees  shall  haunt  Hymettus'  head, 

'Twas  from  an  isle  of  mournful  name. 

Or  Helle's  waters  flow.                    ^ 

From  Missolonghi,  last  they  came  — 

Thou  art  not  dead  —  thou  art  not  dead  ! 

Sad  Missolonghi,  sorrowing  yet 

No,  dearest  Harmodius,  no. 

O'er  him,  the  noblest  Star  of  Fame 

That  e'er  in  life's  young  glory  set !  — 

And  now  were  on  their  mournful  way, 

'ijong  those  who  linger'd  listening  uiero,  - 

Wafting  the  news  through  Ilelle's  isles  ;  — 

Listening,  with  ear  and  eye,  as  long 

News  that  would  cloud  ev'n  Freedom's  ray. 

As  breath  of  night  could  towards  them  beai 

And  sadden  Victory  'mid  her  smiles. 

A  murmur  of  that  mournful  song,  — 

Their  tale  thus  told,  and  heard,  with  pain. 

A  few  there  were,  in  whom  the  lay 

Out  spread  the  galliot's  wings  again  ; 

Had  call'd  up  feelings  far  too  sad 

And,  as  she  sped  her  swift  career. 

To  pass  with  the  brief  strain  away, 

Again  that  Hymn  rose  on  the  ear  — 

Or  turn  at  once  to  theme  more  glad , 

'« Thou  art  not  dead  —  thou  art  not  dead  !  " 

And  who,  in  mood  untuned  to  meet 

As  oft  'twas  sung  in  ages  flown. 

The  'ight  laugh  of  the  happier  train, 

Of  him,  the  Athenian,  who,  to  shed 

A  tyrant's  blood,  pour'd  out  his  own. 

1  ♦lA  raO'  'Apiioii '  ovnio  rtUi/ir/tat. 

Wandcr'd  to  seek  some  moonlight  seat 
Where  they  might  rest,  in  converse  sweet, 
Till  vanish'd  smiles  should  come  again. 

A.nd  seldom  e'er  hath  noon  of  night 
To  sadness  lent  more  soothing  light. 
On  one  side,  in  the  dark-blue  sky, 
Lonely  and  radiant,  was  the  eye 
Of  Jove  himself,  while,  on  the  other, 

'Mong  tiny  stars  that  round  her  gleam'd. 
The  young  moon,  like  the  Roman  mother 

Among  her  living  "  jewela,"  beamed. 

Touch'd  by  the  lovely  scenes  around, 

A  pensive  maid  —  one  who,  though  young, 

Had  known  what  'twas  to  see  unwound 
The  ties  by  which  her  heart  had  clung  — 

Waken'd  her  soft  tamboura's  sound. 
And  to  its  faint  accords  thus  sung :  — 


SONG. 

Calm  as,  beneath  its  mother's  eyes. 

In  sleep  the  smiling  infant  lies. 

So,  watch'd  by  all  the  stars  of  night. 

Yon  landscape  sleeps  in  light. 

And  while  the  night  breeze  dies  away. 

Like  relics  of  some  faded  strain. 
Loved  voices,  lost  for  many  a  day. 

Seem  whispering  round  again. 
O  youth  !  O  love  !  ye  dreams,  that  shed 
Such  glory  once  —  where  are  ye  fled  ? 

Pure  ray  of  light  that,  down  the  sky. 

Art  pointing,  like  an  angel's  wand, 
As  if  to  guide  to  realms  that  lie 

In  that  bright  sea  beyond  : 
Who  knows  but,  in  some  brighter  deep 

Than  even  that  tranquil,  moonlit  main. 
Some  land  may  lie,  where  those  who  weep 

Shall  wake  to  smile  again  I 


With  cheeks  that  had  regain'd  their  power 
And  play  of  smiles,  —  and  each  bright  eye, 
Like  violets  after  morning's  shower, 
The  brighter  for  tne  tears  gone  by, 
Back  to  the  scene  such  smiles  should  grace 
Tlieso  wandering  njTnphs  ''    ir  path  retrace. 
And  reach  the  spot  with  rapture  new. 
Just  as  the  veils  asunder  flew. 
And  a  fresh  vision  burst  to  »'iew. 
41 


There,  by  her  own  bright  Attic  flood. 
The  blue-ey'd  Queen  of  Wisdom  atoodi-^ 
Not  as  she  haunts  the  sage's  dreuiM, 

With  brow  unvcil'd,  divine,  aeTar* ; 
But  soften' d,  as  on  bards  she  beuu, 

When  fresh  from  Poesy's  high  sphcn, 
A  music,  not  her  own,  she  brings. 
And,  through  the  veil  which  Fancy  fiinca 
O'er  her  stem  featuri^,  ^eatiy  sings. 

But  who  is  he  —  that  urchin  nigh. 
With  quiver  on  the  rose  trees  hung, 

"Who  seems  just  dropp'd  from  yonder  sky. 

And  stands  to  watch  that  maid,  with  eye 
So  full  of  thought,  for  one  so  young  i  - 

That  child  —  but,  silence  !  lend  thine  eat. 

And  thus  in  song  the  tale  thou'lt  hear :  - 


SONG. 

As  Love,  one  snmmer  ere,  was  straying. 
Whom  should  he  sec,  at  that  soft  hour. 

But  young  Minerva,  gravely  playing 
Her  flute  within  an  olive  bower  I 

I  need  not  say,  'tis  Love's  opinion 
That,  grave  or  merry,  good  or  ill. 

The  sex  all  bow  to  his  dominion. 

As  woman  will  be  woman  stilL 

Though  seldom  yet  the  boy  hath  girra 

To  learned  dames  his- smiles  or  sighs, 
So  handsome  Pallas  look'd,  that  even. 

Love  quite  forgot  the  maid  was  wiM. 
Besides,  a  youth  of  his  discerning 

Knew  well  that,  by  a  shady  rill. 
At  sunset  hour,  whate'er  her  learning, 

A  woman  will  be  woman  stilL 

Her  flute  he  praised  in  terms  ecstatic,  — 

Wishing  it  dumb,  nor  cared  how  soon ;  - 
For  Wisdom's  notes,  howe'er  chromatic. 

To  Love  seem  always  out  of  tune. 
But  long  as  he  found  face  to  flatter. 

The  nymph  found  breath  to  shake  and  tbill 
As,  weak  or  wise  —  it  doesn't  matter  — 

Woman,  at  heart,  is  woman  stilL 

Love  changed  his  plan,  with  warmth  cxeiaimm^ 
••  How  rosy  was  her  lips'  soft  dye  !  " 

And  much  that  flute,  the  flatterer,  blaming. 
For  twisting  lips  so  sweet  awry. 

The  nymph  look'd  down,  beheld  her  teatww 
RefloTted  in  the  paaaing  rill. 


-- — 

«22                                                    EVENINGS 

IN   GREECE. 

A.nd  started,  shock'd  —  for,  ah,  ye  creatures  ! 

That  Siren,  singing 

Ev'n  when  divine,  you're  women  still. 

To  the  hush'd  tide. 

Quick  from  the  lips  it  made  so  odious. 

•'  Stay,"  said  the  shejherd  Doy. 

That  graceless  flute  the  Goddess  took, 

"  FaU-y  boat,  stay, 

^.nd,  while  yet  fill'd  with  breath  melodious, 

•'  Linger,  sweet  minstrelsy, 

Flung  it  into  the  glassy  brook ; 

"  Linger,  a  day." 

Where,  as  its  vocal  life  was  fleeting 

But  vain  his  pleading 

Adown  the  current,  faint  and  shrill, 

Past  him,  unheeding, 

Fvvas  heard  in  plaintive  tone  repeating, 

Song  and  boat,  speeding, 

*'  Woman,  alas,  vain  woman  still !  " 

Glided  away. 

So  to  our  youthful  eyes 

An  interval  of  dark  repose  — 

Joy  and  hope  shone  ; 

Such  as  the  summer  lightning  knows. 

So,  while  we  gazed  on  them. 

'Twixt  flash  and  flash,  as  still  more  bright 

Fast  they  flew  on  ;  — 

The  quick  revealment  comes  and  goes. 

Like  flowers,  declining 

Opening  o«oh  time  the  veils  of  night, 

Ev'n  in  the  twining. 

To  show,  within,  a  world  of  light  — 

One  moment  shining. 

Such  pause,  so  brief,  now  pass'd  between 

And,  the  next,  gone  ! 

This  last  gay  vision  and  the  scene, 

Which  now  its  depth  of  light  disclosed. 

' 

A  bower  it  seem'd,  an  Indian  bower. 

Within  whose  shade  a  nymph  reposed. 

Soon  as  the  imagin'd  dream  went  by. 

Sleeping  away  noon's  sunny  hour  — 

Uprose  the  nymph,  with  anxious  eye 

Lovely  as  she,  the  Sprite,  who  weaves 

Turn'd  to  the  clouds,  as  though  some  boon 

Her  mansion  of  sweet  Durva  leaves, 

She  waited  from  that  sun-bright  dome, 

And  there,  as  Indian  legends  say, 

And  marvell'd  that  it  came  not  soon 

Dreams  the  long  summer  hours  away. 

As  her  young  thoughts  would  have  it  coait 

And  mark,  how  charm' d  this  sleeper  seems 

With  some  hid  fancy  —  .she,  too,  dreams  ! 

But  joy  is  in  her  glance  !  —  the  wing 

0  for  a  wizard's  art  to  tell 

Of  a  white  bird  is  seen  above ; 

The  wonders  that  now  bless  her  sight ! 

And  0,  if  round  his  neck  he  bring 

Tis  done  —  a  truer,  holier  spell 

The  long- wished  tidings  from  her  lore. 

Than  e'er  from  wizard's  lip  yet  fell 

Not  half  so  precious  in  her  eyes 

Thus  brings  her  vision  all  to  light :  — 

Ev'n  that  high-omen'd  bird '  would  be. 

Who  dooms  the  brow  o'er  which  he  flies 

To  wear  a  crown  of  Royalty. 

SONG. 

' 

She  had  herself,  last  evening,  sent 

"  Who  comes  so  gracefully 

A  winged  messenger,  whose  flight 

"  Gliding  along. 

Through  the  clear,  roseate  element, 

««  Wliile  the  blue  rivulet 

She  watch'd  till,  lessening  out  of  bight, 

Sleeps  to  her  song ; 

Far  to  the  golden  West  it  went. 

"  Song,  richly  vying 

Wafting  to  him,  her  distant  love. 

"  With  the  faint  sighing 

A  missive  in  that  lamguage  wrought 

**  Which  swans,  in  dying. 

Which  flowers  can  speak,  when  aptly  wot», 

"  Sweetly  prolong  ? " 

Each  hue  a  word,  each  leaf  a  thought. 

So  sung  the  shepherd  boy 

And  now  —  0  speed  of  pinion,  known 

By  the  stream's  side, 

To  love's  light  messengers  alone  \  — 

Watching  that  fairy  boat 

Ere  yet  another  evening  takes 

Down  the  flood  glide, 

Its  farewell  of  the  golden  lakes. 

Like  a  bird  winging, 

Through  the  waves  Ringing 

1  TbeUunub 

EVENINGS  IN   GREECE. 


Bhe  sees  another  envoy  fly, 

With  the  v^ish'tl  answer,  through  the  sky. 


Welcon»e,  sweet  bird,  through  the  sunny  air 
winging, 
Sw^ft  hast  thou  come   o'er  the   far^shining 
sea, 
1  ike  Seba's  dove,  on  thy  snowy  neck  bringing 

Love's  written  vows  from  ray  lover  to  me. 
0,  in  thy  absence,  what  hours  did  I  number  !  — 

Sajnng  oft,  "  Idle  bird,  how  could  he  rest  r " 
But  thou  art  come  at  last,  take  now  thy  slum- 
ber. 
And  lull  thee  in  dreams  of  all  thou  loVst  best. 

Vet  dost  thou  droop  —  even  now  while  I  utter 

Love's  happy  welcome,  thy  pulse  dies  away ; 
Cheer   thee,   my   bird  —  were  it  life's   ebbing 
flutter, 

This  fondling  bosom  should  woo  it  to  stay. 
But  no  —  thou'rt  dying  —  thy  last  task  is  over. 

Farewell,  sweet  martyr  to  Love  and  to  me ! 
rhe  smiles  thou  hast  waken'd  by  news  from  my 
lover, 

Will  now  all  be  tum'd  into  weeping  for  thee. 


While  thus  this  scene  of  song  (their  laat 
For  the  sweet  siunmer  season)  pass'd, 
A.  few  presiding  nymphs,  whose  care 

Watch'd  over  all,  invisibly, 
As  do  those  guardian  sprites  of  air, 

^\'^lose  watch  we  feel,  but  cannot  see, 
Had  from  the  circle  —  scarcely  missed. 

Ere  they  were  sparkling  there  again  — 
Glided,  like  fairies,  to  assist 

Their  handmaids  on  the  moonlight  plain, 
Where,  hid  by  intercepting  shade 

From  the  stray  glance  of  curious  eyes, 
A  feast  of  fruits  and  wines  was  laid  — 

Soon  to  shine  out,  a  glad  surprise  ! 

And  now  the  moon,  her  ark  of  light 

Steering  through  Heaven,  as  though  she  bore 
In  safety  through  that  deep  of  night, 
Si)irits  of  earth,  the  good,  the  bright. 

To  some  remote  immortal  shore, 
Had  half  way  sped  her  glorious  way. 

When,  round  reclined  on  hillocks  green. 
In  groups,  beneath  that  tranquil  ray, 

The  Zepiis  at  their  feast  wore  seen. 
Bay  was  the  picture  —  every  maid 
Whom  late  the  lighted  scene  display* d, 
Stiil  in  her  fancy  garb  array'd ;  — 


The  Arabian  pilgrim,  smiling  here 

Beside  the  nymph  of  India'*  sky; 
TS^ile  there  the  Mainiote  mountainetr 
^^'hisper'd  in  young  Minerva's  ear. 
And  urchin  Love  stood  laughing  bT. 

Meantime  the  elders  round  the  board. 

By  mirth  and  wit  themsclrea  it.aua  )  onsg. 

High  cups  of  juice  Zacynthian  pour'd 
And,  while  the  flask  went  round,  thuaaung  * 


SONG. 

Up  vnth  the  sparkling  brimmer. 

Up  to  the  crystal  rim ; . 
Let  not  a  moonbeam  glimmer 

'Twixt  the  flood  and  brim. 
Wlien  hath  the  world  set  eye*  on 

Aught  to  match  this  light. 
Which,  o'er  our  cup's  horizon. 

Dawns  in  bumpers  bright } 

Truth  in  a  deep  well  lieth  — 

So  the  wise  aver : 
But  Truth  the  fact  denieth  — 

Water  suits  not  her. 
No,  her  abode's  in  brimmers. 

Like  this  mighty  cup  — 
Waiting  till  we,  good  swimmers. 

Dive  to  bring  her  up. 


Thus  circled  round  the  song  of  giM, 
And  aU  was  tuneful  mirth  the  while. 
Save  on  the  cheeks  of  some,  whose  smili^ 

As  fix'd  they  gaze  upon  the  sea. 

Turns  into  paleness  suddenly  1 

What  see  they  there }  a  bright  blue  light 
That,  like  a  meteor,  gliding  o'er 

The  distant  wave,  grows  on  the  sight. 
As  though  'twere  wing'd  to  Zea's  shore. 

To  some,  'mong  those  who  came  to  gaxe, 

It  seem'd  the  night  light,  far  away. 
Of  some  lone  fisher,  by  the  blaze 

Of  pine  torch,  luring  on  his  prey ; 
While  others,  as,  'twixt  awe  and  mirth. 

They  breath'd  the  bless'd  Panaya's  '  nam* 
Yow'd  that  such  light  was  not  of  earth. 

But  of  that  drear,  ill-omen'd  flame. 
Which  mariners  see  on  sail  or  mast, 
When  Death  Is  coming  in  the  blasC 

I  TiM  nans  which  iha  OimIci  fhrs  to  Hh  Tb|ta  Mao 


f24 


EVENINGS  rS    GREECE 


While  marvelling  thus  they  stood,  a  maid, 

Who  sate  apart,  with  downcast  eye, 
Nor  yet  had,  like  the  rest,  surveyed 

That  coming  light  which  now  was  nigh, 
Boon  as  it  met  her  sight,  with  cry 

Of  pain-like  joy,  "  'Tis  he  !  'tis  he  !  " 
Loiid  she  exclaim'd,  and,  hurrj-ing  by 

The  assembled  throne,  rush'd  towards  the  sea. 

A.t  btir*  so  wild,  alarm'd,  amazed, 

Ai.  stood,  like  statues,  mute,  and  gazed 

Into  each  other's  eyes,  to  seek 

"What  meant  such  mood,  in  maid  so  meek  ? 

Till  now,  the  tale  was  known  to  few. 
But  now  from  lip  to  lip  it  flew  :  — 
A  youth,  the  flower  of  all  the  band, 

Who  late  had  left  this  sunny  shore. 
When  last  he  kiss'd  that  maiden's  hand, 

Lingering,  to  kiss  it  o'er  and  o'er. 
By  his  sad  brow  too  plainly  told 

Th'   iU-omen'd  thought  which  cross'd  him 
then. 
That  once  those  hands  should  lose  their  hold. 

They  ne'er  would  meet  on  earth  again  1 
In  vain  his  mistress,  sad  as  he. 
But  with  a  heart  from  Self  as  free 
As  generous  woman's  only  is, 
Veil'd  her  own  fears  to  banish  his  :  — 
With  frank  rebuke,  but  still  more  vain, 

Did  a  rough  warrior,  who  stood  bv, 
Call  to  his  mind  this  martial  strain, 

His  favorite  once,  ere  Beauty's  eye 

Had  taught  his  soldier  heart  to  sigh  :  — 


SONG. 

March  !  nor  heed  those  arms  that  hold  thee 

Though  so  fondly  close  they  come ; 
Closer  still  wUl  they  infold  thee, 

When  thou  bring' st  fresh  laurels  home. 
D'^st  thou  dote  on  woman's  brow  ? 

Dost  thou  live  but  in  her  breath  ? 
Ilwrch !  —  one  hour  of  victory  now 

Wins  thep  woman's  smile  tiU  death. 

O  what  bliss,  when  war  is  over. 

Beauty's  long-miss'd  smile  to  meet. 
And,  when  wreaths  our  temples  cover, 

Lay  them  shining  at  her  feet. 
Who  would  not,  that  hour  to  reach, 

Breathe  out  life's  expiring  sigh,  — 
Troud  as  waves  that  on  the  beach 

Lay  their  war  crests  down,  and  die. 


There  !  I  see  thy  soul  is  burning  — 

She  herself,  who  clasps  thee  so, 
Paints,  ev'n  now,  thy  glad  returning, 

And,  wliile  clasping,  bids  thee  go. 
One  deep  sigh,  to  passion  given. 

One  last  glowing  tear,  and  then  — 
March  .  —  nor  rest  thy  sword,  till  Heaven 

Brings  thee  to  those  arms  again. 


Even  then,  ere  loath  their  hands  could  part, 

A  promise  the  youth  gave,  which  bore 
Some  balm  unto  the  maiden's  heart. 

That,  soon  as  the  fierce  fight  was  o'er. 
To  home  he'd  speed,  if  safe  and  free  — 

Nay,  ev'n  if  dying,  still  would  come. 
So  the  blest  word  of  "  Victory  !  " 

Might  be  the  last  he'd  breathe  at  homte. 
"  By  day,"  he  cried,  "thou'lt  know  my  bar'* 
"  But,  should  I  come  through  midnight  dark, 
«'  A  blue  light  on  the  prow  shall  tell 
"  That  Greece  hath  won,  and  all  is  well !  " 

Fondly  the  maiden,  every  night. 
Had  stolen  to  seek  that  promised  light ; 
Nor  long  her  eyes  had  now  been  turn'd 
From  watching,  when  the  signal  burn'd. 
Signal  of  joy  —  for  her,  for  all  — 

Fleetly  the  boat  now  nears  the  land, 
While  voices,  from  the  shore  edge,  call 

For  tidings  of  the  long-wish'd  band. 

O  the  blest  hour,  when  those  who've  been 
Through  peril's  paths  by  land  or  sea, 

Lock'd  in  our  arms  again  are  seen 
Smiling  in  glad  security  ; 

When  heart  to  heart  we  fondly  strain. 
Questioning  quickly  o'er  and  o'er  — 

Then  hold  them  off,  to  gaze  again. 
And  ask,  though  answer'd  oft  before, 
If  they,  indeed,  are  ours  once  more  r 

Such  is  the  scene,  so  full  of  joy, 
Which  welcomes  now  this  warrior  bov» 
As  fathers,  sisters,  friends  all  run 
Bounding  to  meet  him  —  all  but  one, 
Who,  slowest  on  his  neck  to  fall. 
Is  yet  the  happiest  of  thom  all. 

And  now  behold  him,  circled  round 
With  beaming  faces,  at  that  board. 

While  cups,  with  laurel  foliage  crown' d. 
Are  to  the  coming  warriors  pour'd  -- 

Coming,  as  he,  their  herald,  told. 

With  blades  from  victory  scarce  yet  cold, 


LEGENDARY   BALLADS. 


U 


With  hearts  untouch'd  by  Moslem  steel. 

And  wounds  that  home's  sweet  breath  will  heaL 

•Ere  mom,"  said  he,  —  and,  while  he  spoke, 

Tum'd  to  the  east,  where,  clear,  and  pale, 
rhe  star  of  dawn  already  broke  — 

"  \V«  11  greet,  on  yonder  wave,  their  sail  1 " 
rhen,  wherefore  part  ?  all,  all  agree 

To  wait  them  hen,  cencath  this  bower  ; 
And  thus,  while  even  amidst  their  glee, 
Each  eye  is  tum'd  to  watch  the  sea. 

With  song  they  cheer  the  anidous  hour. 


SONG. 

»♦  'Tis  the  Vine  !  'tis  the  Vino  !  "  said  the  cup- 
loving  boy, 
As  he  saw  it  spring  bright  from  the  earth, 
And  call'd  the  young  Genii  of  Wit,  Love,  and 
Joy, 
To  witness  and  hallow  its  birth. 
The  fruit  was  full  grown,  like  a  ruby  it  flamed 
Till  the  sunbeam  that  kiss'd  it  look'd  pale  : 
*  'Tis  the  Vine  !  'tis  the  Vine  1 "   ev'ry  Spirit 
exclaim'd, 
"  Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine  Tree,  all  hail  1 " 

First,  fleet  as  a  bird,  to  the    summont  Wit 
flew, 
While  » light  on  the  vine  leaves  there  broke, 


In  flashes  so  quick  and  so  brilliant,  all  kn«w 

'Twas  the  light  from  his  lipc  ash*  spoke. 
"  fright  tree  !  let  thy  nectar  but  cheer  me,"  ha 
cried, 
"  And  the  fount  of  Wit  never  can  fad  :" 
"  'Tis  the  Vine  !  'tis  the  Vine  t  "  killi  and  val 
leys  reply, 
"  Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine  Tnt,  all  hail ! " 

Next,  Love,  as  ho  leaned  o'er  the\>laat  to  admirt 

Each  tendril  and  cluster  it  wore. 
From  his  rosy  mouth  sent  such  a  breath  of 
desire, 

As  made  the  tree  tremble  all  o'er. 
O,  never  did  flower  of  the  earth,  sea,  or  iky, 

Such  a  soul-giving  odor  inhale : 
"  'Tis  the  Vine  !  'tis  the  Vine  !  "  all  reecho  tha 
cry, 

"  Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine  Tree,  all  hail !  " 

Last,  Joy,  without  whom  even  Love  and  Wit  die. 

Came  to  crown  the  bright  hour  with  his  ray  ; 

And  scarce  had  that  mirth-waking  tree  met  his 

eye, 

When  a  laugh  spoke  what  Joy  could  not 

say ;  — 

A  laugh  of  the  heart,  which  waa  echoed  around 

Till,  like  music,  it  swcll'd  on  the  gale ; 
"  'Tis  the  Vine  !    'tis   the  Vine  I  "    laoghing 
myriads  resound, 
«  Hail,  hail  to  the  Wine  Tree,  all  hail  I 


LEGENDARY    BALLADS. 


THE    MISS    FEI1.DINGS, 
'this    VOLUME 

(U  VSOaiBKD,  BT  THCIB  FAITHrUL  FBIIKD  ABD  ilBTABT, 

THOMAS  HOCRE. 


THE  VOICE. 

It  came  o'er  her  sleep,  like  a  voice  of  those  days, 

vMicn  love,  only  love,  was  the  light  of  her  ways  ; 
And.  soit  as  in  moments  of  bliss  long  ago, 
ft  whisper'd  her  name  from  the  garden  below. 


"Alae,"  sigh'd  the  maiden,   "how  Cancy  can 

cheat ! 
«'  The  world  once  had  lipa  that  could  whlspv 

thus  sweet ; 
"  But  cold  now  they  slumber  in  yon  fiital  deip 
"  Where,  O  that  beside  them  thia  heart  tco  could 

sle^ ! " 

She  Buak  on  her  pillow  — but  no,  "twaa  fa 

vain 
To  chase  the  Ulusion,  that  Voice  came  again ! 
She  flew  to  the  casement  —  but,  hush'd  aa  the 

grave. 
In    moonlight   lay  alumboring  woodland  and 

wave. 


126 


LEGENDARY  BALLADS. 


♦  O  sleep,  come  and  shield  me,"  in  anguish  she 

said, 
"  From  that  call  of  the  buried,  that  cry  of  the 

Dead ! " 
And  sleep  came  around  her  —  but,  starting,  she 

woke, 
For  still  firom  the  garden  that  spirit  Voice  spoke  ! 

*  I  come,"  she  exclaimed,  "  be  thy  home  where 

it  may, 
'•  On  earth  or  in  heaven,  that  call  I  obey  j  " 
Then  forth  through  the  moonlight,  with  heart 

beating  fast 
And  loud  as  a  death   watch,  the  pale  maiden 

pass'd. 

Still  round  her  the  scene  all  in  loveliness  shone ; 
And  still,  in  the  distance,  that  Voice  led  her  on  ; 
But  whither    she  wander' d,   by  wave    or  by 

shore. 
None  ever  could  tell,  for  she  came  back  no  more. 

No,  ne'er  came  she  back,  —  but  the  watchman 

who  stood. 
That  night,  in  the  tower  which  o'ershadows  the 

flood, 
Saw  dimly,  'tis  said,  o'er  the  moon-lighted  spray 
A  youth  on  a  steed  bear  the  maiden  away. 


CTTPID  AND  PSYCHE. 

Thby  told  her  that  he,  to  whose  vows  she  had 
listen'd 
Through  night's  fleeting  hours,  Avas  a  Spirit 
unbless'd ;  — 
Unholy  the  eyes,  that  beside  her  had  glisten'd. 
And  evil  the  lips  she  in  darkness  had  press'd. 

'•  When  next  in  thy  chamber  the  bridegroom 
reclineth, 
•'  Bring  near  him  thy  lamp,  when  in  slumber 
he  lies ; 
'  And  there,  as  the  light  o'er  his  dark  features 
shineth, 
'■Thou'lt  see  what  a  demon  hath  won  all  thy 
sighs  !  " 

Too  fond  to  believe  them,  yet  doubting,   yet 
fearing, 
When  calm  lay  the  sleeper  she  stole  with  her 
light; 
Ind  saw  —  such  a  vision  !  —  no  image  appearing 
To  bards  in  their  daydreams,  was   ever  so 
bright. 


A  youth,  but  just  passing  from  childhoal'B  awee 
morning, 
While  round  him  still  linger'd  its  innocent 
ray; 
Though  gleams,  from  beneath  his  shut  eyelida 
gave  warning 
Of  summer-noon  lightnings  that  undei  them 
lay. 

His  brow  had  a  grace  more  than  mortal  around  it 

While,  glossy  as  gold  from  a  fairyland  mine, 

His    sunny   hair   hung,   and  the   flowers   that 

crown'd  it 

Seem'd  fresh  from  the  breeze  of  some  garden 

divine. 

Entranced    stood  the    bride,   on   that  miracle 
gazing. 
What  late  was  but  love  is  idolatry  now  ; 
But,  ah  —  in  her  tremor  the  fatal  lamp  raising  — 
A  sparkle  flew  from  it  and  dropp'd  on  his 
brow. 

All's  lost  —  with  a  start  from  his  rosy  sleep 
waking. 
The  Spirit  flash'd  o'er  her  his  glances  of  fire ; 
Then,  slow  from  the  clasp  of  her  snowy  arms 
breaking. 
Thus  said,  in  a  voice  more  of  sorrow  than  ire : 
••  Farewell  —  what  a  dream  thy  suspicion  hath 
broken  ! 
•'  Thus  ever  Aff'ection's  fond  vision  is  cross'di 
"  Dissolved  are  her  spells  when  a  doubt  is  but 
spoken, 
"  And  love,  once  distrusted,  forever  is  lost  1 " 


HERO  AND   LEANDER. 

"Thb  night  wjnd  is  moaning  with  moumtu 

sigh, 
"  There  gleameth  no  moon  in  the  misty  sky, 

•'  No  star  over  Helle's  sea  ; 
"  Yet,  yet,  there  is  shining  one  holy  light, 
"  On*  love-kindled  star  through  the  deep  of 
night, 
"  To  lead  me,  sweet  Hero,  to  the^  ! " 

Thus  sajnng,  he  plunged  in  the  foamy  stream. 
Still  fixing  his  gaze  on  that  distant  beam 

No  eye  but  a  lover's  could  see ; 
And  still,  as  the  surge  swept  o^-er  his  head, 
"  To-night,"  he  said  tenderly,  "  Uving  or  dead 

"  Sweet  Hero,  I'll  rest  with  thee  1 ' 


LEGEXDARY  BALLADS. 


n« 


But  fiercer  around  him  the  wild  waves  speed  ; 
0,  Love  1  in  that  hour  of  thy  votary's  need, 

V/hflre,  where  could  thy  Spirit  be  ? 
He  struggles  —  he  sinks  —  whils  the  hurricane'! 

Lreath 
Roars  rudely  away  his  last  fiarewcll  in  death  — 

"  Sweet  H  ere,  I  die  for  thee  ' " 


THE  LEAF  AND  THE  FOUNTAIN. 

•  Tell  me,  kiitd  Seer,  I  pray  thee, 
'♦  So  may  the  stars  obey  thee, 

«•  So  may  each  airy 

"  Moon  elf  and  fairy 
"  Nightly  their  homage  pay  thee  ! 
«'  Say,  by  what  spell,  above,  below, 
**  In  stars  that  wink  or  flowers  that  blow, 

"I  may  discover, 

•'  Ere  night  is  over, 
••  \V}icthcr  my  love  loves  me,  or  no, 

•  Whether  my  love  loves  me." 

"  Maiden,  the  dark  tree  nigh  thee 

•♦  Hath  charms  no  gold  could  buy  thee ; 

"  Its  stem  enchanted, 

"  By  moon  elves  planted, 
*♦  Will  all  thou  seck'st  supply  thee. 
"  Climb  to  yon  boughs  that  highest  grow, 
"  Bring  thence  their  fairest  leaf  below ; 

••  And  thou'lt  discover, 

•*  Ere  night  is  over, 
•*  Whether  thy  love  loves  thee  or  no, 

•  Whether  thy  love  loves  thee." 

"  See,  up  the  dark  tree  going, 

'*  With  blossoms  round  me  blowing, 

*•  From  thence,  O  Father, 

«  This  leaf  I  gather, 
**  Fairest  that  there  is  growing. 
"  Say,  by  what  sign  I  now  shall  know 
"  If  in  this  leaf  lie  bliss  or  woe  ; 

'•  And  thus  discover, 

"  Ero  night  is  over, 
**  Whether  my  love  loves  me  or  no, 
•'  Whether  my  love  loves  me." 

"  Fly  to  yon  fount  that's  welling 
Where  moonbeam  ne'er  had  dwelling. 


I  Ths  ancient  I  had  a  mode  of  divination  iOiiMwlMl  •imi- 
•I  to  Uiia  i  and  we  find  tbe  Emperor  Adiiaii,  whan  Im  wwt 


"  Dip  in  its  water 

"That  Ijaf;  O  Daughter, 
"  And  mark  the  tale  'tis  telling ;  • 
*•  Watch  thou  if  pale  or  bright  it  gro-v, 
••  List  thou,  the  while,  that  fountain's  ftow, 

"  And  thou'lt  discover 

"  Whether  thy  lover, 
**  Loved  as  he  is,  loves  thee  w  m, 
"  Loved  as  he  is,  loves  thee." 

Forth  flew  the  nymph,  delighted. 
To  seek  that  fount  benighted ; 

But,  scarce  a  minute 

The  leaf  lay  in  it, 
\Vhen  lo,  its  bloom  was  blighted ! 
And  as  she  ask'd,  with  voice  of  wo«  •  • 
Listening,  the  while,  that  fountain's  flow  - 

••  Shall  I  recover 

"  My  truant  lover  ? " 
The  fountain  scem'd  to  answer,  ♦•  No  ;  " 
The  fountain  ausworcd,  "  No." 


CEPHALUS  AND  PU0CRI8. 

A  HUNTEB  once  in  that  grove  reclined. 

To  shun  the  noon's  bright  eye. 
And  oft  he  wooed  the  wandering  wind. 

To  cool  his  brow  with  its  sigh. 
While  mute  lay  even  the  wild  bee's  hum. 

Nor  breath  could  stir  the  aspen's  hair, 
His  song  was  still  ••  Sweet  air,  O  come  !  " 

While  Echo  answered,  "  Come,  sweet  Ait !  '* 

But,  hark,  what  sounds  from  the  thicket  rite  I 

^V'hat  meaneth  that  rustling  spray  ? 
"  'Tis  the  white-hom'd  doe,"  the  Hunter  crie% 

•«  I  have  sought  since  break  of  day.*" 
Quick  o'er  the  sunny  glade  he  springs. 

The  arrow  flies  from  his  sounding  bow, 
"  Hilliho  —  hilliho  !  "  he  gayly  sings, 

WhUe  Echo  sighs  forth  "  ilUliho  ! " 

Alas,  'twas  not  the  white-hom'd  doe 

He  saw  in  the  rustling  grove. 
But  the  bridal  veil,  as  pure  as  snow, 

Of  his  own  young  wedded  love. 
And,  ah,  too  sure  that  arrow  sped. 

For  pale  at  his  feet  he  sees  her  lie ;  — 
•<  I  die,  I  die,"  was  all  she  said. 

While  Echo  murmur' d,  "  I  die,  I  die  • ' 


to  coiMult  the  Fountain  at  Cartalia,  ptacktaf  a  bar  «af  saf 
dipping  it  iulo  tlie  Mcnd  iraMc; 


YOUTH  AND  AGE.' 

"  Tell  me,  what's  Love  ?  "  said  Youth,  one  day, 
To  drooping  Age,  who  crossed  his  way.  — 
"1:  is  a  sunny  hour  of  play, 
•*  For  which  repentance  dear  doth  pay  ; 

"  Repentance  !  Repentance  ! 
*•  And  this  is  Love,  as  wise  men  say." 

^  Tell    me,  wh  it's    Love  ? "    said  Youth  once 

more; 
Fearful,  yet  fond,  of  Age's  lore.  — 
"  Soft  as  a  passing  summer's  wind, 
"  Wouldst  know  the  blight  it  leaves  behind  i 

"  Repentance  I  Repentance  ! 
"  And  this  is  Love  —  when  love  is  o'er." 

"  Tell  me,  what's  Love  ? "  said  Youth  again, 
Trusting  the  bliss,  but  not  the  pain. 
"  Sweet  as  a  May  tree's  scented  air  — 
"  Mark  ye  what  bitter  fruit  'twill  bear, 

"  Repentance  !  Repentance  ! 
"  This,  this  is  Love  —  sweet  Youth,  beware.' 

Just  then,  young  Love  himself  came  by, 
And  cast  on  Youth  a  smiling  eye  ; 
Who  could  resist  that  glance's  ray  ? 
In  \  ain  did  Age  his  warning  say, 

"  Repentance  !   Repentance  !  " 
Youth  laughing  went  with  Love  away. 


THE  DYING  WARRIOR. 

A  WOUNDED  Chieftain,  lying 
By  the  Danube's  leafy  side, 

Thus  faintly  said,  in  dying, 
"  O,  bear,  thou  foaming  tide, 
"  This  gift  to  my  lady  bride." 

Twas  then,  in  life's  last  quiver, 
He  flung  the  scarf  he  wore 

Into  the  foaming  river, 
"Which,  ah  too  quickly,  bore 
Tliat  pledge  of  one  no  more  ! 

With  fond  impatience  burning. 
The  Chieftain's  lady  stood. 

To  watch  her  love  returning 
In  triumph  down  the  flood, 
From  that  day's  field  of  blood. 


•  The  air,  to  which  I  have  adapted  these  words,  was 
y)mposed  by  Airs.  Ark«Tight  to  some  old  verses,  "  Tell  me 
rhat's  love,  kint'  shepherd,  oray  ? "  and  it  has  been  mv  ob-  1 


But,  field,  alas,  ill  fated  I 

The  lady  saw,  instead 
Of  the  bark  whose  speed  she  waited, 

Her  hero's  scarf,  all  red 

With  the  drops  his  heart  had  shed. 

One  shriek  —  and  all  was  over  - 
,    Her  hfe  pulse  ceased  to  beat ; 
The  gloomy  waves  now  cover 
That  bridal  flower  so  sweet. 
And  the  scarf  is  her  winding  sheet ! 


THE  MAGIC  MIRROR. 

"  Come,  if  thy  magic  Glass  have  power 
"  To  call  up  forms  we  sigh  to  see  ; 

"  Show  me  my  love,  in  that  rosy  bower, 
"  Where  last  she  pledged  her  truth  to  me.*" 

The  Wizard  show'd  him  his  Lady  bright. 
Where  lone  and  pale  in  her  bow'r  she  lay  ; 

"  True-hearted  maid,"  said  the  happy  Knight, 
"  She's  thinking  of  one,  who  is  far  away." 

But,  lo  !  a  page,  with  looks  of  joy. 

Brings  tidings  to  the  lady's  ear; 
"  'Tis,"    said  the  Knight,    "  the  same  bright 
boy 

"  Who  \ised  to  giiide  me  to  my  dear." 

The  Lady  now,  from  her  fav'rite  tree, 
Hath,  smiling,  pluck' d  a  rosy  flower , 

"  Such,"  he  exclaim'd,  •'  was  the  gift  that  she 
"  Each  morning  sent  me  from  that  bower  1 " 

She  gives  her  page  the  blooming  rose. 

With  looks  that  say,  •'  Like  lightning,  fly ! ' 

"  Thus,"  thought  the  Knight,  "  she  soothes  hw 
woes, 
"  By  fancying,  still,  her  true  love  nigh." 

But  the  page  returns,  and  —  O,  what  a  sight, 
For  trusting  lover's  eyes  to  see  !  — 

Leads  to  that  bower  another  Knight, 
As  young,  and,  alas,  as  loved  as  he ! 

"  Such,"  quoth  the  Youth,  "  is  Woman's  ^o\9 ! ' 
Then,  darting  forth,  with  furious  bound, 

Dash'd  at  the  Mirror  his  iron  glove. 
And  strew'd  it  all  in  fragments  round. 


Ject  to  retain  as  much  of  the  structure  and  pbriseo!:  >g7 
the  original  words  as  possible. 


LEGENDARY  BALLADS, 


»2» 


MORAL. 

Such  ills  would  never  have  come  to  pass. 
Had  he  ne'er  sought  that  fatal  view ; 

The  Wizard  would  still  have  kept  his  Glass, 
And  the  Knight  still  thought  his  Lady  true. 


THE  PILGRIM. 

Still  thus,  when  twilight  gleam' d. 
Far  off  his  Castle  seem'd. 

Traced  on  the  sky ; 
A  id  still,  as  fancy  bore  him 
It  those  dim  towers  before  him. 
He  gazed,  with  wishful  eye. 

And  thought  his  home  was  nigh. 

*'  Hall  of  my  Sires  !  "  he  baid, 
•*  How  long,  with  weary  tread, 

"  Must  I  toil  on  ? 
•*  Each  eve,  as  thus  I  wander, 
*'  Thy  towers  seem  rising  yonder, 
"  But,  scarce  hath  daylight  shone, 

"  When,  like  a  dream,  thou'rt  gone  I ' 

io  went  the  Pilgrim  still, 
Down  dale  and  over  hUl, 

Day  after  day ; 
That  glimpse  of  home,  so  cheering, 
At  twilight  still  appearing. 
But  still,  with  morning's  ray, 

Melting,  like  mist,  away  I 

"Where  rests  the  Pilgrim  now  ? 
Here,  by  this  cypress  bough. 

Closed  his  career ; 
That  dream,  of  fancy's  weaving. 
No  more  his  steps  deceiving, 
Alike  past  hope  and  fear. 

The  Pilgrim's  home  is  here. 


THE  HIG'H-BORN  LADYR 

(j(  ral  i  all  the  Knights  of  the  Undcrwald  wooed 
her, 
lliougn  brightest  of  maidens,  the  proudest 
was  she ; 
Brave  chieftains  they  sought,  and  young  min- 
strels they  sued  her. 
But  worthy  were  none  of  the  high-bom  Ladye. 

**  Whomsoever  I  wed,"  said  this  maid,  so  ex- 
celling, 
•  That  Knight  most  the  conqu'ror  of  con- 
querors bo ; 

42 


"  He  must  place  me  in  haUs  dt  for  mcnarchs  to 
dwell  in ;  — 
"  None  else  shall  be  Lord  of  the  high-bora 
Ladye ! " 

Thus  spoke  the  proud  damsel,  with  scorn  look* 
ing  round  her 
On  Knights  and  on  Nobles  of  highest  degree ; 
"Who  humbly  and  hopelessly  left  as  thej  fouod 
her. 
And  worshipp'd  at  distance  the  high  bom 
Ladye. 

At  length  came  a  Knight,  from  a  Ckr  land  (o 
woo  her. 
With  plumes  on  his  helm  like  the  foam  of 
the  sea; 
His  visor  was  down  —  but,   with  Toice  that 
thrill'd  through  her, 
He  whisper'd  his  vows  to  the  high-bom  Ladye. 

"  Proud  maiden  !  I  come  with  high  spousals  to 
grace  thee, 
"  In  me  the  great  conqu'ror  of  conqucrois  see  | 
"  Enthroned  in  a  hall  Et  for  monarcha  I'll  place 
thee, 
"  And  mine  thou'rt  fbrerer.  thou  high-bon 
Ladye  1" 

The  maiden  she  smiled,  and  in  jewels  array'd  her, 
Of  thrones  and  tiaras  already  dreamt  she  ; 

And  proud  was  the  step,  as  her  bridegroom  con* 
▼ey'd  her 
In  pomp  to  his  home,  of  that  high- bora  Ladye. 

"  But  whither,"  she  starting,  exclaims,  ••  hare 
you  led  me  ? 
"  Here's  nought  but  •  tomb  and  a  dark  cy< 
press  tree ; 
*'  Is  this  the  bright  palace  in  which  thou  womdst 
wed  me  ? " 
With  scorn  in  her  glance  said  the  high-bora 
Ladye. 

"  'Tis  the  home,"  he  replied,  "  of  earth's  lot«ieal 
creatures  "  — 
Then  lifted  his  helm  for  the  fair  one  to  kce  t 
But  she  sunk  on  the  ground  —  'twas  a  skeleton's 
features. 
And  Death  was  the  Lord  of  the  high-boff* 
Ladye 1 

THE  INDLAJf  BOAT^ 

'TWAS  midnight  dark. 
Theseenun's  berk. 


T30 


LEGENDARY  BALLADS. 


Swift  o'er  the  waters  bore  him, 

^\^^en,  through  the  night,. 

He  spied  a  light 
Shoot  o  er  the  \\  ave  before  him. 
"  A  sail !  a  sail !  "  he  cries  ; 

*•  She  comes  from  the  Indian  shore, 
''  And  to-night  shall  be  our  prize, 
*•  With  her  freight  of  golden  ore  : 

*'  Sail  on  !  sail  on  !  " 

Wlien  morning  shone 
He  saw  the  gold  still  clearer ; 

But,  though  so  fast 

The  waves  he  pass'd, 
That  boat  seem'd  never  the  nearer. 

Bright  daylight  came, 

And  still  the  same 
Rich  bark  before  him  floated ; 

WhUe  on  the  prize 

His  wishful  ej'es 
Like  any  young  lover's  doated : 
"  More  sail !  more  sail !  "  he  cries. 

While  the  waves  o'ertop  the  mast ; 
And  his  bounding  galley  flies, 
Like  an  arrow  before  the  blast. 

Thus  on,  and  on, 

Till  day  was  gone, 
And  the  moon  through  heaTen  did  hie  her, 

He  swept  the  main, 

But  all  in  vain, 
That  boat  seem'd  never  the  nigher. 

And  many  a  day 

To  night  gave  way, 
And  many  a  morn  succeeded  . 

While  still  his  flight, 

Through  day  and  night, 
rhat  restless  mariner  speeded. 
Who  knows  —  who  knows  what  seas 

He  is  now  careering  o'er  ? 
Behind,  the  eternal  breeze. 

And  that  mocking  bark,  before  1 

For,  O,  till  sky 

And  earth  shall  die, 
And  their  death  leave  none  to  rue  it, 

That  boat  must  flee 

O'er  the  boundless  sea, 
And  that  ship  in  vain  pursue  it. 


THE  STRANGER. 
^ME  list,  whUe  I  tell  of  the  heart-wounded 
Stranger 
Who  sleeps  her  last  sliunber  in  tlua  haunted 
groimd ; 


Where   often,    at    midnight,   the  lonely   wood 
ranger 
Hears  soft  fairy  music  refieho  around. 

None  e'er  knew  the  name  of  that  heart-sirickftj 
lady, 
Her  language,  though  sweet,  none  cruld  e'oi 
understand ; 
But  her  features  so  sunn'd,  and  her  tyela»h  so 
shady, 
Bespoke  her  a  child  of  some  far  Eastern  land. 

'Twas  one  summer  night,  when  the  village  lay 
sleeping, 
A  soft  strain  of  melody  came  o'er  our  ears ; 
So  sweet,  but  so  mournful,  half  song  and  half 
weeping. 
Like  music  that  Sorrow  had  steep' d  in  hei 
tears. 

We  thought  'twas  an  anthem  some  angel  had 
sung  us ;  — 
But,  soon  as  the  daybeams  had  gush'd  from 
on  high, 
With  wonder  we  saw  this  bright  stranger  among 
us. 
All  lovely  and  lone,  as  if  stray'd  &om  the  sky. 

Nor  long  did  her  life  for  this  sphere  seem  in- 
tended. 
For  pale  was  her  cheek,  with  that  spirit-like 
hue. 
Which  comes  when  the  day  of  this  world  i» 
nigh  ended. 
And  light  from  another  already  shines  through 

Then  her  eyes,  when  she  sung  —  O,  but  once  to 
have  seen  them  — 
Left  thoughts  in  the  soul  that  can  never  de- 
part; 
While  her  looks  and  her  voice  made  a  language 
between  them. 
That  spoke  more  than  holiest  words  to  the 
heart. 

But  she  pass'd  like  a  daydream,  no  skill  ^ouW 

reijtore  her  — 

Whate'er  was  her  sorrow,  its  ruin  came  fast ; 

She  died  with  the  same  spell  of  mystery  o'er  her, 

That  song  of  past  days  on  her  lips  to  the 

last. 

Nor  ev'n  in  the  grave  is  her  sad  heart  reposing. 

Still  hovers  the  spirit  of  grief  round  her  tomb 
For  oft,  when  the  shadows  of  midnight  are 
closing, 
The  same  strain  of  music  is  heard  througb 
the  gloom. 


A    MELOLOGUE    UPON    NATIONAL    MUSIC. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

Ibbse  verses  were  Miitten  for  a  Benefit  at 
4ie  Dublin  Theatre,  and  were  spoken  by  Miss 
Smith,  with  a  degree  of  success,  which  they 
owed  solely  to  her  admirable  manner  of  reciting 
them.  I  wrote  them  in  haste;  and  it  very 
rarely  happens  that  poetry,  which  has  cost  but 
little  labor  to  the  writer,  is  productive  of  any 
great  pleasure  to  the  reader.  Under  this  im- 
pression, 1  certainly  should  not  have  published 
them  if  they  had  not  found  their  way  into  some 
of  the  newspapers,  with  such  an  addition  of 
errors  to  their  own  original  stock,  that  I  thought 
it  but  fair  to  limit  their  responsibility  to  thoM 
faults  alone  which  really  belong  to  them. 

With  respect  to  the  title  which  I  have  in- 
lented  for  this  Poem,  I  feel  even  more  than  the 
scruples  of  the  Emperor  Tiberius,  when  he 
humbly  asked  pardon  of  the  Roman  Senate  for 
using  ••  the  outlandish  term,  monopoly."  But 
the  truth  is,  having  written  the  Poem  with  the 
sole  view  of  serving  a  Benefit,  I  thought  that 
an  unintelligible  word  of  this  kind  would  not 
be  without  its  attraction  for  the  multitude,  with 
whom,  "  K  'tis  not  sense,  at  least  'tis  Greek." 
To  some  of  my  readers,  however,  it  may  not  be 
superfluous  to  say,  that  by  "  Melologue,"  I 
mean  that  mixture  of  recitation  and  music, 
which  is  frequently  adopted  in  the  performance 
of  Collins's  Ode  on  the  Passions,  and  of  which 
the  most  striking  example  I  can  remember  is 
♦be  prophetic  speech  of  Joad  in  the  Athalie  of 
Kacine.  T.  M. 


A  JEOai  SlTlAIN  OF  Music  FEOM  THB  OuCHBST&A. 

Thekb  breathes  a  language,  kno^vn  and  felt 

Far  as  the  pure  air  spreads  its  living  zone } 
Wherever  rage  can  rouse,  or  pity  melt, 
Tbit  language  of  the  soul  is  felt  and  known. 
From  those  meridian  plains. 
Where  oft,  of  old,  on  some  high  tower, 


1  "  A  certain  Spaniard,  one  night  late,  met  an  Indian 
iroman  in  U»e  streets  of  Cozco,  and  would  have  taken  her 
to  his  home,  but  slie  cried  out,  •  For  Ood'a  »*ke.  Sir,  let  me 
o-  for  tiiat  pipe,  which  you  hear  in  yoader  lower,  calle  lae 


The  soft  Peruvian  pour'd  his  midnight  ttrali*, 
And  call'd  his  distant  lovo  with  lach  aiic*! 
power. 
That,  when  she  heard  the  lonely  lay, 
Not  worlds  could  keep  her  from  his  arms  »wiy 
To  the  bleak  climes  of  polar  night, 
Where  blithe,  beneath  a  sunless  sky, 
The  Lapland  lover  bids  his  reindeer  fly. 
And  sings  along  the  lengthening  waste  of  im  w 
Gayly  as  if  the  blessed  light 
Of  vernal  Phoebus  bum'd  upon  his  brow ; 
O  Music  !  thy  celestial  claim 
Is  still  resistless,  still  the  same ; 
And,  faithful  as  the  mighty  sea 
To  the  pale  star  that  o'er  its  realm  presides, 
llio  spell- bound  tides 
Of  liuman  passion  rise  and  fall  for  thee ! 

Gbeek  Air. 
List !  'tis  a  Grecian  maid  that  sings. 
While,  from  Ilissus*  silvery  springs. 
She  draws  the  cool  lymph  in  her  graceful  urn 
And  by  her  side,  in  Music's  charm  dissolving. 
Some  patriot  youth,  the  glorious  past  revolving 
Dreams  of  bright  days  that  never  caji  retur' 
When  Athens  nursed  her  olive  bough. 

With  hands  by  tyrant  power  unchain'd , 
And  braided  for  the  muse's  brow 
A  wreath  by  tyrant  touch  unstai&M. 
When  heroes  trod  each  classic  field 

Where  coward  feet  now  faintly  falter ; 

When  every  arm  was  Freedom's  shieldt 

And  every  heart  was  Freedom's  altar ! 

Yiowaa.  of  TatrnFrrs. 
Hark  I  'tis  the  sound  that  charms 
The  war  steed's  wakening  ears !  — 

O,  many  a  mother  folds  her  arms 
Round  her  boy-soldier  when  that  call  she  heai» . 

And,  though  her  fond  heart  sink  with  fears, 

Is  proud  to  feel  his  young  pulse  bound 

With  valor's  fever  at  the  sound. 

See,  from  his  native  hills  afar 

The  rude  Helvetian  flies  to  wai , 


with  great  punoa,  sad  1 

love  canMniM  ■!•  «o  fo,  UiM  I  mv  *•  *♦•  '"^ 

buiband.  • "—  OvcOmm 4*  U  tig*, »B  ilr  Ita 

translation. 


ani  tmm 


iSi 


SET  OF   GLEES. 


Careless  for  what,  for  ■\\hoin  he  fights, 
For  slave  or  despot,  wrongs  or  rights ; 

A  conqueror  oft  —  a  hero  never— 
Yet  lavish  of  his  lifeblood  still, 
As  if  'twere  like  his  mountain  rill, 

And  gush'd  forever ! 

Yes,  Music,  here,  even  here, 
Amid  this  thoughtless,  vague  career, 
rhy  soul-felt  charm  asserts  its  wondrous  power, 
There's  a  wild  ak  which  oft,  among  the  rocks 
Of  his  own  lov'd  land,  at  evening  hour, 
Is  heard,   when  shepherds  homeward  pipe 
their  flocks. 
Whose  every  note  hath  power  to  thrill  his  mind 
With  tenderest  thoughts;   to  bring  around 
his  knees 
The  rosy  children  whom  he  left  behind. 
And  fill  each  little  angel  eye 
With  speaking  tears,  that  ask  him  why 
He  wander' d  from  his  hut  for  scenes  like 
these. 
Vain,  vain  is  then  the  trumpet's  brazen  roar ; 

Sweet  notes  of  home,  of  love,  are  all  he  hears ; 
A.nd  the  stern  eyes,  that  look'd  for  blood  before, 
Now  melting,  mournful,  lose  themselves  in 
tears. 

Swiss  Air.  —  "  Ranz  des  Vaches. 
But  wake  the  trumpet's  blast  again, 
And  rouse  the  ranks  of  warrior  men ! 
O  War,  when  Truth  thy  arm  employs, 
And  Freedom's  spirit  guides  the  laboring  storm, 
Tis  then  thy  vengeance  takes  a  hallow'd  fonn. 


And,  like  Heaven's  lightning,  sacredly  d«« 
stroys.  * 

Nor,  Music,  through  thy  breathing  sphere. 

Lives  there  a  sound  more  grateful  to  the  ear 
Of  Him  who  made  all  harmony. 
Than  the  bless' d  sound  of  fetters  breaking, 
And  the  first  hymn  that  man,  awaking 

From  Slavery's  slimiber,  breathes  to  Liberty. 

Spanish  Chorus. 
Hark  !  from  Spain,  indignant  Spain, 
Bursts  the  bold,  enthusiast  strain. 
Like  morning's  music  on  the  air ; 
And  seems,  in  every  note,  to  swear 
By  Saragossa's  ruin'd  streets, 

By  brave  Gerona's  deathful  story, 
That,  while  one  Spaniard's  lifeblood  beats« 

That  blood  shall  stain  the  conqueror's 
glory. 

Spanish  Air.  —  "Ya  Desperxo." 
But  ah !  if  vain  the  patriot's  zeal. 
If  neither  valor's  force  nor  wisdom's  light 
Can  break  or  melt  that  blood-cemented  seal. 
Which  shuts  so   close  the  book  of  Europe  I 
right  — 
What  song  shall  then  in  sadness  tell 

Of  broken  pride,  of  prospects  shaded. 
Of  buried  hopes,  remember' d  well. 

Of  ardor  quench'd,  and  honor  faded  ? 
What  muse  shall  mourn  the  breathless  br"«<% 

In  sweetest  dirge  at  Memory's  shrine  ? 
What  harp  shall  sigh  o'er  Freedom's  grave  ? 
O  Erin,  Thine  1 


SET    OF    GLEES. 


HtrSIC    BY    MOORE. 


THE  MEETING  OF   THE  SHIPS. 

When  o'er  the  silent  seas  tilone, 
For  days  anl  nights  we've  cheerless  gone, 
O  they  who've  felt  it  know  how  sweet, 
Some  sunny  morn  a  sail  to  meet. 

Sparkling  at  once  is  ev'ry  eye, 

"  Ship  ahoy  !  "  our  joyful  cry  ; 

While  answering  back  the  sounds  we  hear, 

••  Ship  ahoy  !  "  what  cheer  i  what  cheer  ? 


Then  sails  are  back'd,  we  nearer  come. 
Kind  words  are  said  of  friends  and  home ; 
And  soon,  too  soon,  we  part  -with  pain, 
To  sail  o'er  silent  seas  again. 


HIP,  HIP,  HURRAH! 

Come,  fill  round  a  bumper,  fill  up  to  the  trim. 
He  who  shrinks  from  a  bumper  I  pledge  not  ta 
him; 


SET  OF  GLEES. 


ttt 


Here's  the  girl  that  each  lovea,  be  her  eye  of 

what  hue, 
Ox  lustre,  it  may,  so  her  heart  is  but  true. 

Charge  !  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurrah,  hurrah ! 

Come  charge  high,  again,  boy,  nor  let  the  full 

wine 
Leare  a  space  in  the  brimmer,  where  daylight 

may  shine; 
Hare's  "  the  friends  of  our  youth  —  though  of 

some  we're  bereft, 
May  the  links  that  are  lost  but  endear  what  are 

left !  " 
Charge !  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurrah,  hurrah  ! 

Once  more  fill  a  bumper  —  ne'er  talk  of  the 

hour; 
On  hearts  thus  united  old  Time  has  no  power. 
May  our  lives,  though,  alas !  like  the  wine  of 

to-night, 
rhey  must  soon  have  an  end,  to  the  last  flow  as 

bright. 
Charge !  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurrah,  hurrah  I 

Quick,  quick,  now  Fll  give  you,  since  Time's 

glass  will  run 
Ev'n  faster  than  ours  doth,  three  bumpers  in  one. 
Here's  the  poet  who  sings  —  here's  the  warrior 

who  fights  — 
Here's  the  statesman  who  speaks,  in  the  cause 

of  men's  rights ! 
Charge  !   (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hiirrah,  hurrah  I 

Come,  once  more  a  bumper !  —  then  drink  as 

you  please, 
Though,  who  could  fill  half  way  to  toast  such  as 
these  ? 
'  Here's  our  next  joyous  meeting  —  and  O  when 
we  meet, 
llay  our  wine  be  as  bright  and  our  union  as 
sweet ! 
Charge  !  (drinks)  hip,  hip,  hurrah,  hurrah  I 


HUSH,  HUSHl 

"HcsH,  hush  ! "  —  how  well 

That  sweet  word  sounds. 
When  Love,  the  little  sentinel. 

Walks  his  night  rounds ; 
Then,  if  a  foot  but  dare 

One  rose  leaf  crush. 
Myriads  of  voices  in  the  air 

"WTiisper,  ••  Hush,  hush  1 '' 


"  Hark,  hark,  'tis  he ! " 

The  night  elves  cry, 
And  hush  their  fairy  harmony. 

While  he  steals  by  ; 
But  if  his  silv'ry  feet 

One  dewdrop  bnuh, 
Voices  are  heard  in  cham* 

^\'lli8pering  '*  Hush,  hush  ! 


THE  PARTINQ  BEFORE  THE  BAITLI 


Om  to  the  field,  our  doom  is  seal'd. 
To  conquer  or  be  slaves ; 

This  sun  shall  see  our  nation  free, 
Or  set  upon  our  graves. 


Farewell,  O  farewell,  my  love, 
May  Heaven  thy  guardian  be. 

And  send  bright  angels  from  above 
To  bring  thee  back  to  me 


On  to  the  field,  the  battle  field. 
Where  freedom's  standard  yrurm. 

This  sun  shall  see  our  tjrrant  yield* 
Or  shine  upon  our  graves. 


THE  WATCHMAN. 

▲  TRIO. 
WATCHMAR. 

Past  twelve  o'clock  — past  twelve. 

Good  night,  good  night,  my  deareet< 
How  fast  the  moments  fly ! 

'Tis  time  to  part,  thou  hearest 
That  hateful  watchman  s  ciy 

WATCHXAK. 

Past  one  o'clock  —  past  one. 

Yet  stay  a  rnomeut  longer  — 

Alas  !  why  is  it  so, 
The  wish  to  stay  grow*  gltoopt, 

The  more 'tis  time  to  go  ? 

WATCHXAX. 

Past  two  o'clock  —  past  two. 

Now  wrap  thy  cloak  about  thee  — 
The  hours  must  sure  go  wtm§, 


134 


BALLADS,   SONGS,  ETC. 


"For  when  they're  pass'd  without  thee^ 
They're,  O,  ten  times  as  long. 

■WATCHMAN. 

Past  three  o'clock  —  past  three. 

Again  that  dreadful  warning ! 

Had  ever  time  such  flight? 
And  see  the  sky,  'tis  morning  — 

So  now,  indeed,  good  night. 

WATCHMAN. 

Past  three  o'clock  —  past  three. 
Good  night,  good  night. 


SAY,   WHAT   SHALL  WE  DANCE? 

Say,  what  shall  we  dance  ? 
Shall  we  bound  along  the  moonlight  plain, 
To  music  of  Italy,  Greece,  or  Spain  ? 

Say,  what  shall  we  dance  ? 
Shall  we,  like  those  who  rove 
Through  bright  Grenada's  grove. 
To  the  light  Bolero's  measures  move  ? 
Or  choose  the  Guaracia's  languishing  lay, 
And  thus  to  its  sound  die  away  ? 

Strike  the  gay  chords, 
Let  us  hear  each  strain  from  cv'ry  shore 
That  music  haunts,  or  young  feet  wander  o'er. 
Hark  !  'tis  the  light  march,  to  whose  measured 

time. 


The  Polish  lady,  by  her  lover  led, 

Delights  through  gay  saloons  with  step  imtiret. 

to  tread, 
Or  sweeter  still,  through  moonlight  walks 
Whose  shadows  serve  to  hide 
The  blush  that's  raised  by  him  who  talks 
Of  love  the  while  by  her  side, 
Then  comes  the  smooth  waltz,  to  whose  floating 

sound 
Like  dreams  we  go  gliding  around. 
Say,  which  shall  we  dance  ?  which  shall  w« 

dance? 


THE  EVENING   GUN. 

Remember' ST  thou  that  setting  sun, 

The  last  I  saw  with  thee. 
When  loud  we  heard  the  evening  gun 

Peal  o'er  the  twilight  sea? 
Boom  !  —  the  sounds  appear'd  to  sweep 

Far  o'er  the  verge  of  day. 
Till,  into  realms  beyond  the  deep. 

They  seem'd  to  die  away. 

Oft,  when  the  toils  of  day  are  done, 

In  pensive  dreams  of  thee, 
I  sit  to  hear  that  evening  gun. 

Peal  o'er  the  stormy  sea. 
Boom  !  —  and  Avhile  o'er  billows  curl'd, 

The  distant  sounds  decay, 
I  weep  and  wish,  from  this  rough  worW 

Like  them  to  die  away. 


BALLADS,    SONGS,    MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS,    ETC 

TO-DAY,   DEAREST!   IS   OURS. 

Though  now,  blooming  and  young. 

To -DAT,  dearest !  is  ours  ; 

Why  should  Love  carelessly  lose  it? 
This  life  shines  or  low'rs 

Just  as  we,  weak  mortals,  use  it. 
'Tis  time  enough,  when  its  flow'rs  decay, 

Thou  hast  me  devoutly  thy  lover, 
Yet  Time  from  both,  in  his  silent  lapse. 

Some  treasure  may  steal  or  borrow ; 
Thy  charms  may  be  less  in  bloom,  perhaps. 

Or  I  less  in  love  to-morrow. 

To  think  of  the  thorns  of  Sorrow ; 

And  Joy,  if  left  on  the  stem  to-day. 

May  wither  before  to-morrow. 

WHEN  ON  THE  LIP  THE  SIGH  DEI  AYS 

Then  why,  dearest !  so  long 

When  on  the  lip  the  sigh  delays, 

Lot  tha  sweet  moments  fl}  over? 

As  if  'twould  linger  there  forever  ; 

BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


tu 


When  eyes  would  give  the  world  to  gaxe. 
Yet  slill  look  down,  and  venture  never  ; 

WTien,  though  with  fairest  nymphs  we  rove. 
There's  one  we  dream  of  more  than  any  — 

If  all  this  18  not  real  love, 
'Tis  something  wond'rous  like  it,  Fanny ! 

Vo  think  and  ponder,  when  apart, 

On  all  we've  got  to  say  at  meeting ; 
And  yet  when  near,  with  heart  to  heart. 

Sit  mute,  and  listen  to  their  heating  : 
To  see  but  one  bright  object  move. 

The  only  moon,  where  stars  are  many  — 
If  all  this  is  not  downright  love, 

I  prithee  say  what  is,  my  Fanny  ! 

When  Hope  foretells  the  brightest,  best. 

Though  Reason  on  the  darkest  reckons  ; 
When  Passion  drives  us  to  the  west. 

Though  Prudence  to  the  eastward  beckons  ; 
When  all  turns  round,  below,  above. 

And  our  own  heads  the  most  of  any  — 
If  this  is  not  stark,  staring  love. 

Then  you  and  I  are  sages,  Fanny. 


HERE,  TAKE  MY  HEART. 

Heke,  take  my  heart  —  'twill  be  safe  in  thy 
keeping, 

While  I  go  wand' ring  o'er  land  and  o'er  sea  ; 
Smiling  or  sorro\ving,  waking  or  sleeping, 

Wliat  need  I  care,  so  my  heart  is  with  thee  ? 

\i  in  the  race  we  are  destined  to  run,  love. 

They  who  have  light  hearts  the  happiest  be. 
Then,  happier  still  must  be  they  who  have  none, 
love, 
And  that  will  by  my  case  when  mine  is  with 
thee. 

U  matters  not  where  I  may  now  be  a  rover, 
1  c&:e  not  how  many  bright  eyes  I  may  see  ; 

bUould  Venus  herself  come  and  ask  me  to  love 
her, 
I'd  tell  her  I  couldn't  —  my  heart  is  with  thee. 

A.nd  there  let  it  lie,  growing  fonder  anfl  fonder  — 

For,  even  should  Fortune  turn  truant  to  me. 

Why,    let    her  go  — I've    a    treasure   beyond 

her, 

\s  long  as  my  heart's  out  at  int'rett  with 

thee! 


O,  CALL  rr  BY  SOME  BETTER  NAMI 

O,  CALi,  it  by  some  better  name, 

For  Friendship  sounds  too  cold, 
WTiile  Love  is  now  a  worldly  Auat, 

Whose  shrine  must  be  of  gold « 
And  Passion,  like  the  sun  at  nooiit 

That  bums  o'er  all  ho  aeaa, 
A  while  as  warm,  will  set  at  looo  ^• 

Then,  call  it  none  of  th*M. 

Imagine  something  purer  far. 

More  free  from  stain  of  clay 
Than  Friendship,  Love,  or  Passion  art, 

Yet  human  still  as  they  : 
And  if  thy  lip,  for  love  like  this. 

No  mortal  word  can  frame. 
Go,  ask  of  angels  M-hat  it  is. 

And  call  it  by  that  name  t 


i»OOR  WOUNDED  HEART. 

Poor  wounded  heart,  farewell ! 
Thy  hour  of  rest  is  come ; 
Thou  soon  wilt  reach  thy  hom«, 
Poor  woanded  heart,  farewell  1 
The  pain  thou'lt  feel  in  breaking 

Less  bitter  far  will  be. 
Than  that  long,  deadly  aching, 
This  life  has  been  to  thee. 

There  —  broken  heart,  farewell  I 
The  pang  is  o'er  — 
The  parting  pang  is  o'er ; 
Thou  now  wilt  bleed  no  mor* 
Poor  broken  heart,  farewell ! 
No  rest  for  thee  but  dying  — 

Like  Avavcs,  whose  strife  is  pasa'd. 
On  death's  cold  shore  thus  lying, 
I'hou  sleep'st  in  peace  at  last  — 
Poor  broken  heart,  farewell  I 


THE  EAST  INDIAN. 

Comb,  May,  with  all  thy  flowers, 

Thy  sweetly-scented  thorn. 
Thy  cooling  ev'ning  shower*. 

Thy  fragrant  breath  at  mom : 
When  May  flies  haunt  the  willow, 

When  May  birds  tempt  the  bet 
Then  o'er  the  shining  bi'.low 

My  love  will  come  to  me. 


»S«                                                 BALLADS.  SONGS,  ETC. 

From  Eastern  Isles  she's  winging 

When  the  beautiful  hue 

Through  wafrj--  wilds  her  way, 

Of  thy  cheek  through  the  dew 

And  on  her  cheek  is  bringing 

Of  morning  is  bashfully  peeping. 

The  bright  sun's  orient  ray : 

"  Sweet  tears,"  I  shall  say 

0,  come  and  court  her  hither, 

(As  I  brush  them  away). 

Ye  breezes  mild  and  warm  — 

"  At  least  there's  no  art  in  this  weeping. 

One  winter's  gale  would  wither 

Although  thou  shouldst  die  to-morrow 

So  soft,  so  pure  a  form. 

'Twill  not  be  from  pain  or  sorrow ; 

And  the  thorns  of  thy  stem 

The  fields  where  she  was  straying 

Are  not  like  them 

Are  blest  with  endless  light, 

With  which  men  wound  each  other : 

With  zephyrs  always  playing 

So  my  pretty  Rose  Tree, 

Through  gardens  always  bright. 

Thou  my  mistress  shalt  be, 

Then  now,  sweet  May  !  be  sweeter 

And  I'll  ne'er  again  sigh  to  another. 

Than  e'er  thou'st  been  before  ; 

Let  sighs  from  roses  meet  her 

When  she  comes  near  our  shore. 

SH 1  P^E  OUT,  STARS  ! 

Shine  out,  Stars  !  let  Heav'n  assemble 

POOR  BROKEN  FLOWER. 

Round  us  every  festal  ray. 
Lights  that  move  not,  lights  that  trembli^ 

PooH  broken  flow'r  !  Avhat  art  can  now  recover 

All  to  grace  this  Eve  of  May. 

thee? 

Let  the  flow'r  beds  all  lie  waking, 

Torn  from  the  stem  that  fed  thy  rosy  breath  — 

And  the  odors  shut  up  there. 

In  vain  the  sunbeams  seek 

From  their  downy  prisons  breaking, 

To  warm  that  faded  cheek ; 

Fly  abroad  through  sea  and  air. 

The  dews  of  heav'n,  that  once  like  balm  fell  over  • 

thee, 

And  would  Love,  too,  bring  his  sweetncBB, 

Now  are  but  tears,  to  weep  thy  early  death. 

With  our  other  joys  to  weave, 

0  what  glory,  what  completeness, 

Bo  droops  the  maid  whose  lover  hath  forsaken 

Then  would  crown  this  bright  May  Eve  I 

her, — 

Shine  out,  Stars  !  let  night  assemble 

Thrown  from  his  arms,  as  lone  and  lost  as  thou ; 

Round  us  every  festal  ray, 

In  vain  the  smiles  of  all' 

Lights  that  move  not,  lights  thai  tremble, 

Like  sunbeams  round  her  fall ; 

To  adorn  this  Eve  of  May. 

The  only  smile  that  could  from  death  awaken  her. 

That  smile,  alas  !  is  gone  to  others  now. 

THE  YOUNG  MULETEERS  OF  GRENADA 

THE  PRETi'X   ROSE  TREE. 

0,  THE  joys  of  our  ev'ning  posada, 
Where,  resting  at  close  of  day. 

Being  weary  of  love. 

We,  young  Muleteers  of  Grenada, 

I  flew  to  the  grove. 

Sit  and  sing  the  sunshine  away ; 

And  chose  me  a  tree  of  the  fairest ; 

So  merry,  that  even  the  slumbers, 

Saying,  "  Pretty  Rose  Tree, 

That  round  us  hung,  seem  gone  ; 

"  Thou  my  mistress  shalt  be. 

Till  the  lute's  soft  drowsy  numbers 

"And  I'll  worship  each  bud  thou  bearest. 

Again  beguile  them  on. 

"  For  the  hearts  of  this  world  are  hollow, 

0  the  joys,  &c. 

♦'  And  fickle  the  smiles  we  follow ; 

"  And  'tis  sweet,  when  all 

Then  as  each  to  his  lov'd  sultana 

"  Their  witch'ries  pall 

In  sleep  still  breathes  the  sigh. 

'•  To  have  a  pure  love  to  fly  to : 

The  name  of  some  black-eyed  Tirana 

"  So  my  pretty  Rose  Tree, 

Escapes  our  lips  as  we  lie. 

"  Thou  my  mistress  shalt  be, 

mi,  with  morning's  rosy  twinkle. 

*  And  the  only  one  now  I  shall  sigh  to." 

Again  we're  up  and  gone  — 

While  the  mule  bell's  drowsy  tinkle 
Beguiles  the  rough  way  on. 

O  the  joys  of  our  merry  posada. 
Where,  resting  at  close  of  day, 

We,  young  Muleteers  of  Grenada, 
Thus  sing  the  gay  moments  away. 


TELL  HER,  O,  TELL  HER. 

rELL  her,  O,  tell  her,  the  lute  she  left  lying 
Beneath  the  green  arbor,  is  still  lying  there ; 

And  breezes,  like  lovers,  around  it  are  sighing, 
But  not  a  soft  whisper  replies  to  their  pray'r. 

Tell  her,  O,  tell  her,  the  tree  that,  in  going, 
Beside  the  green  arbor  she  playfully  set, 

As  lovely  as  ever  is  blushing  and  blowing. 
And  not  a  bright  leaflet  has  fall'n  from  it  yet. 

Bo  while  away  from  that  arbor  forsaken. 
The  maiden  is  wandering,  still  let  her  be 

ILb  true  as  the  lute,  that  no  sighing  can  waken. 
And  blooming  forever,  unchanged  as  the  tree  I 


NIGHTS  OF  MUSIC. 

N^iOHTS  of  music,  nights  of  loving, 

Lost  too  soon,  remember'd  long, 
■When  we  went  by  moonlight  roving. 

Hearts  all  love  and  lips  all  song. 
When  this  faithful  lute  recorded 

All  my  spirit  felt  to  thee  ; 
And  that  smile  the  song  rewarded  — 

Worth  whole  years  of  fame  to  me ! 

Nights  of  song,  and  nights  of  splendor, 

Fill'd  with  joys  too  sweet  to  last  — 
Joys  that,  like  the  starlight,  tender, 

While  they  shone,  no  shadow  cast. 
Though  all  other  happy  houro 

From  my  fading  mem'ry  fly, 
Of  that  starlight,  of  those  bowers. 

Not  a  beam,  a  leaf  shall  die . 


OUR  FIRST  YOUNG  LOVE. 

OuH  first  young  love  resembles 
That  short  but  brilliant  ray, 

Which  smiles,  and  weeps,  and  trembles 
Through  April's  earliest  day. 

And  not  all  life  before  us, 
Howe'er  its  lights  may  play 


Can  shed  a  lustre  o'er  us 
Like  that  drst  April  ray. 

Our  summer  sun  may  squaadat 

A  blaze  serener,  grander ; 

Our  autumn  beam 

May,  like  a  dream 

Of  heaven,  die  calm  away  { 

But,  no  —  let  life  before  ua 

Bring  all  the  light  it  may, 

'Twill  ne'er  shed  lustre  o'er  as 

Like  that  first  youthful  raj. 


BLACK  AND  BLUE  EYES. 

Tub  brilliant  black  eye 

May  in  triumph  let  fly 
All  its  darts  without  caring  who  feels  'ea  j 

But  the  soft  eye  of  blue. 

Though  it  scatter  wounds  too, 
Is  much  better  pleased  when  it  heals  'tm  — 

Dear  Fanny ! 
Is  much  better  pleased  when  it  heals  'am. 

The  black  eye  may  say, 

"  Come  and  worship  my  ray  — 

**  By  adoring,  perhaps  you  may  move  me  I  * 
But  the  blue  eye,  half  hid. 
Says,  from  under  its  lid, 

*'  I  love,  and  am  yours,  if  you  lovs  me  1  ** 
Yes,  Fanny! 
The  blue  eye,  half  hid, 
Says,  from  under  its  lid, 

"  I  loTe,  and  am  yours,  if  you  love  me  1 

Come  tell  me,  then,  why. 

In  that  lovely  blue  eye, 
Not  a  charm  of  its  tint  I  discover ; 

O  why  should  you  wear 

The  only  blue  pair 
That  ever  said  •*  No  "  to  a  lover  i 

Dear  Fanny  ! 

O,  why  should  you  wear 

The  only  blue  pair 
That  ever  said  "  No  "  to  a  lover } 


DEAR  FANNY. 

"  Sbb  has  beauty,  bat  still  yoa  must  seep  fo%. 
heart  cool ; 
"  She  has  wit,  bat  you  mustn't  be  caught  so  •  * 
Thus  Reason  advises,  but  Keiison't  a  fioL 


J 


138                                                    BALLADS,   SONGS,   ETC. 

And  'tis  not  the  first  time  I  have  thought  so. 

Dear  Fanny. 

I  SAW  THE  MOON  RISE  CLEAR 

'Tis  not  the  hrst  time  I  have  thought  so. 

A  FINLAND    LOVE    SONO. 

"  She  is  lovely ;  then  love  her,  nor  let  the  bliss  fly ; 

I  SAW  the  moon  rise  clear 

"  'Tis  the  charm  of  youth's  vanishing  season : " 

O'er  hills  and  vales  of  snow. 

rhus  Love  has  advised  me,  and  who  will  deny 

■  Nor  told  my  fleet  reindeer 

That  Love  reasons  much  better  thau  Reason, 

The  track  I  wish'd  to  go. 

Dear  Fanny  ? 

Yet  quick  he  bounded  forth ; 

Love  reasons  much  better  than  Keason. 

For  well  my  reindeer  knew 

I've  but  one  path  on  earth  — 

The  path  which  leads  to  you 

The  gloom  that  winter  cast 

FROM  LIFE  -WITHOUT  FREEDOM. 

How  soon  the  heart  forgets, 

From  life  without  ;fi:eedom,   say,  who  would 

When  Summer  brings,  at  last, 

not  tiy? 
For  one  day  of  freedom,  0,  who  would  not  die, 

Her  sun  that  never  sets  ! 

So  dawn'd  my  love  for  you ; 

Hark  !  —  hark  !  'tis  the  trumpet !  the  call  of 

So  fix'd  through  joy  and  pain. 

the  brave. 

Than  summer  sun  more  true, 

The  death  song  of  tyrants,  the  dirge  of  the  slave. 

'Twill  never  set  again. 

Our  country  lies  bleeding  —  haste,  haste  to  her 

aid; 
One  arm  that  defends  is  worth  hosts  that  invade. 

LOVE  A?:i»  THE  STJNDIAL. 

In  death's  kindly  bosom  our  last  hope  remains  — 

The  dead  fear  no  tyrants,  the  grave  has  no  chains. 

Young  Love  found  a  Did  once,  in  a  dark  shade, 

On,  on  to  the  combat !  the  heroes  that  bleed 

Where  man  ne'er  had  v/ander'd  nor  sunlcam 

For  virtue  and  mankind  are  heroes  indeed. 

play'd ; 

And  0,  ev'n  if  Freedom  from  this  world  be  driven. 

•'  Why  thus  in  darkness  lie  ? "  whisper'd  yoikig 

Desf  air  not  —  at  least  we  shall  find  her  in  Lea",  en. 

Love, 

"Thou,  whose  gay  hours  in  sunshine  should 

move." 

"  I  ne'er,"  said  the  Dial,  "  have  seen  the  warm 

HERE'S  THE  BOWEil. 

sun, 

"  So  noonday  and  midnight  to  me,  I>ve,  are 

Here's  the  bower  she  loved  so  much. 

one." 

And  the  tree  she  planted  ; 

Here's  the  harp  she  used  to  touch  — 

Then  Love  took  the  Dial  away  from  tne  shade, 

0,  how  that  touch  enchanted  I 

And  placed  her  where  Heav'n's  beam  warmly 

Roses  now  unheeded  sigh  ; 

play'd. 

Where's  the  hand  to  wreathe  them  ? 

There  she  reclined,  beneath  Love's  gazing  eye, 

Songs  around  neglected  lie ; 

While,   mark'd  all  with  sunshine,  her  hours 

Where's  the  lip  to  breathe  them  ? 

flew  by. 

Here's  the  ^owe^,  &c 

"  0,  how,"  said  the  Dial,  "  can  any  fair  maia. 

"That's  born  to  be  shone  upon,  rest  in  the 

6prin5  maj  bloom,  but  she  we  loved 

shade  ? " 

Ne'er  shall  feel  its  sweetness ; 

rime,  that  once  so  f  eetly  moved. 

But  night  now  comes  on,  and  the.  sunbeam's  o'er. 

Now  hath  lost  its  fleetness. 

And  Love  stops  to  gaze  on  the  Dial  no  more. 

Years  were  days,  when  here  she  stray* d, 

Alone  and  neglected,  while  bleak  rain  and  wirds 

Days  were  moments  near  her ; 

Are  storming  around  her,  with  sorrow  she  finds 

Heaven  ne'er  form'd  a  brighter  maiu, 

That   Love  had  but  number' d  a  few   sunny 

Noi  Pity  wept  a  dearer  I 

hours,  — 

Here's  the  bower.  &c. 

Then  left  the  remainder  to  darkness  and  showers  1 

LOVE  AND  TIME. 

Tw  said  —  but  whether  irui  or  not 

Let  bards  declare  who've  seen  'em  — 
That  Love  and  Time  have  only  got 

One  pair  of  wings  between  'em. 
In  courtship's  first  delicious  hour, 

The  boy  full  oft  can  spare  'em ; 
80   loitering  in  his  lady's  bower, 

He  lets  the  graybeard  wear  'em. 
Then  is  Time's  hour  of  play ; 
O,  how  he  iiies,  flies  away  ! 

But  Bhort  the  moments,  short  as  bright, 

When  he  the  wings  can  borrow ; 
If  Time  to-day  has  had  his  flight. 

Love  takes  his  turn  to-morrow. 
Ah  !  Time  and  I/)ve,  your  change  is  then 

Tho  saddest  and  most  trying, 
VVTieii  one  begins  to  limp  again. 

And  t'other  lakes  to  flying. 
Then  is  Love's  hour  to  stray; 
O,  how  he  flies,  flies  away  ! 

But  there's  a  nymph,  wliose  chains  I  feel. 

And  bless  the  silken  fetter. 
Who  knows,  the  dear  one,  how  to  deal 

With  Love  and  Time  much  better. 
80  well  she  checks  their  wanderings. 

So  peacefully  she  pairs  'em. 
That  Love  \s-ith  her  ne'er  thinks  of  wings. 

And  Time  forever  wears  'em. 
ITiis  is  Time's  holiday  ; 
0  how  he  flies,  flics  away  ! 


LOVE'S    LIGHT  SUMMER  CLOUD. 

Pain  and  sorrow  shall  vanish  before  us — 

Youth  may  wither,  but  feeling  will  last ; 
AH  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  fall  o'er  us, 
Love's  light  summer  cloud  only  shall  cast. 
O,  if  to  love  thee  more 
Each  hour  I  number  o'er  — 
If  this  a  passion  be 
Worthy  of  thee, 
rhen  be  happy,  for  thus  I  adore  thee. 

Charms  may  wither,  but  feeling  shall  last : 
All  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  fall  o'er  thee. 
Love's  light  summer  cloud  sweetly  shall  cast. 

Rest,  dew  bosom,  no  sorrows  shall  pain  thee. 
Sighs  of  pleasure  alone  shalt  thou  steal ; 

Beam,  bright  eyelid,  no  weeping  shall  stain  thee. 
Tears  of  rapture  alone  shalt  thou  feeL 


O,  if  there  be  a  charm 
In  love,  to  banish  hum  ^ 
If  pleasure'*  truest  speU 
Be  to  love  widl. 
Then  be  happy,  for  thus  I  adore  thee. 

Charms  may  wither,  but  feeling  shall  iMkt 
All  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  Call  o'or  tK»% 
Love's  light  summer  cloud  sweetly  shall  M 


LOVE,  WAND'RINO  THROUGH  THB 
GOLDEN  MAZE. 


LoTB,  wand'ring  through  the  golden 

Of  my  beloved's  hair, 
Traced  every  lock  with  fond  delayi^ 

And,  doting,  linger'd  therew 
And  soon  he  found  'twere  vain  to  fly; 

His  heart  was  close  confined, 
For,  every  ringlet  was  a  tie  — 

A  chain  by  beauty  twined. 


MERRILY  EVERY  BOSOM  BOUNDBTH 

THB  TTSOLBS8  SONO  OF   UBBSTT. 

Mbrkilt  every  bosom  boondeth. 

Merrily,  O  ! 
Where  the  song  of  Freedom  soundetb 
Merrily,  O  ! 
There  tho  warrior's  arma 

Shed  more  splendor ; 
There  tho  maiden's  charm* 
Shine  more  tender ; 
Every  joy  the  land  surroundeth. 
Merrily,  O,  merrily,  O  I 

Wearily  every  bosom  pincth. 

Wearily,  O  1 
Where  the  bond  of  slavery  twineui 
Wearily,  O ! 
There  the  warrior's  dart 

Hath  no  fieetness ; 

There  the  maiden's  heart 

Hath  no  sweetness  — 

Every  flower  of  life  dedineth. 

Wearily,  O  !  wearily,  O I 

Cheerily  then  from  hill  and  Talle|, 

Cheerily,  O ! 

Like  your  native  fountains  sally, 

Cheerily,  O ! 

If  a  glorious  deaMi, 

Won  by  bravery, 


140 


BALLADS,   SONGS,  ETC. 


Sweeter  be  than  breath 
Sigh'd  in  slavery, 
RoTind  tLe  flag  of  Freedom  rally, 
Cheerily,  0  !  cheerily,  O  ! 


REMEMBER  THE  TIME. 

THE    CASTILIAN    MAID. 

Remember  the  time,  in  La  Mancha's  shades, 

When  our  moments  so  blissfully  iiew  ; 
When  you  call'd  me   the  flower  of  Castilian 
maids, 

And  I  blush'd  to  be  call'd  so  by  you  ; 
WTien  I  taught  you  to  warble  the  gay  seguadille. 

And  to  dance  to  the  light  castpnet ; 
O,  never,  dear  youth,  let  you  roam  where  you 
will. 

The  delight  of  those  moments  forget. 

They  tell  me,  you  lovers  from  Erin's  green  isle, 

Every  hour  a  new  passion  can  feel ; 
And  that  soon,  in  the  light  of  some  lovelier 
smile, 

You'll  forget  the  poor  maid  of  Castile. 
But  they  know  not  how  brave  in  the  battle  you 
are. 

Or  they  never  could  think  you  would  rove  ; 
For  'tis  always  the  spirit  most  gallant  in  war 

That  is  fondest  and  truest  in  love. 


O,  SOON  RETURN. 

OcK  white  sail  caught  the  evening  ray, 

The  wave  beneath  us  seem'd  to  bum. 
When  all  the  weeping  maid  could  say 

Was,  «'  O,  soon  return  !  " 
Through  many  a  clime  our  ship  was  driven. 

O'er  many  a  billow  rudely  thrown  ; 
Now  chLU'd  beneath  a  northern  heaven, 

Now  sunn'd  in  summer's  zone  : 
And  still,  where'er  we  bent  our  our  way, 

When  evening  bid  the  west  wave  burn, 
I  fan?ied  still  I  heard  her  say, 

"  O,  soon  return  !  " 

K  ever  yet  my  bosom  found 

Its  thoughts  one  moment  tum'd  from  thee, 
'Twas  when  the  combat  raged  aroiuid. 

And  brave  men  look'd  to  me. 
But  though  the  war  field's  wild  alarm 

For  gentle  Love  was  all  unmeet. 
He  lent  to  Glory's  brow  the  charm. 

Which  made  even  danger  sweet. 


And  still,  v'Der.  Victory's  calm  came  o'er 
The  hearts  wkeie  lage  had  ceased  to  InUA 

Thof,*;  parting  words  I  heard  once  moio, 
••  «>,  toOon  return  !  —  O,  soon  retu.^  i ' 


LOVE  THEE  ? 

Lovji  thee  ?  —  so  well,  so  tender'y 

Thou'rt  loved,  adored  by  me. 
Fame,  fortune,  wealth,  ard  htx^ty, 

Were  worthies*  without  thee. 
Though  brimm'd  with  blssslngt*,  yur«»  and  ttun 

Life's  cup  before  mo  lay. 
Unless  thy  love  were  mingled  there, 

I'd  spurn  the  draught  away. 
Love  thee  ?  —  so  well,  so  tenderly 

Thou'rt  loved,  adored  by  me. 
Fame,  fortune,  wealth,  and  liberty, 

Are  worthless  without  thee. 

Without  thy  smile,  the  monarch's  lot 

To  me  were  dark  and  lone. 
While,  with  it,  ev'n  the  humblest  cot 

Were  brighter  than  his  throne. 
Tliose  worlds,  for  which  the  conqueror  righ% 

For  me  would  have  no  charms ; 
My  only  world  thy  gentle  eyes  — 

My  throne  thy  circling  arms  ! 
O,  yes,  so  well,  so  tenderly 

Thou'rt  loved,  adored  by  me. 
Whole  realms  of  light  and  liberty 

Were  worthless  without  thee. 


ONE   DEAR   SMILE. 

CouLDST  thou  look  as  dear  as  when 

First  I  sigh'd  for  thee  ; 
Couldst  thou  make  me  feel  again 
Every  wish  I  breath'd  thee  then, 

0,  how  blissful  life  would  be  ! 
Hopes,  that  now  beguiling  leave  me, 

Joys,  that  lie  in  slumber  cold  — 
All  would  wake,  couldst  thou  but  gi  76  DM 

One  dear  smile  like  those  of  old. 

No  —  there's  nothing  left  us  now, 

But  to  mourn  the  past ; 
Vain  was  every  ardent  vow  — 
Never  yet  did  Heaven  allow 

Love  so  warm,  so  wild,  to  last. 
Not  even  hope  could  now  deceive  me  - 

Life  itself  looks  dark  and  col  i  : 
O,  thou  never  more  canst  give  me 

One  dear  smile  like  those  of  old- 


BALLADS,   SONGS,   ETa 


141 


YES,  YES,   WHEN  THE  BLOOM. 

Tba,  yes,  when  the  bloom  of  Love's  boyhood  is 
o'er, 
He'll  turn  into  friendship  that  feels  no  decay ; 
iLnd,  though  Time  may  take  from  him  the  wings 

he  once  wore, 
rhe  charms  that  remain  -will  be  bright  as  before, 
And  he'll  lose  but  his  young  trick  of  flying 
away. 

rhen  let  it  console  thee,  if  Love  should  not  stay, 
That  Friendship  our  last  happy  moments  will 
crown  : 
Like  the  shadows  of   morning,   Love  lessens 

away, 
Wliilc  Friendship,  like  those  at  the  closing  of 
day, 
Will  linger  and  lengthen  as  life's  sun  goes 
down. 


THE  DAY  OP  LOVE. 

Thb  beam  of  morning  trembling 
Stole  o'er  the  mountain  brook. 
With  timid  ray  resembling 
Affection's  early  look, 
rhus  lore  begins  —  sweet  mom  of  love  1 

The  noontide  ray  ascended. 
And  o'tT  the  valley's  stream 

DiiTueed  a  ^low  as  splendid 
As  passii  <n's  riper  dream, 
rhus  love  exj  «nds  —  warm  noon  of  lore  I 

But  evening  came,  o'ershading 

The  glorim  of  the  sky. 
Like  faith  and  fondness  fading 

From  paisirm's  alter'd  eye. 
Thru  love  dcchnes  —  cold  eve  of  lore  ! 


LUSfTANLA-N  WAR  SONO. 

VvM  song  of  "var  shall  echo  through  our  moun- 
tain!, 

Till  not  one  hateful  link  remains 

Of  olavery's  lingering  chains  ; 

Till  not  one  tyrant  tread  o  jr  plains, 
Hot  tr'iitoi  lip  pollute  our  fountains. 

No  !  never  till  that  glorioles  day 

Shall  Lusitania's  sons  be  gay. 

Or  hear,  O  Peace,  thy  welcome  lay 
Scsounding  through  her  suimy  mountains. 


The  song  of  war  shall  echo  through  our  moos, 
tains. 
Till  Victory's  self  shall,  smiling,  say, 
*'  Yotir  cloud  of  foes  hath  pau'd  away, 
"  And  Freedom  comes,  with  new-bom  ray 

"  To  gild  your  vines  and  light  your  founttins.* 
O,  never  till  that  glorious  day 
Shall  Lusitania's  sons  be  gay, 
Or  hear,  sweet  Peace,  thy  welooma  lay 

B«aounding  through  her  sunny  mountain*. 


THE  YOUNO  ROSE. 

The  young  rose  I  give  thee,  so  dewy  and  bright, 
Was  the  flow'ret  most  dear  to  the  sweet  bird  of 

night, 
Who  oft,  by  the  moon,  o'er  her  blnsht*  htth 

hung, 
And  thrill'd  every  leaf  with  the  wild  lay  h« 

•ung. 

O,  take  thou  this  young  rose,  and  let  her  life  bt 
Prolong'd  by  the  breath  she  will  borrow  from 

thee ; 
For,  while  o'er  her  bosom  thj  soft  notes  shaQ 

thrQl, 
She'll  think  the  sweet  night  bird  is  itoonlni 

her  stilL 

WHEN  'MIDST  THE  GAY  I  MEET. 

When  'midst  the  gay  I  meet 

That  gentle  smile  of  thine, 
Though  still  on  me  it  turns  most  sweat 

I  scarce  can  call  it  mine  : 
But  when  to  me  alone 

Your  secret  tears  you  show, 
O,  then  I  feel  those  tears  my  own. 

And  claim  them  M-hile  they  flow. 
Then  still  with  bright  looks  bless 

The  gay,  the  cold,  the  free  ; 
Give  smiles  to  those  who  love  yoo  lei^ 

But  keep  your  tears  for  me. 

The  snow  on  Jura's  steep 

Can  smile  in  many  a  beam. 
Yet  still  in  chains  of  coldness  sleefiw 

How  bright  soe'cr  it  seem. 
But,  M'hen  some  deep-felt  ray. 

Whose  touch  is  tire,  apiKsart, 
O,  then  the  smile  is  warm'd  away. 

And,  melting,  turns  to  tears. 
Then  still  with  bright  looks  hlese 

The  gay,  the  cold,  the  free ; 


342                           ,                      BALLADS,   SONGS,  ETC. 

<Tivo  smiles  to  those  -who  love  you  less, 

But  keep  your  tears  for  me. 

HOW   HAPPY,   UN  uE. 

How  happy,  once,  though  wing'd  with  cl|;Iui 

My  moments  flew  along, 

While  looking  on  those  smiling  eyes, 

WHEN  TWILIGHT  DEWS. 

And  list'ning  to  thy  magic  song  ! 

When  twilight  dews  are  falling  soft 

But  vanish' d  now,  like  summer  dreams^ 

Upon  the  rosy  sea,  love, 

Those  moments  smile  no  more  ; 

1  watch  the  star,  whose  beam  so  oft 

For  me  that  eye  no  lohger  beams, 

Has  lighted  me  to  thee,  love. 

That  song  for  me  is  o'er. 

And  thou  too,  or  that  orb  so  dear, 

Mine  the  cold  brow, 

Dost  often  gaze  at  even, 

That  speaks  thy  alter' d  vow. 

A.nd  think,  though  lost  forever  here, 

While  others  feel  thy  sunshine  now. 

Thou'lt  yet  be  mine  in  heaven. 

0,  could  I  change  my  love  like  thee. 

There's  not  a  garden  walk  I  tread, 

One  hope  might  yet  be  mine  — 

There's  not  a  flower  I  see,  love. 

Some  other  eyes  as  bright  to  see. 

But  brings  to  mind  some  hope  that's  fled, 

And  hear  a  voice  as  sweet  as  thine : 

Some  joy  that's  gone  with  thee,  love. 

But  never,  never  can  this  heart 

And  still  I  wish  that  hour  was  near, 

Be  waked  to  life  again  ; 

When,  friends  and  foes  forgiven. 

With  thee  it  lost  its  vital  part. 

The  pains,  the  ills  we've  wept  through  here, 

And  wither' d  then  ! 

May  turn  to  smiles  in  heaven. 

Cold  its  pulse  Ues, 

And  mute  are  ev'n  its  sighs. 

AH  other  grief  it  now  defies. 

YOUNG  JESSICA. 

YoTTNO  Jessica  sat  l11  the  day. 

I  LOVE  BUT  THEE. 

With  heart  o'er  idle  love  thoughts  pining ; 

Her  needle  bright  beside  her  lay. 

If,  after  all,  you  still  will  doubt  and  fear  me. 

So  active  once  !  —  now  idly  shining. 

And  think  this  heart  to  other  loves  will  stray, 

Ah,  Jessy,  'tis  in  idle  hearts 

If  I  must  swear,   then,   lovely '  doubter,   heal 

That  love  and  mischief  are  most  nimble  ; 

me; 

The  safest  shield  against  the  darts 

By  ev'ry  dream  I  have  when  thou'rt  awhy, 

Of  Cupid,  is  Minerva's  thimble. 

By  ev'ry  throb  I  feel  when  thou  art  near  me. 

I  love  but  thee  —  I  love  but  thee  ! 

rhe  child,  who  with  a  magnet  plays, 

Well  knowing  all  its  arts,  so  wUy, 

By  those  dark  eyes,  where  light  is  ever  playing, 

llie  tempter  near  a  needle  lays. 

Where  Love,  in  depth  of  shadow,  holds  hi« 

And  laughing  says,  "  We'll  steal  it  slyly." 

throne, 

The  needle,  having  nought  to  do. 

And  by  those  lips,  which  give  whate'er  Ihourl 

Is  pleased  to  let  the  magnet  wheedle  ; 

saying. 

Till  closer,  closer  come  the  two, 

Or  grave  or  gay,  a  music  of  its  owe. 

And  —  ofi",  af  length,  elopes  the  needle. 

A  m\xsic  far  beyond  all  minstrel's  playing. 

I  love  but  thee  —  I  love  but  thee  ! 

Now,  had  this  needle  turn'd  its  eye 

To  some  gay  reticule's  construction, 

By  that  fair  brow,  where  Innocence  reposes. 

It  ne'er  had  stray'd  from  duty's  tie. 

As  pure  as  moonlight  sleeping  upon  snow. 

Nor  felt  the  magnet's  sly  seduction. 

And  by  that  cheek,  whose  fleeting  blush  dis 

Thus,  girls  would  you  keep  quiet  hearts^ 

closes 

Your  snowy  fingers  must  be  nimble  ; 

A  hue  too  bright  to  bless  this  world  below, 

rhe  safest  shield  against  the  darts 

And  only  fit  to  dwell  on  Eden's  roses. 

Of  Cupid,  is  Minerva's  thimble. 

I  lovf)  but  thee  —  I  love  but  thee ! 

BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


Ml 


LET  JOY  ALONE  BE  REMEMBER'D  NOW. 

Let  tny  j  ojs  alone  be  rcmember'd  now, 

IM  thy  sorrows  go  sleep  a  while  ; 
Or  if   thought's    dark,    cloud   come  o'er  thy 
brow, 

I/et  Love  light  it  up  with  his  smile. 
For  thus  to  meet,  and  thus  to  find, 

1  hat  Time,  whose  touch  can  chill 
E&rh  flower  of  form,  each  grace  of  mind. 

Hath  hfl  thee  blooming  still,  — 
O,  joy  alone  should  be  thought  of  now, 

Let  our  borrows  go  sleep  a  while  ; 
Or,  should  thought's  dark  cloud  come  o'er  thy 
brow. 

Let  Love  light  if  up  with  his  smile. 

WTien  the  flowers  of  life's  sweet  garden  fade, 

If  but  one  bright  leaf  remain. 
Of  the  many  that  once  its  glory  made, 

It  is  not  for  us  to  complain. 
Dut  thus  to  meet  and  thus  to  wake 

In  all  Love's  early  bliss ; 
O,  Time  all  other  gifts  may  take. 

So  he  but  leaves  us  this  ! 
I'hen  let  joy  alone  be  reraember'd  now. 

Let  our  sonows  go  sleep  a  while ; 
Or   if  thought's    dark    cloud    come  o'er  the 
brow, 

Let  Love  light  it  up  with  his  smile  i 


LOVE  THEE,  DEAEEST  ?  LOVE  THEE? 

Love  thee,  dearest  ?  love  thee  ? 

Yes,  by  yonder  star  I  swear. 
Which  through  tears  above  thee 

Shines  so  sadly  fair  ; 
Though  often  dim. 
With  tears  like  him. 
Like  him  my  truth  will  shine, 

And  —  love  thee,  dearest  ?  love  thee  ? 
Yes,  till  death  I'm  thine. 

Leave  thee,  dearest  ?  leave  thee  ? 

No,  that  star  is  not  more  true ; 
When  my  vows  deceive  thee, 

He  will  wander  too. 
A  cloud  of  night 
May  veil  his  light, 
And  death  shall  darken  mine  — 

But  — leave  thee,  dearest?  leave  thee> 
No  till  death  I'm  thine. 


MY  HEAllT  AND  LUTE. 

I  oiTB  thee  all  ^  I  can  no  moi* 

Though  poor  the  off* ring  be ; 
My  heart  and  lute  are  all  the  iton 

That  I  can  bring  to  thee. 
A  lute  whose  gentle  song  rereala 

The  soul  of  love  full  well ; 
And,  better  far,  a  heart  that  feels 

Much  more  than  lute  could  telL 

Though  love  and  song  may  fail,  alM  * 

To  keep  life's  cloud  away, 
At  least  'twill  make  them  lighter  past, 

Or  gild  them  if  they  stay. 
And  ev'n  if  Care,  at  moments,  flingt 

A  discord  o'er  life's  happy  strain. 
Let  Love  but  gently  touch  the  strmgt, 

'Twill  all  be  sweet  again  ! 


PEACE,  PEACE  TO  HIM  THATS  QONB 

When  I  am  dead. 

Then  lay  my  head 
In  some  lone,  distant  dell. 

Where  voices  ne'er 

Shall  stir  the  air, 
Or  break  its  silent  speU. 

If  any  sound 

Be  heard  around. 
Let  the  sweet  bird  alone, 

That  weeps  in  song, 

Sing  all  night  long, 
"  Peace,  peace  to  him  that's  goo*  I 

Yet,  O,  were  mine 

One  sigh  of  thine. 
One  pitying  word  from  thee, 

Like  gleams  of  heaven. 

To  sinners  given. 
Would  be  that  word  to  me. 

Howe'er  unblest. 

My  shade  would  rest 
While  list'ning  to  that  tone| 

Enough  'twould  be 

To  hear  from  thee, 
"  Peace,  peace  to  him  that's  goa*  I  * 


ROSE  OF  THE  DESERT. 

RosB  of  the  Desert !  thou,  whose  blushing  rtj 
Lonely  and  lovely,  fleets  unseen  away ; 


J44                                                    BALLADS,   SONGS,    ETC. 

No  hand  to  cull  thee,  none  to  woo  thy  sigh,  — 

I  never  hear  so  sweet  a  lay. 

In  vestal  silence  left  to  live  and  die,  — 

Or  one  that  hangs  so  round  my  heart 

Rose  of  the  Desert !  thus  should  woman  be, 

As  that  song  of  the  olden  time. 

Shining,  uncourted,  lone  and  safe,  like  thee. 

Falling  sad  o'er  the  ear, 

Like  the  dream  of  some  village  chime, 

Rose  of  the  Garden,  how  unlike  thy  doom  ! 

Which  in  youth  we  loved  to  hear. 

Destined  for  others,  not  thyself,  to  bloom : 

CuU'd  e'er  thy  beauty  lives  through  half  its  day ; 

And  when  all  of  this  life  is  gone,  — 

A.  mon.ent  cherish'  _  and  then  cast  away ; 

Ev'n  the  hope,  ling' ring  now, 

Rose  of  the  Garden ,  such  is  woman's  lot, — 

Like  the  last  of  the  leaves  left  on 

Worshipp'd  while  blooming  —  when  she  fades. 

Autumn  s  sere  and  faded  bough,  — 

forgot. 

'Twill  seem  as  still  those  friends  were  neat 

Who  loved  me  in  youth's  early  day. 

'TIS  ALL  FOR  THEE. 

If  in  that  parting  hour  I  hear 
The  same  sweet  notes,  and  die  away  — 

If  life  for  me  hath  joy  or  light. 

To  that  song  of  the  olden  time. 

'Tis  all  from  thee, 

Breath'd,  like  Hope's  farewell  striiin, 

My  thoughts  by  day,  my  dreams  by  night. 

To  say,  in  some  brighter  clime, 

Are  but  of  thee,  of  only  thee. 

Life  and  youth  will  shine  again ! 

Whate'er  of  hope  or  peace  I  know. 

My  zest  in  joy,  my  balm  in  woe, 

To  those  dear  eyes  of  thine  I  owe, 
'Tis  all  from  thee. 

WAKE  THEE,  MY  DEAR. 

Wake  thee,  my  dear  —  thy  dreaming 

My  heart,  ev'n  ere  I  saw  those  eyes, 

Till  darker  hours  wUl  keep  ; 

Seem'd  doora'd  to  thee ; 

While  such  a  moon  is  beaming. 

Kept  pure  till  then  from  other  tics. 

'Tis  wrong  towards  Heaven  to  sle^p 

'Twas  all  for  thee,  for  only  thee. 

Like  plants  that  sleep,  till  sunny  May 

Moments  there  are  we  number, 

Calls  forth  their  life,  my  spirit  lay, 

Moments  of  pain  and  care, 

Till,  touch'd  by  Love's  awak'ning  ray, 

Which  to  oblivious  slumber 

It  lived  for  thee,  it  lived  for  thee. 

Gladly  the  wretch  would  spare. 

But  now,  —  who'd  think  of  dreaming 

When  Fame  would  call  me  to  her  heights, 

When  Love  his  watch  should  keep  i 

She  speaks  by  thee  ; 

While  such  a  moon  is  beaming. 

And  dim  would  shine  her  proudest  lights. 

'Tis  wrong  towards  Heaven  to  sleep. 

Unshared  by  thee,  unshared  by  thee. 

Whene'er  I  seek  the  Muse's  shrine, 

If  e'er  the  fates  should  sever 

Where  Bards  have  hung  their  wreaths  divine, 

My  life  and  hopes  from  thee,  love, 

And  wish  those  wreaths  of  glory  mine. 

The  sleep  that  lasts  forever 

'Tis  all  for  thee,  for  only  thee. 

Would  then  be  sweet  to  me,  love ; 

But  now,  —  away  with  dreaming  ! 

Till  darker  hours  'twill  keep  : 

ITIE  SONG  OF  THE  OLDEN  TIME.' 

While  such  a  moon  is  beaming, 

'Tis  wrong  towards  Heaven  to  sleep 

I'aEEE'c  a  song  of  the  olden  time. 

Falling  sad  o'er  the  ear, 

Like  the  dream  of  some  village  chime. 

THE  BOY   OF  THE   ALPS' 

Which  in  youth  we  loved  to  hear. 

And  ev'n  amidst  the  grand  and  gay, 

Lightly,  Alpine  rover, 

When  Music  tries  her  gentlest  art, 

Tread  the  mountains  over; 

>  In  this  song,  which  is  one  of  the  many  set  to  music  by 

s  This  and  the  Songs  that  follow  (as  far  as  pagoaOP,)  hart 

uysell,  the  occasional  lawlessness  of  the  metre  arises,  I  need 

been  published,  witli  music,  by  Messrs.  AdJisun  ana  a»U%, 

Ib-dly  say,  from  the  peculiar  structure  of  the  air 

£egent  Street. 

HER   LAST   ^VORDS   AT   PARTING. 


Rude  18  tlie  path  thou'st  yet  to  go ; 

Snow  cliffs  hanging  o'er  thee, 

Fields  of  ice  before  thee, 
WTiile  the  hid  torrent  moans  below. 
Hark,  the  deep  thunder, 
'J'hrough  the  vales  yonder ! 
Tis  the  huge  av'lanche  downward  cast 

From  rock  to  rock  , 

Rebounds  the  shock. 
But  r,ourago,  boy  !  the  danger's  past. 

Onward,  youthful  rover. 

Tread  the  glacier  over. 
Safe  shalt  thou  reach  thy  home  at  last. 
On,  ere  light  forsake  thee. 
Soon  wjU  dusk  o'ertake  thee  : 
O'er  yon  ice  bridge  lies  thy  way ! 

Now,  for  the  risk  prepare  thee : 

Safe  it  yet  may  bear  thee, 
Though  'twill  melt  in  morning's  ray. 

Hark,  that  dread  howling ! 
'Tis  the  wolf  prowling,  — 
Scent  of  thy  track  the  foe  hath  got ; 

And  cliff  and  shore 

Resound  his  roar. 
But  courage,  boy,  —  the  danger's  past  I 

Watching  eyes  have  found  thee, 

Loving  arms  are  round  thee. 
Safe  hast  thou  rcach'd  thy  father's  cot. 


FOR  THEE  ALONE. 

For  thee  alone  I  brave  the  boundless  deep. 
Those  eyes  my  light  through  every  distant 
sea; 
My  waking  thoughts,  the  dream  that  gilds  my 
sleep, 
ITie  noontide  rcv'ry,  are  all  given  to  thee, 
To  thee  alone,  to  thee  alone. 

rhough  future  scenes  present  to  Fancy's  eye 
Fair  forms  of  light  that  crowd  the  distant  air, 

When  nearer  view'd,  the  fairy  phantoms  fly, 
"Pie  crowds  dissolve,  and  thou  alone  art  there. 
Thou,  thou  alone. 

fc  win  thy  smile,  I  speed  from  shore  to  shore, 
"NVliilo  Hope's  sweet  voice  is  heard  in  every 
blast, 
Htill  whisp'ring  on,  that  when  some  years  are 
o'er, 
One  bright  reward  shall  crown  my  toil  at  last. 
Thy  smile  alone,  thy  smile  alone. 
44 


O  place  beside  the  transport  of  that  Lour 

All  earth  can  boast  of  fair,  of  rich,  and  bright, 
Wealth's  radiant  mines,  the  lofty  thronaa  of 
power,  — 
Then  ask  where  first  thy  lover's  ehole*  wo«U 
Ught? 
On  thee  alone,  on  thee  aloa*. 


HER   LAST  WORDS,  .VT  PARTING. 

Heb  last  words,  at  parting,  how  can  I  for|{«t  t 
Deep  treasured  through  life,  in  my  heart  thej 
shall  stay ; 
Like  music,  whose  charm  in  the  soul  lingers  )-et, 
When  its  sounds  from   the  .ear  have  long 
melted  away. 
Let  Fortune  assail  me,  her  threat' nings  are  vain 
Those  still-breathing  words  shall  my  talismao 
be,- 
"  Remember,  in  absence,  in  sorrow,  and  pain, 
"  There's  one  heart,  unchanging,  that  beats 
but  for  thee." 

From  the  desert's  sweet  well  though  the  piJ- 
grim  must  hie, 
Never  more  of  that  fresh-springing  fountain 
to  taste, 
He  hath  still  of  its  bright  drops  a  treasured 
supply. 
Whose  sweetness  lends  life  to  his  lips  through 
the  waste. 
So,  dark  as  my  fate  is  still  doom'd  to  remain. 
These  words  shall  my  well  in  the  wildemeai 
be,— 
"  Remember,  in  absence,  in  sorrow,  and  pain, 
"There's  one  heart,  unchanging,  that  beat« 
but  for  thee." 


LET'S    TAKE    THIS    WORLD    AS   SOMJf 
WIDE    SCENE. 

Let's  take  this  world  as  some  wide  scene 

Through  which,  in  frail,  but  buoyant  boat, 
With  skies  now  dark  and  now  serene. 

Together  thou  and  I  must  float ; 
Beholding  oft,  on  cither  shore. 

Bright  spots  where  wr  should  love  to  etaiy 
But  Time  plies  swift  his  flying  oar. 

And  away  we  speed,  away,  away. 

Should  chilling  winds  and  rains  come  on. 
We'll  raise  our  awning  'gainst  the  show*/ 1 


546                                                  BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 

fiit  closer  till  the  storm  is  gone, 

»'  To  seek  in  their  water 

And,  smiling,  wait  a  sunnier  hour. 

"  Some  bright  gem  for  thee. 

A  nd  if  that  sunnier  hour  should  shine. 

"  Where  diamonds  were  sleeping, 

We'll  know  its  brightness  cannot  stay. 

"  Their  sparkle  I  sought. 

But  happy,  whil?  'tis  thine  and  mine. 

"  Where  crystal  was  weeping, 

Complain  not  whci:  it  fades  away. 

*•  Its  tears  I  have  caught. 

80  shall  we  reach  at  last  that  Fall 

"  The  sea  nymph  I've  courted 

Down  which  life's  currents  all  must  go,  — 

"  In  rich  coral  halls  ; 

I  he  dark,  the  brilliant,  destined  all 

"  With  Naiads  have  sported 

To  sink  into  the  void  below. 

"  By  bright  waterfalls. 

Sot  ev'en  that  hour  shall  want  its  charms 

"  But  sportive  or  tender. 

If,  side  by  side,  still  fond  wo  keep. 

"  Still  sought  I  around 

And  calmly,  in  each  other's  arms 

"  That  gem,  with  whose  splendor 

Together  link'd,  go  down  the  steep. 

'•  Thou  yet  shalt  be  crown' d. 

"  And  see,  while  I'm  speaking. 

LOVE'S  VICTORY. 

"  Yon  soft  liirht  afar  :  — 

SiNO  to  Love  —  for,  0,  'twas  he 

"  The  pearl  I've  been  seeking 

•'  There  floats  like  a  star  ! 

Who  won  the  glorious  day ; 

Strew  the  ^vreaths  of  victory 

♦'  In  the  deep  Indian  Ocean 

Along  the  conqu'ror's  way. 

"  I  see  the  gem  shine. 

Yoke  the  Muses  to  his  car. 

•♦  And  quick  as  light's  motion 

Let  them  sing  each  trophy  won ; 

"  Its  wealth  shall  be  thine." 

While  his  mother's  joyoxis  star 

Then  eastward,  like  lightning, 

Shall  light  1  he  triumph  on. 

The  hero  god  flew. 

His  sunny  looks  bright'ning 

Hail  to  Love,  to  mighty  Love, 

The  air  he  went  through. 

Let  spirits  sing  around  ;                              v 

And  sweet  was  the  duty. 

While  the  hill,  the  dale,  and  grove. 

And  hallow' d  the  hour. 

With  •'  mighty  Love  "  resound  ; 

Which  saw  thus  young  Beau  7 

Or,  should  a  sigh  of  sorrow  steal 

Embellish'd  by  Power. 

Amid  the  sounds  thus  echo'd  o'er, 

'Twill  but  teach  the  god  to  feel 

His  victories  the  more. 

Pee  his  wings,  like  amethyst 

'raE  DREAM  OF  KOMR. 

Of  sunny  Ind  their  hue  ; 

Bright  as  when,  by  Psyche  kiss'c", 

Who  has  not  felt  how  sadly  sweet 

They  trembled  through  and  through 

The  dream  of  home,  the  dream  of  homfl^ 

Flowers  spring  beneath  his  feet ; 

Steals  o'er  the  heart,  too  soon  to  fleet. 

Angel  forms  beside  him  run  ; 

When  far  o'er  sea  or  land  we  roam  i 

While  unnumbcr'd  lips  repeat 

Sunlight  more  soft  may  o'er  us  fall, 

"  Love's  victory  is  won  !  " 

To  greener  shores  our  bark  may  come  • 

Hail  to  Love,  to  mighty  Love,  &c 

But  far  more  bright,  more  dear  than  all. 

That  dream  of  home,  that  dream  of  honi» 

SONG    OF    HERCULES    TO    HIS 

Ask  of  the  sailor  youth  when  far 

DAUGHTER." 

His  light  bark  bounds  o'er  ocean's  foam. 

What  charms  him  most,  when  ev'ning's  stai 

"  I've  been,  0,  sweet  daughter, 

SmUes  o'er  the  wave  ?  to  dream  of  home. 

♦•  To  fo\mtain  and  sui, 

Fond  thoughts  of  absent  friends  and  loves 

At  that  sweet  hour  around  him  come  ; 

I  Founded  on  the  fable  reported  by  Arrian  (in  Indicis)  of 
Hercules  having  searched  the  Indian  Ocean,  to  find  the  pearl 

His  heart's  best  joy  where'er  he  roves, 

ritb  wliicb  he  adorned  bis  daughter  Pandsa. 

That  dream  of  home,  that  dream  of  home 

BALLAl^S.   SONGS,  ETC. 


Ml 


FHEY  TELL  ME  THOU'RT  THE  FAVOR'X) 

GUEST.' 
Thet  tell  me  thou'rt  the  favor'd  guest 

Of  every  fair  and  brilliant  throng  ; 
No  wit  like  thine  to  wake  the  jest, 

No  voice  like  thine  to  breathe  the  song  ; 
A.nd  none  could  guess,  so  gay  thou  art, 
Taat  thou  and  I  are  far  apart. 

^las  !  alas  !  how  different  flows 
With  thee  and  me  the  time  away  ! 

Not  that  I  wish  thee  sad  —  heav'n  knows  — 
Still  if  thou  canst,  be  light  and  gay  ; 

I  only  know,  that  without  thee 

The  sun  himself  is  dark  to  me. 

Do  I  thus  haste  to  hall  and  bower, 
Among  the  proud  and  gay  to  shine  ? 

Or  deck  my  hair  with  gem  and  flower, 
To  flatter  other  eyes  than  thine  ? 

Ah,  no,  with  me  love's  smiles  are  past, 

Thou  hadst  the  first,  thou  hadst  the  last. 


ITIE  YOUNG  INDIAN  MAID. 

There  came  a  njrmph  dancing 

Gracefully,  gracefully, 
Her  eye  a  light  glancing 

Like  the  blue  sea  ; 
And  while  all  this  gladness 

Around  her  steps  hung, 
Such  sweet  notes  of  sadness 

Her  gentle  lips  sung, 
Fhat  ne'er  while  I  live  from  my  mem' ry  shall  fade 
The  song,  or  the  look,  of  that  young  Indian  maid. 

Her  zone  of  bells  ringing 

Cheerily,  cheerily, 
Chimed  to  her  singing 

Light  echoes  of  glee  ; 
But  in  vain  did  she  borrow 

Of  mirth  the  gay  tone, 
Her  voice  spoke  of  sorrow, 

And  sorrow  alone. 
Ncr  e'er  while  I  live  from  my  mem'ry  shall  fade 
The  song,  or  the  look,  of  that  young  Indian  maid. 


THE  HOMEWARD  MARCH, 
fis  still  my  heart :  I  hoar  them  come  : 
Those  sounds  announce  my  lover  near  ; 


:  Part  of  a  tran'Iation  of  some  L«itin  Tenet,  n; 
•ave  beeD  addressed  by  Hippolyu  Taurella  to  bar 


ippoMd  to 


The  march  that  brings  our  warrion  LacM 
Proclaims  he'll  soon  be  here. 

Hark,  the  distant  tread 

O'er  the  mountain's  head. 
While  hills  and  dales  repeat  the  sound  s 

And  the  forest  deer 

Stand  still  to  hear. 
As  those  echoing  steps  ring  round. 

Be  still  my  heart,  I  hear  them  come. 
Those  sounds  that  speak  my  soldier  near  i 

Those  joyous  steps  seem  wing'd  for  home,' 
Rest,  rest,  he'll  soon  be  hero. 

But  hark,  more  faint  the  foototeps  grow. 
And  now  they  wiiid  to  distant  gladet ; 

Not  here  their  home,  —  alas,  they  go 
To  gladden  happier  maids  1 

Like  sounds  in  a  dream. 

The  footsteps  seem. 
As  down  the  hills  they  die  away  5 

And  the  march,  whose  aong 

So  pcal'd  along. 
Now  fades  like  a  funeral  laj. 

"Us  past,  'tis  o'er,  —  hush,  heart,  thy  pain  I 
And  though  not  here,  alas,  they  come, 

Rejoice  for  those,  to  whom  that  strain 
Brings  sons  and  lovers  home. 


WAKE  UP,  SWEET  MELODY 

Wake  up,  sweet  melody  I 

Now  is  the  hour 
When  young  and  loving  hearta 

Feel  most  thy  power. 
One  note  of  music,  by  moonlight's  sof*.  ray  - 
O,  'tis  worth  thousands  heard  coldly  hy  day. 
Then  wake  up,  sweet  melody  • 

Now  is  the  hour 
When  young  and  lovitg  bcortt 

Peel  most  thy  power 

Ask  the  fond  nightingale. 
When  his  sweet  flower 
Loves  most  to  hear  Iiis  song, 
In  her  green  bower  ? 
O,  he  will  tell  thee,  through  summer  nighta  Um^ 
Fondest  she  lends  her  whole  to  his  song. 

dnriagbiiabMDceBltlMgayeoartcr  LMltoTMk    IXl 
TMSM  mar  be  fwiMl  in  Um  Appwdli  to  Ban«%  WcM 


B48                                                  BALLADS,   SONGS,  ETC. 

Then  wake  up,  sweet  melody ! 

Here  eyes  are  made  like  stars  to  shine, 

Now  is  the  hour 

And  kept,  for  years,  in  such  repair. 

When  young  and  loving  hearts 

That  ev'n  when  turn'd  of  thirty-nine, 

Feel  most  thy  power. 

They'll  hardly  look  the  worse  for  wear. 

If  bought  at  this  our  Fancy  Fair. 

We've  lots  of  tears  for  bards  to  shower, 

CALM  BE  THY  SLEEP. 

And  hearts  that  such  ill  uzage  bear. 

Calm  be  thy  sleep  as  infants'  slumbers  ! 

Pure  as  angel  thoughts  thy  dreams  ! 
May  every  joy  this  bright  world  numbers 

That,  though  they're  broken  ev'ry  hour, 
They'U  still  in  rhyme  fresh  breaking  beai, 
If  purchased  at  our  Fancy  Fair. 

Shed  o'er  thee  their  mingled  beams  ! 

As  fashions  change  in  ev'ry  thing. 

Or  if,  where  Pleasure's  wing  hath  glided, 

We've  goods  to  suit  each  season's  air, 

There  ever  must  some  pang  remain, 

Eternal  friendships  for  the  spring. 

Still  be  thy  lot  with  me  divided,  — 

And  endless  loves  for  summer  wear,— 

Tliine  all  the  bliss,  and  mine  the  pain  ! 

All  sold  at  this  our  Fancy  Fair. 

Day  and  night  my  thoughts  shall  hover 

We've  reputations  white  as  snow. 

Round  thy  steps  where'er  they  stray ; 

That  long  will  last,  if  used  with  care, 

As,  ev'n  when  clouds  his  idol  cover, 

Nay,  safe  through  all  life's  journey  go, 

Fondly  the  Persian  tracks  its  ray. 

K  pack'd  and  mark'd  as  "  brittle  ware,"  — 

If  this  be  wrong,  if  Hcav'n  offended 

Just  purchased  at  the  Fancy  Fair. 

By  worship  to  its  creature  be, 

Then  let  my  vows  to  both  be  blended, 

Half  bveathed  to  Heav'n  and  half  to  thee. 

IF    THOU    WOULDST    HAVE    ME    SIAO 

AND   PLAY. 

If  thou  wouldst  have  me  sing  and  plav. 

THE  EXILE. 

As  once  I  play'd  and  sung. 

Night  waneth  fast,  the  morning  star 

First  take  this  time-worn  lute  away. 

Saddens  with  light  the  glimm'ring  sea, 

And  bring  one  freshly  strung. 

Whose  waves  sliall  soon  to  realms  afar 

Call  back  the  time  when  pleasure's  sigh 

Waft  me  from  hope,  from  love,  and  thee. 

First  breathed  among  the  strings  ; 

Coldly  the  beam  irom  yonder  sky 

And  Time  himself,  in  flitting  by. 

Looks  o'er  the  waves  that  onward  stray ; 

Made  music  with  his  wings. 

But  colder  still  the  stranger's  eye 

To  him  whose  home  is  far  away. 

But  how  is  this  .'  though  new  the  lute. 

And  shining  fresh  the  chords. 

0,  not  at  hour  so  chill  and  bleak, 

Beneath  this  hand  they  slumber  mute, 

Let  thoughts  of  me  come  o'er  thy  breast ; 

Or  speak  but  dreamy  words. 

But  of  the  lost  one  think  and  speak. 

In  vain  I  seek  the  soul  that  dwelt 

Wlien  summer  suns  sink  calm  to  rest. 

Within  that  once  sweet  shell. 

So,  as  I  wander,  Fancy's  dream 

Which  told  so  warmly  what  it  felt. 

Shall  bring  m.e  o'er  the  sunset  seas, 

And  felt  what  nought  could  tell. 

Thy  look,  in  every  melting  beam, 

Thy  whisper,  in  each  dying  breeze. 

0,  ask  not  then  for  passion's  lay. 

From  lyre  so  coldly  strung  ; 

With  this  I  ne'er  can  sing  or  play. 

As  once  I  play'd  and  sung. 

THE  FANCY  FAIR. 

No,  bring  that  long-loved  lute  again,  — 

Though  chill'd  bj'  years  it  be. 

Come,  maids  and  youths,  for  here  we  sell 

If  thou  wilt  call  the  slumb'ring  strain, 

All  wondrous  things  of  earth  and  air  ; 

'Twill  wake  again  for  thee. 

Whatever  wild  romancers  tell, 

Or  poets  sing,  or  lovers  swear, 

Though  time  have  frozen  the  tuneful  Btrevu 

You'll  find  at  this  our  Fancy  Fair. 

Of  thoughts  that  gush'd  along, 

TU£   EULE. 


BALLADS,   SONGS,   ETC. 


AK 


One  look  from  thee,  like  summer's  beam, 

"Will  thaw  them  ii.to  song. 
Then  give,  O  give,  that  wakening  ray, 

And  once  more  blithe  and  young, 
Thy  bard  again  will  sing  and  play, 

ds  once  he  play'd  and  axing. 


STILL  WHEX  DAYLIGHT. 

SrtLL  when  daylight  o'er  the  wave 
Bright  and  soft  its  farewell  gave, 
I  used  to  hear,  while  light  was  falling, 
(J'er  the  wave  a  sweet  voice  calling. 
Mournfully  at  distance  calling. 

Ah  !  once  how  blest  that  maid  would  come, 
To  meet  her  sea-boy  hast'ning  home  ; 
And  through  the  night  those  sounds  repeating, 
Hail  his  bark  with  joyous  greeting. 
Joyously  his  light  bark  greeting. 

But,  one  sad  night,  when  winds  were  high. 
Nor  earth,  nor  heaven,  could  hear  her  cry. 
She  saw  his  boat  come  tossing  over 
Midnight's  wave, —  but  not  her  lover  ! 
No,  never  more  her  lover. 

And  still  that  sad  dream  loath  to  leave, 
She  comes  with  wand' ring  mind  at  eve. 
And  oft  we  hear,  when  night  is  falling, 
Faint  her  voice  through  twilight  calling, 
Mournfully  at  twilight  calling. 


THE  SUMMER   WEBS. 

The  summer  webs  that  float  and  shine, 

The  summer  dews  that  fall. 
Though  light  they  be,  this  heart  of  mine 

Is  lighter  still  than  all. 
It  tells  me  every  cloud  is  pasa'd 

Which  lately  seem'd  to  lower ; 
n;at  Hope  hath  wed  young  Joy  at  last. 

And  bow's  their  nuptial  hour  ! 

With  light  thus  round,  within,  above. 

With  nought  to  wake  one  sigh. 
Except  the  wish,  that  all  we  love 

Were  at  this  moment  nigh,  — 
It  seems  as  if  life's  brilliant  sun 

Had  stopp'd  in  full  career, 
To  make  this  hour  its  brightest  one, 

^nd  rest  in  radiance  here. 


MIND   NOT  THOUGH  DAYLIGHT. 

Mind  not  though  daylight  around  ns  n  break- 
ing,— 

Who'd  think  now  of  sleeping  when  mom'e  but 
just  waking  ? 

Sound  the  merry  viol,  and  daylight  or  iV'il, 

Be  all  for  one  hour  in  the  gay  daxwe  forgot 

See  young  Aurora,  up  heav'n's  hill  adTtitdLf , 
Though  fresh  from  her  pillow,  er'n  she  too  • 

dancing : 
While  thus  all  creation,  earth,  heaven,  and  se^ 
Are  dancing  around  us,  O,  why  should  not  we  I 

Who'll  say  that  moments  we  use  thus  are  wasted  i 
Such  sweet  drops  of  time  only  flow  to  be  tasted  { 
While  hearts  are  high  boating,  and  harps  fuU  in 

tune. 
The  fault  is  all  morning's  for  coming  so  soon. 


THEY  MET  BUT  ONCE. 

TuET  met  but  once,  in  youth's  sweet  how, 

And  never  since  that  day 
Hath  absence,  time,  or  grief  had  power 

To  chase  that  dream  away. 
They've  seen  the  suns  of  other  skies. 

On  other  shores  have  sought  delight ; 
But  never  more,  to  bless  their  eyes, 

Can  come  a  dream  so  bright ! 
They  met  but  once,  —  a  day  was  all 

Of  Love's  young  hopes  they  knew ; 
And  still  their  hearts  that  day  recall. 

As  fresh  as  then  it  flew. 

Sweet  dream  of  youth  I  O,  ne'er  again 

Let  either  meet  the  brow 
They  left  so  smooth  and  smiling  then. 

Or  see  what  it  is  now. 
For,  Youth,  the  spell  was  only  thine  ; 

From  thee  alone  th'  enchantment  flowSk 
That  makes  the  world  around  thee  shiii  s 

With  light  thyself  bestows. 
They  met  but  once,  —  O,  ne'er  again 

Let  either  meet  the  brow 
They  left  so  smooth  and  smiling  tha^ 

Or  see  what  it  is  now. 


WITH  MOONLIGHT  BEAMiNU 

With  moonlight  beamiag 
Thus  o'er  the  deaxt. 


wo                                                  BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 

Who'd  linger  dreaming 

To  thee  no  light  is  given,  — 

In  idle  sleep  ? 

0,  what  a  doom  is  this  ! 

Leave  joyless  souls  to  live  by  day,  — 

Our  life  begins  with  yonder  ray  ; 

And  while  thus  brightly 
The  moments  flee, 

THE  WORLD  WAS  HUSITD. 

Our  barks  skim  lightly 

The  world  was  hush'd,  the  moon  abo^"* 

The  shining  sea. 

Sail'd  through  ether  slowly. 

When,  near  the  casement  of  my  loi'e. 

To  halls  of  splendor 

Thus  I  whisper'd  lowly, — 

Lot  great  ones  hie  ; 

"  Awake,  awake,  how  canst  thou  sleep  } 

Through  light  more  tender 

"  The  field  I  seek  to-morrow 

Our  pathways  lie. 

"  Is  one  where  man  hath  fame  to  reap, 

While  round,  from  banks  of  brook  or  lake, 

"  And  woman  gleans  but  sorrow." 

Our  company  blithe  echoes  make  ; 

And,  as  we  lend  'em 

"  Let  battle's  field  be  what  it  may," 

Sweet  word  or  strain. 

Thus  spoke  a  voice  replying, 

Still  back  they  send  'em, 

"  Think  not  thy  love,  while  thou'rt  away. 

More  sweet,  again. 

"  Will  here  sit  idly  sighing. 

"  No  —  woman's  soul,  if  not  for  fame, 

"  For  love  can  brave  all  danger  !  " 

CHILD'S  SONG.     FROM  A  MASK. 

Then  forth  from  out  the  casement  came 

I  HAVE  a  garden  of  my  own, 

A  plumed  and  armed  stranger. 

Shining  with  flowers  of  every  hue  ; 
I  loved  it  dearly  while  alone, 

But  I  shall  love  it  more  with  you  : 
And  there  the  golden  bees  shall  come. 

In  summer  time  at  break  of  morn. 
And  ^^'akc  us  with  their  busy  hum 

Around  the  Siha's  fragrant  thorn. 

A  stranger  ?    No  ;  'twas  she,  the  maid, 
Herself  before  me  beaming, 

With  casque  array'd,  and  falchion  blad« 
Beneath  her  girdle  gleaming  ! 

Close  side  by  side,  in  freedom's  fight. 
That  blessed  morning  found  us  ; 

In  Vict'ry's  light  we  stood  ere  night, 

I  have  a  fawn  from  Aden's  land. 

And  Love,  the  morrow,  crown'd  us  ! 

On  leafy  buds  and  berries  nurs'd, 

And  you  shall  feed  him  from  your  hand. 

Though  he  may  start  with  fear  at  first. 

THiJ  TWO  LOVES. 

And  I  will  lead  you  where  he  lies 

For  shelter  in  the  noontide  heat ; 

There  are  two  Loves,  the  poet  sings. 

And  you  may  touch  his  sleeping  eyes. 
And  feel  his  little  silv'ry  feet. 

Both  born  of  Beauty  at  a  birth  ; 
The  one,  akin  to  heaven,  hath  -vvings, 

The  other,  earthly,  walks  on  earth. 



With  this  through  bowers  below  we  pi  ij, 

HALCYON  HANGS  O'ER  0*EAN. 

With  that  through  clouds  above  we  soar  i 
With  both,  perchance,  may  lose  our  way  :  -^ 

halcyon  hangs  o'er  ocean. 

Then,  tell  me  which. 

e  scalark  skims  the  brine  ; 

Tell  me  which  shall  we  adore  t 

bright  world's  all  in  motion, 

heart  seems  sad  but  mine. 

The  one,  when  tempted  down  from  au 

At  Pleasure's  fount  to  lave  his  lip, 

alk  through  sun-bright  places. 

Nor  lingers  long,  nor  oft  will  dare 

ith  heart  all  cold  the  while  ; 

His  wing  within  the  wave  to  dip. 

look  in  smiling  faces, 

While,  plunging  deep  and  long  beneath 

When  we  no  more  can  smile  ; 

The  other  bathes  him  o'er  and  o'ei 

In  that  sweet  current,  ev'n  to  death  ;• 

To  feel,  while  earth  and  heaven 

Then,  tell  me  which. 

Around  thee  shine  with  bliss, 

TeU  me  which  shall  we  adore  i 

BALLADS,  SONQS,   ETa 


Ul 


The  boy  of  heav'n,  even  while  he  lies 

In  Beauty's  lay,  recalls  his  home ; 
And  when  most  happy,  inly  eighs 

For  something  happier  still  to  come. 
While  he  of  earth,  too  fully  bless'd 

With  this  bright  world  to  dream  of  more, 
A(jC8  all  Ills  heav'n  on  Beauty's  breast :  — 
Then,  tell  me  which. 

Tell  me  which  shall  we  adore  ? 

fhe  maid  wlio  himrd  the  poet  sing 

These  twin  desires  of  earth  and  sky, 
And  saw,  while  one  inspired  his  string, 

I'he  other  glisten'd  in  his  eye,  — 
To  name  the  carthlicr  boy  ashamed. 

To  choose  the  other  fondly  loath, 
At  length,  all  blushing,  she  exclaim' d,  — 
"  Ask  not  which, 

"  O,  ask  not  which  —  we'll  worship  both. 

«  Th'  extremes  of  each  thus  taught  to  shun, 

•'  With  hearts  and  souls  between  them  given, 
"  When  weary  of  this  earth  with  one, 

"  We'll  with  the  other  wng  to  heaven." 
Thus  pledged  the  maid  her  vow  of  bliss ; 

And  while  one  Love  wrote  down  the  oath, 
The  other  seal'd  it  with  a  kiss ; 
And  Heav'n  look'd  on, 

Heav'n  look'd  on,  and  hallow'd  both. 


rmS  LEGEND   OF  PUCK  THE  FAIRY. 

WoviDST  know  what  tricks,  by  the  pale  moon- 
light. 

Are  play'd  by  me,  the  merry  little  Sprite, 

Who  wing  through  air  from  the  camp  to  the 
court. 

From  king  to  clown,  and  of  all  moke  sport ; 
Singing,  I  am  the  Sprite 
Of  the  merry  midnight. 

Who  laugh  at  weak  mortals,  and  love  the  moon- 
Ught. 

I'o  a  miser's  bed,  where  he  snoring  slept 
A  r<d  drt  unt  of  his  cash,  I  slyly  crept ; 
CI  ink,  chink,  o  er  his  pillow  like  money  I  rang, 
And  he  waked  to  catch  —  but  away  I  sprang, 
Singing,  1  am  the  Sprite,  &c. 

I  saw  through  the  leaves,  in  a  damsel's  bowor, 
the  was  waiting  her  love  at  that  starlight  hour : 
••  Hist  —  hist !  "  quoth  I,  with  an  amorous  sigh, 
^nd  she  flew  to  the  door,  but  away  flew  L 
Smging,  I  am  the  Sprite,  &c. 


^^^xile  a  bard  sat  inditing  an  ode  to  his  lor*. 
Like  a  pair  of  blue  meteors  I  stared  from  «bor* 
And  he  swoon'd  —  for  he  thought  'twM  tbt 

ghost,  poor  man  ! 
Of  hie  lady's  eyes,  while  away  I  ran. 
Singing,  I  am  the  Sprite,  ti' 


BEAT7TY  AND   SONO. 

Down  in  yon  summer  vale. 

Where  the  rill  flows. 
Thus  said  a  Nightingale 

To  his  loved  Rose  :  — 
*'  Though  rich  the  pleasurw 
"  Of  song's  sweet  measurai, 
••  Vain  were  its  melody, 
**  Rose,  M-ithout  thee." 


Then  from  the  green  i 

Of  her  night  bower. 
Beaming  with  bashfulnees. 

Spoke  the  bright  flower :  — 
"  Though  mom  should  lend  hm 
"  Its  sunniest  splendor, 
**  What  would  the  Rose  h*. 
"  Unsung  by  thee  !  " 

Thus  stUI  let  Song  attend 

Woman's  bright  way ; 
Thus  still  let  woman  lend 

Light  to  the  lay. 
Like  stars,  through  heaven's  M^ 
Floating  in  harmony. 
Beauty  should  glide  along, 
Circled  by  Song. 


WHEN  THOU  ART  NIOH. 

When  thou  art  nigh,  it  seenu 

A  new  creation  round ; 
The  sun  hath  fairer  beam% 

The  lute  a  softer  sounr* 
Though  thee  alone  I  i>ee. 

And  hear  alone  thy  sigh, 
'Tis  light,  'tis  song  to  me, 

"Tis  all  —  when  thou  art  nigh. 

When  thou  art  nigh,  no  thoai^ht 
Of  grief  comes  o'er  my  hitart  ( 

I  only  think  —  could  ausht 
But  joy  be  where  thou  art  I 

Life  seems  a  waste  of  breath. 
When  fJar  from  thae  I  aigh : 


And  death  —  ay,  even  death 
Were  sweet,  if  thou  wert  nigh. 


SONG  OF  A  HYPERBOREAN. 

t  C3ME  from  a  land  in  the  sun-bright  deep, 

Where  golden  gardens  grow ; 
Where  the  winds  of  the  north,  becalm'd  in  sleep, 
Their  conch  shells  never  blow.* 
Hosts  to  that  holy  Isle  with  me, 
Haste  —  haste  ! 

So  near  the  track  of  the  stars  are  "we,' 

That  oft,  on  night's  pale  beams, 
The  distant  sounds  of  their  harmony 

Come  to  our  ear,  like  dreams. 
Then,  haste  to  that  holy  Isle  with  me,  &c. 

The  Moon,  too,  brings  her  world  so  nigh,' 

That  when  the  night  seer  looks 
To  that  shadowless  orb,  in  a  vernal  sky, 

He  can  numbei  its  hills  and  brooks. 
Then,  haste,  &c.  &c. 

To  the  Sun- god  all  our  hearts  and  lyres* 

By  day,  by  night,  belong  ; 
And  the  breath  we  draw  from  his  living  fires. 

We  give  him  back  in  song. 

Then,  haste,  &c.  &c. 

from  us  descends  the  maid  who  brings 

To  Delos  gifts  divine ; 
And  our  wild  bees  lend  their  rainbow  wings 
To  glitter  on  Delphi's  shrine.* 

TTien,  haste  to  that  holy  Isle  with  me, 
Haste  —  haste ! 


THOU  BIDD'ST  ME  SING. 

Thou  bidd'st  me  smg  tne  lay  I  sung  to  thee 
m  other  days,  ere  joy  had  left  this  brow  ; 
But  think,  though  stil     inchanged  the  notes 
may  be, 
H)w  difFrent  feels  thi  heart  that  breathes 
them  now ! 
The  rose  thou  wear'st  to  night  is  still  the  same 
We  saw  this  morning  on  its  stem  so  gay  j 

1  On  the  Tower  of  the  Winds,  at  Athens,  there  is  a  conch 
thell  placed  in  the  hands  of  Boreas.  —  See  Stuart's  Antiqxd- 
<Us.  "  The  north  wind,"  says  Herodotus,  in  speaking  of 
the  Hyperboreans,  "  never  blows  with  them." 

*      Sub  ipso  sideniEJ  cardine  jacent."  —  Pompon.  Mela. 


But,  ah  !  that  dew  of  dawn,  that  breath  whicb 
came 
Like  life  o'er  all  its  leaves,  hath  pass'd  away, 

Since  first  that  music  touch'd  thy  heart  and 
mine, 
How  many  a  joy  and  pain  o'er  both  hare 
pass'd,  — 
The  joy,  a  light  too  precious  long  to  shine. 

The  pain,  a  cloud  whose  shadows  always  last 
And  though  that  lay  would  like  the  voice  ol 
home 
Breathe  o'er  our  ear,  'twould  waken  now  ( 
sigh  — 
Ah  !  not,  as  then,  for  fancied  woes  to  come. 
But,  sadder  far,  for  real  bliss  gone  by. 


CUPID  ARMED. 

Place  the  helm  on  thy  brow. 

In  thy  hand  take  the  spear ;  — 
Thou  art  arm'd,  Cupid,  now. 
And  thy  battle  hour  is  near. 
March  on  !  march  on  !  thy  shaft  and  bow 

Were  weak  against  such  charms  ; 
March  on  !  march  on  !  so  proud  a  foe 
Scorns  all  but  martial  arms. 

See  the  darts  in  her  eyes, 

Tipp'd  with  scorn,  how  they  shine  1 
Ev'ry  shaft,  as  it  fiies. 

Mocking  proudly  at  thine. 
March  on !  march  on  !  thy  feather'd  dartt 

Soft  bosoms  soon  might  move ; 
But  ruder  arms  to  ruder  hearts 
Must  teach  what  'tis  to  love. 
Place  the  helm  on  thy  brow ; 

In  thy  hand  take  the  spear,  — 
Thou  art  arm'd,  Cupid,  now. 

And  thy  battle  hour  is  near. 


ROUND  THE  WORLD   GOES. 

Round  the  world  goes  by  day  and  night, 
While  with  it  also  rour.d  go  we  ; 

And  in  the  flight  of  one  day's  light 
An  image  of  all  life's  course  we  see. 

8  "  They  can  show  the  moon  very  near."  —  Diodob.  Bi 

CCL. 

*  Hecatsus  tells  us,  that  this  Hyperborean  island  was  ded 
icated  to  Apollo  ;  and  most  of  the  inhabitants  weie  eithM 
priests  or  songsters. 

6  Paubui* 


Round,  round,  while  thus  we  go  roucd. 

The  best  thing  a  man  can  do, 
Is  to  make  it,  at  least,  a  merry- go-round, 

By      sending  the  wine  round  too. 

Our  first  gay  stage  of  life  ia  irhen 

Youth,  in  its  dawn,  salutes  the  eye  - 
Season  of  bliss !  O,  who  wouldn't  then 

W'fih  to  cry,  «•  Stop  !  "  to  earth  and  •\j  ? 
But.  round,  round,  both  boy  and  girl 

Are  whisk' d  through  that  sky  of  blue; 
And  much  would  their  hearts  enjoy  the  whirl. 

If — their  heads  did'nt  whirl  round  too. 

Nixt,  we  enjoy  our  glorious  noon. 

Thinking  all  life  a  life  of  light ; 
But  shadows  come  on,  'tis  evening  soon, 

And,  ero  we  can  say,  ••  How  short !  "  —  'tis 
night. 
Round,  round,  still  all  goes  round, 

Ev'n  while  I'm  thus  singing  to  you ; 
And  tho  best  way  to  make  it  a  merry- go-round, 

I»  t(    -  chorus  my  song  round  too. 


O     DO  NOT  LOOK  SO  BRIGHT  AND 
BLEST. 

0,  DO  not  look  so  bright  and  blest. 

For  still  there  comes  a  fear. 
When  brow  like  thine  looks  happiest, 

That  grief  is  then  most  near. 
Tlierc  lurks  a  dread  in  all  delight, 

A  shadow  near  each  ray, 
That  warns  us  then  to  fear  their  flight. 

When  most  we  wish  their  stay, 
rhen  look  not  thou  so  bright  and  blest, 

For  ah  !  there  comes  a  fear. 
When  brow  like  thine  looks  happiest. 

That  grief  is  then  most  near. 

Why  is  it  thus  that  fairest  things 

The  soonest  fleet  and  die  ?  — 
That  when  most  light  is  on  their  wings. 

They're  then  but  spread  to  fly  ! 
And,  sadder  still,  the  pain  will  stay  — 

The  bliss  no  more  appears  ; 
As  rainbows  take  their  light  away. 

And  leave  us  but  the  tears ! 
Then  look  not  thou  so  bright  and  blest. 

For  ah  !  there  comes  a  fear, 
Whon  brow  like  thine  looks  happiest. 

That  grief  is  then  most  near. 
46 


THE  MUSICAL  BOX. 

••  Look  here,    said  Rose,  with  Uughinf  < 

"  Within  this  box,  by  maeic  hid 
•  A  tuneful  Sprite  imprison'd  Uec, 

"  Who  sings  to  me  wh«?ne*er  he'«  oil, 
"  Though  roving  once  his  voice  and  wing, 

"  He'll  now  lie  still  the  whole  day  long ; 
"  1111  thus  I  touch  the  magic  spring  — 

"  Then  hark,  how  sweet  and  blithe  l.b  aoaf  (' 
(A  tymp^omjf.) 

••  Ah,  Rose,"  I  cried,  "  the  poef  ■  Uy 

"  Must  ne'er  ev'n  Beauty's  aUre  beeoBM  | 
"  Through  earth  and  air  his  song  may  stray, 

"  If  all  the  while  his  heart's  at  home. 
"  And  though  in  freedom's  air  he  dwell, 

"  Nor  bond  nor  chain  his  spirit  knows, 
"  Touch  but  the  spring  thou  know'st  so  wdl, 

"  And —hark,  how  sweet  the  love  song  flows  I  * 
{^A  lympKoKjf.) 

Thus  pleaded  I  for  freetlom's  right ; 

But  when  young  Beauty  takes  the  field. 
And  wise  men  seek  defence  in  flight. 

The  doom  of  poets  ia  to  yield. 
No  more  my  heart  th'  enchantress ' 

I'm  now  in  Beauty's  prison  hid ; 
The  Sprite  and  I  are  fellow-slaves,^ 

And  L  too,  sing  whene'er  I'm  bid. 


WHEN  TO  SAD  MUSIC  SILENT  YOU 
LISTEN. 

When  to  sad  Music  silent  you  listen. 

And  tears  on  those  eyelids  tremble  like  dflw, 
O,  then  there  dwells  in  those  eyes  as  they  glistes 

A  sweet  holy  charm  that  mirth  never  knew. 
But  when  some  lively  strain  resounding 

Lights  up  the  sunshine  of  joy  on  that  brow, 
Then  the  young  reindeer  o'er  the  hills  boundin| 

Was  ne'er<in  its  mirth  so  gleeful  as  thou 

When  on  the  skies  at  midnight  thou  gssesv 

A  lustre  so  pure  thy  features  then  wesr. 
That,  when  to  some  star  that  bright  eye  thi « 
raisest. 
We  feel  'tis  thy  home  thou'rt  looking  for  tkcn. 
But  when  the  word  for  the  gay  dance  is  givtD, 
So  buoyant  thy  spirit,  so  heartfelt  thy  mirtA, 
O  then  wc  exclaim,   "  Ne'er  leave  earth  fo 
heaven, 
'•  But  linger  still  here,  to  make  hvavca  o« 
earth." 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FLOWERS. 

Fly  swift,  my  light  gazelle, 

To  her  who  now  lies  waking, 
To  hear  thy  silver  bell 

The  midnight  silence  breaking. 
And,  when  thou  com'st,  jvith  gladsome  feet, 

Beneath  her  lattice  springing. 
All,  w^U  she'll  know  how  sweet 

The  words  of  love  thou'rt  bringing 

Yet,  no  —  not  words,  for  they 

But  half  can  tell  love's  feeling ; 
Sweet  flowers  alone  can  say 

What  passion  fears  revealing. 
A  once  bright  rose's  wither'd  leafl 

A  tow'ring  lily  broken,  — 
O  these  may  paint  a  grief 

No  words  could  e'er  have  spoken. 

Not  such,  my  gay  gazelle, 

The  wreath  thou  speedest  over 
Yon  moonlight  dale,  to  tell 

My  lady  how  I  love  her. 
And,  what  to  her  will  sweeter  be 

Than  gems  the  richest,  rarest,  — 
From  Truth's  immortal  tree  ' 

One  fadeless  leaf  thou  bearost. 


THE  DAWN  IS  BREAKING  O'ER  US. 

The  dawn  is  breaking  o'er  us, 
See,  heaven  hath  caught  its  huej 

I   The  tree  called  in  the  East  Ainrita,  or  the  ImmortaL 


We've  day's  long  light  before  ua, 
What  sport  shall  we  pursue  ? 

The  hunt  o'er  hill  and  lea  ? 

The  sail  o'er  summer  sea  ? 

O  let  not  hour  so  sweet 

Unwing'd  by  pleasure  fleet. 

The  dawn  is  breaking  o'er  us, 
See,  heaven  hath  caught  its  hue 

We've  day's  long  light  before  us, 
What  sport  shall  we  pursue  .' 

But  see,  while  we're  deciding, 

What  morning  sport  to  play, 
The  dial's  hand  is  gliding, 

And  morn  hath  pass'd  away  ! 
Ah,  who'd  have  thought  that  roon 
Would  o'er  us  steal  so  soon,  — 
That  morn's  sweet  hour  of  prime 
Would  last  so  short  a  time  ? 
But  come,  we've  day  before  us. 

Still  heaven  looks  bright  and  blue 
Quick,  quick,  ere  eve  comes  o'er  us. 

What  sport  shall  we  pursue  ? 

Alas  !  why  thus  delaj-ing  ? 

We're  noAV  at  evening's  hour ; 
Its  farewell  beam  is  playing 

O'er  hill  and  wave  and  bower. 
That  light  we  thought  would  last. 
Behold,  ev'n  now,  'tis  pass'd ; 
And  all  our  morning  dreams 
Have  vanish' d  with  its  beams  ! 
But  come  !  'twere  vahi  to  borrow 

Sad  lessons  from  this  lay. 
For  man  will  be  to-morrow  — 

Just  what  he's  been  to-day. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY. 


HERE   AT  THY  TOMB.> 

BY    MELEAOER. 

ne&E,  at  thy  tomb,  these  tears  I  shed. 
Tears,  which  though  vainly  now  they  roll, 

\xe  all  love  hath  tc  give  the  dead, 
And  wept  o'er  thee  vdth.  all  love's  soul ;  — 

'  A  W(  "va  701  Kat  vspBe  Sia  x^ovos,  HXtoSupa. 

Ap.  Brumck. 


Wept  in  remembrance  of  that  light, 

Which  nought  on  earth,  without  thee,  giVJt 

Hope  of  my  heart !  now  quench'd  in  night, 
But  dearer,  dead,  than  aught  that  live». 

Where  is  she  ?  where  the  blooming  bougb 
That  once  my  life's  sole  lustre  made  ? 

Torn  off  by  death,  'tis  with'ring  now, 
And  all  its  flowers  in  dust  are  laid. 


bONuS  FROM  THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY. 


tM 


0  earth  !  that  to  thy  matron  breast. 
Hast  taken  all  those  angei  chHmu, 

Gently  I  pray  thee,  let  hor  rest,  — 
Gently,  as  in  a  motber'H  arnu. 


SALE  OF  CUPnj.' 

BT    MBLEAOEIU 

W  ao'Li  buy  a  little  boy  ?     Look,  yonder  is  he, 
fast  asleep,  sly  rogue,  on  his  mother's  knee  ; 
Uo  bold  a  young  imp  'tisn't  safe  to  keep. 
So  I'll  part  with  him  now,  while  he's  sound 

asleep. 
See  his  arch  little  nose,  how  sharp  'tis  curled. 
His  wings,  too,  even  in  sleep  unlun'o ; 
And  those  fingers,  which  still  evei   wady  are 

found 
For  mirth  or  for  mischief,  to  tickle,  oi  wound. 

Ho' II  try  with  his  tears  your  heart  to  b«guile ; 
But   never  you  mind  —  he's  laughing  all  the 

while ; 
For  little  he  cares,  so  he  has  his  own  whim. 
And  weeping  or  laughing  are  all  one  to  him. 
His  eye  is  as  keen  as  the  lightning's  flash. 
His  tongue  like  the  red  bolt  quick  and  rash  ; 
And  so  savage  is  he,  that  his  own  dear  mother 
Is  scarce  more  safe  in  his  hands  than  another. 

In  short,  to  sum  up  this  darling's  praise. 
He's  a  downright  pest  in  all  sorts  of  ways  ; 
And  if  any  one  wants  such  fen  imp  to  employ. 
He  shall  have  a  dead  bargain  of  this  little  boy. 
But  see,  the  boy  wakes  —  his  bright  tears  flow  — 
His  eyes  seem  to  ask  could  I  sell  him  ?     O  no, 
Sweet  child  no,  no  —  though  so  naughty  you  be, 
You  shall  live  evermore  with  my  Lesbia  and  me. 


TO   WEAVE   A    GARLAND    FOR   THE 
ROSE.» 

BT   PAUL,    THB   SILBITTIART. 

To  wiiavc  a  garland  for  the  rose, 

And  think  thus  crown'd  'twould  lovelier  be, 
Were  far  less  vain  than  to  suppose 

That  silks  and  gems  add  grace  to  thee. 

1  lluXtta9<>t,  «ai  ^arpof  tr'  n  KoXvoiei  mOmdcor. 

•  0»r(  ^(o»  rrtipavw*  mhvieat,  oot«  ov  rtvAoiK. 

Ap.  BaoiiCB.  stH. 
«  —  rai  h  fttXifvprof  tgtifn 

B9tH  ipfMnih  wrtf  (^»  Oo^iw. 


Where  is  the  pearl  whose  orient  lustre 
Would  not,  beside  thee.  look  leas  bright) 

What  gold  could  match  the  gloaay  cluster 
Of  those  young  ringlets  hiil  of  light ) 

Bring  from  the  land,  where  fresh  it  gletiM^ 

The  bright  blue  gem  of  India's  mine. 
And  see  how  soon,  though  bright  its  beaxM» 

'Twill  pale  before  one  glance  of  thine  : 
Those  lips,  too,  when  their  sounds  have  Ida  it  i 

With  some  divine,  mellifluous  air, 
Who  would  not  say  that  Beauty's  cestos 

Had  let  loose  all  its  witch' net  there  f* 

Here,  to  this  conqu'ring  host  of  channt 

I  now  give  up  my  spell-bound  heart» 
Nor  blush  to  yield  cv'n  Reason's  arms. 

When  thou  her  bright-ey'd  conqu'ror  tti 
Thus  to  the  wind  all  fears  are  given  : 

Henceforth  those  eyes  alone  I  see. 
Where  Hope,  as  in  her  own  blue  hesTOti, 

Sits  beck'ning  me  to  bliss  and  thee  1 


WHY  DOES  SHE  SO  LONG  DELAY  f 

ST  rAtn«  THC  aiLBirruBT. 

Wkt  does  she  so  long  delay? 
Night  is  waning  fast  away ; 
Thrice  have  I  my  lamp  reneVd* 
Watching  here  in  solitude. 
>V'here  can  she  so  long  delay  } 
Where,  so  long  delay  i 

Vainly  now  have  two  lamps  shone ; 
Sec  the  third  is  nearly  gone :  • 
O  that  Love  would,  like  the  raj 
Of  that  weary  lamp,  decay  ! 
But  no,  alas,  it  bums  still  on. 
Still,  stiU  bums  on. 

Gods,  how  oft  the  traitress  dear 
Swore,  by  Venus,  she'd  be  here  I 
But  to  one  so  false  as  she 
What  is  man  or  deity  ? 
Neither  doth  this  proud  on*  tutti  •• 
No,  neither  doth  she  ter. 


Ap.  Bat' IN 
•  hit  rpiT»t  mpx*^'  "^ 


rWIN'ST  THOtr  WITH  LOFTY  WREATH 
THY  BROW?' 

BY   PAUL,    THl.    8ILENTIART. 

PwiN  3T  thou  with  lofty  wreath  thy  brow  ? 

Sui  h  glory  then  thy  beauty  sheds, 
1  almost  think,  while  awed  I  bow, 

'Tis  Rhea's  self  before  me  treads. 
Be  what  thou  w'lt,  —  this  heart 
*  dores  whate'er  thou  art ! 

Dost  thou  thy  loosen'd  ringlets  leave. 
Like  sunny  waves  to  wander  free  ? 

Then,  such  a  chain  of  charms  they  weave, 
As  dra  ws  my  inmost  soul  from  me. 

Do  what  thou  wilt,  —  I  must 

Be  charm'd  by  all  thou  dost ! 

Ev'n  when,  enwrapped  in  silvery  veils,' 
Those  sunny  locks  elude  the  sight,  — 

O,  not  ev'n  then  their  glory  fails 
To  haunt  me  with  its  unseen  light. 

Change  as  thy  beauty  may. 
It  charms  in  every  way. 

For,  thee  the  Grace?  still  attend, 

Presiding  o'er  each  new  attire. 
And  lending  every  dart  they  send 

Some  new,  peculiar  touch  of  fire. 
Be  what  thou  wilt,  —  this  heart 
Adores  whate'er  thou  art ! 


WHEN  THE  SAD  WORD.' 

BY  PAUL,   THB   8ILENTIARY. 

U'hen  the  sad  word,  "  Adieu,"  from  my  lip  is 
nigh  falling. 

And  with  it,  Hope  passes  away, 
Ere  the  tongue  hath  half  breathed  it,  my  fond 
heart  recalling 

That  fatal  farewell,  bids  me  stay. 
For  O,  tis  a  penance  so  weary 

One  houi  from  thy  presence  to  be, 
that  death  to  this  soul  were  less  dreary, 

Less  dark  than  long  absence  from  thee. 

1    KexpvipaXot  c(j)iYyovat  reriv  Tpixa  ; 

Ap.  Brurck.  xzxiv. 

•  ApycvvaTs  o9ovri<Ti  Karrjopa  Poarpvxd  KSvBetg, 

•  Sa>{£0  cot  peXXtov  cvenctv. 

Ap.  Brunck.  xxxix. 
Bliari  yap  ato  ipcyyos  bixotiov.    aXXa  to  /jcv  nov 
k(f''oyyov. 


Thy  beauty,   like  Day,   o'er    the  dull  world 

breaking. 
Brings  life  to  the  heart  it  shines  o'er, 
And,  in  mine,  a  new  feeling  of  happiness  waking, 

Made  light  what  was  darkness  before. 
But  mute  is  the  Day's  sunny  glory. 

While  thine  hath  a  voice,*  on  whose  breath, 
More  sweet  than  the  Siren's  sweet  story,* 

My  hopes  hang,   through    life   and   througb 
death  \ 

MY   MOPSA   IS   LITTLE.' 

BY    PHIL0DEMU8. 

My  Mopsa  is  little,  my  Mopsa  is  brown, 
But  her  cheek  is  as  smooth  as  the  peach's  soft 
down; 
And,  for  blushing,  no  rose  can  come  near  her ; 
In  short,  she  has  woven  such  nets  round  m  j'  heart, 
That  I  ne'er  from   my  dear   little  Mopsa  can 
part,  — 
Unless  I  can  find  one  that's  dearer. 

Her  voice  hath  a  music  that  dwells  on  the  ear, 
And  her  eye  from  its  orb  gives  a  daylight  so 
clear, 
That  I'm  dazzled  whenever  I  meet  her ; 
Her  ringlets,  so  curly,  are  Cupid's  own  net. 
And  her  lips,  O  their  sweetness  I  ne'er  sha- 
forget  — 
Till  I  light  upon  lips  that  are  sweeter. 

But  'tis  not  her  beauty  that  charms  me  alone, 
'Tis  her  mind,  'tis  that  language  whose  eloquent 
tone 
From  the  depths  of  the  grave  could  revive  one : 
In  short,  here  I  swear,  that  if  death  were  her 

doom, 
I  would    instantly  join  my  dead   love   in   the 
tomb  — 
Unless  I  could  meet  with  a  live  one. 


STILL,   LIKE   DEW   IN    SILENCE   FALL 
ING7 

BY    MF.LEAOER. 

Still,  like  dew  in  silence  falling, 
Drops  for  thee  the  nightly  tear  ; 

*  Tv  J'  eiiot  Kat  to  XaXrj/ta  (pcptif 
Keivo,  TO  ^eiprivwv  yXvKVtpwTCpov. 

*  MtKKti  Kat  fieXavevaa  tiXivviov. 

Ap.  Bruw<  k  «. 
T   A(C(  liOi  Ivvet  iiev  cv  ovaaiv  nx"!  E/;&jroj. 

Ap.  Bruuck.  Kii 


UNPU  BUSHED   SONGS,  ETC. 


Still  that  voice  the  past  recalling, 
Dwells,  like  echo,  on  my  ear, 
Still,  still  1 

Day  and  night  the  spell  hangs  o'er  me. 

Here  forever  fix'd  thou  art; 
As  thy  form  first  shone  before  me. 

So  'tis  graven  on  this  heart, 
I>ecp,  deep ! 

Love,  O  Love,  whose  bitter  wreetnew, 
Dooms  me  t?  this  lasting  pain. 

Thou  who  cam'st  with  so  much  fleetneu, 
^hy  so  slow  to  go  again  i  * 
"SMiy  ?  why  i 


UP,   SAILOR  BOY,  'TIS  DAY. 

Up,  sailor  boy,  'tis  day  ! 

The  west  wind  blowing, 
The  spring  tide  flowing. 
Summon  thee  hence  away. 
Didst  thou  not  hear  yon  soaring  swallow  sing  ? 
Cfhirp,  chiip,  —  in  every  note  he  scem'd  to  say 
'Tis  Spring,  'tis  Spring. 
Up  boy,  away,  — 
"Who'd  stay  on  land  to-day  ? 
The  very  flowers 
Would  from  their  bowers 
Delight  to  wing  away  1 

«    11  irravot,  i»l  tat  nor'  efiTTaaOai  iter,  E/i<<>r((, 
OtJar',  av&irri)vai  6'  ovi  koow  i7XV(r(. 


Leave  languid  youths  to  pine 

On  silken  pillows ; 

But  be  the  billows 
Of  the  great  deep  thine. 
Hark,  to  the  sail  the  breete  sings,  **  Let  us  flj  t' 
While  soft  the  sail,  replying  to  the  breeat. 
Says,  with  a  yielding  sigh, 
••Yes,  where  you  please." 
Up,  boy !  the  wind,  the  ray, 

The  blue  sky  o'er  thee. 

The  deep  before  thee. 
All  cry  aloud,  "  Away  1  " 


IN  MYRTLE   WREATH!. 

BT    A.LCJBUS. 

Ix  myrtle  wreaths  my  Totiro  sword  Fll  eorar, 

Like  them  of  old  whoso  one  immortal  blow 
Struck  off  the  galling  fetters  that  hung  orer 

Their  own  bright  land,  and  laid  her  tyrant  low. 
Yes,  lov'd  Harmodius,  thou'rt  undying  ; 

Still  'midst  the  brave  and  free. 
In  isles,  o'er  ocean  lying. 

Thy  home  shall  ever  be. 

In  myrtle  leaves  my  sword  shall  hide  its  light* 
ning, 

like  his,  the  youth,  whose  cvcr-glorious  bUds 
Leap'd  forth  like  flame,  the  midnight  benqual 
bright'ning, 

And  in  the  dust  a  despot  victim  laid. 
Blest  youths,  how  bright  in  Freedom's  storv 

Your  wedded  names  shall  be ; 
A  tyrant's  death  your  glory, 

Your  meed,  a  nation  free  1 


UNPUBLISHED    SONGS,    ETC. 


ASK  NOT  IF  STILL  I  LOVE. 

Ask  not  if  still  I  love. 

Too  plain  these  eyes  have  told  thee ; 
Too  well  their  tears  must  prove 

How  near  and  dear  I  hold  thee. 
If,  where  the  brightest  shine. 
To  see  no  form  but  thine, 
lo  feel  that  earth  can  show 

No  bljas  above  thee,  — 


If  this  be  love,  then  know 
That  thus,  that  thus,  I  lore  thM. 

'Tis  not  in  pleasure's  idle  hour 

That  thou  canst  know  affection's  powm. 

No,  try  itt  strength  in  grief  or  pain  ( 

Attempt,  as  now,  its  bonds  to  i 
Thou'lt  find  true  love's  a  chain 

That  binds  forever  1 


DEAR?  YES. 

DiAB  ?  yes,  though  mine  no  more, 
Ev'n  this  but  makes  thee  dearer : 

And  love,  since  hope  is  o'er. 
But  draws  thee  nearer. 

C'-inge  as  thou  wilt  to  me, 
Ihe  same  thy  charm  must  be  ; 
New  loves  may  come  to  weave 

Their  witchery  o'er  thee, 
Yet  still,  though  false,  believe 

That  I  adore  thee,  yes,  still  adore  thee. 
Think'st  thou  that  aught  but  death  could  end 
A  tie  not  falsehood's  self  can  rend  ? 
No,  when  alone,  far  off  I  die. 

No  more  to  see,  no  more  caress  thee, 
Ev'n  then,  my  life's  last  sigh 

Shall  be  to  bless  thee,  yes,  still  to  bless  thee. 


UNBIND  THEE,  LOVE. 

Unbind  thee,  love,  unbind  thee,  love. 

From  those  dark  ties  unbind  thee  ; 
Though  fairest  hand  the  chain  hath  wove, 

Too  long  its  links  have  twined  thee. 
Away  from  earth  !  —  thy  wings  were  made 

In  yon  mid  sky  to  hover, 
Witl<  earth  beneath  their  dovehke  shade, 

And  heav'n  all  radiant  over. 

Awake  thee,  boy,  awake  thee,  boy, 

Too  long  thy  soul  is  sleeping  ; 
And  thou  mayst  from  this  minute's  joy 

Wake  to  eternal  weeping. 
O,  think,  this  world  is  not  for  thee ; 

Though  hard  its  links  to  sever  ; 
Though  sweet  and  bright  and  dear  they  be, 

Break,  or  thou'rt  lost  forever. 


THERE'S  SOMETHING  STRANGE. 
(A  Bdffo  Song.) 

Tbeke's  something  strange,  I  know  not  what, 

Come  o'er  me, 
Pome  phantom  I've  forever  got 

Before  me. 
I  look  on  high,  and  in  the  sky 

'Tis  shining ; 
On  earth,  its  light  with  all  things  bright 

Seems  twining. 


In  vain  I  try  this  goblin's  spells 

To  sever ; 
Go  where  I  will,  it  round  me  dwells 

Forever. 

And  then  what  tricks  by  day  and  night 

It  plays  me ; 
In  ev'ry  shape  the  wicked    prite 

Waylays  me. 
Sometimes  Uke  two  bright  ej'es  of  blue 

'Tis  glancing  ; 
,  Sometimes  like  feet,  in  slippers  neat, 

Comes  dancing. 
By  whispers  round  of  every  sort  > 

I'm  taunted. 
Never  was  mortal  man,  in  short, 

So  haunted. 


NOT  FROM  THEE. 

Not  from  thee  the  wound  should  come, 

No,  not  from  thee. 
I  care  not  what  or  whence  my  doom. 

So  not  from  thee  ! 
Cold  triumph  !  first  to  make 

This  heart  thy  own  ; 
And  then  the  mirror  break 

Where  fix'd  thou  shin'st  alone. 
Not  from  thee  the  wound  should  come^ 

O,  not  from  thee. 
I  care  not  what,  or  whence,  my  doom. 

So  not  from  thee. 

Yet  no  —  my  lips  that  wish  recall ; 

From  thee,  from  thee  — 
If  ruin  o'er  this  head  must  fall, 

'Twill  welcome  be. 
Here  to  the  blade  I  bare 

This  faithful  heart ; 
Wound  deep  —  thou'lt  find  that  there. 

In  every  pulse  thou  art. 
Yes  from  thee  I'll  bear  it  all , 

If  ruin  be 
The  doom  that  o'er  this  heart  must  &I1, 

'Twere  sweet  from  thee.  " 


GUESS,  GUESS. 

I  LOVE  a  maid,  a  mystic  maid, 

Whose  form  no  eyes  but  mine  can  see  | 
She  comes  in  light,  she  comes  in  shade, 

And  beautiful  in  both  is  she. 
Her  shape  in  dreams  I  oft  behold. 

And  oft  she  whispers  in  my  ear 


Wi  PUBLISHED  SONGS,  ETC 


tM 


Aucn  woras  as  when  to  others  told. 

Awake  ihe  sigu,  or  wring  the  tear ;  — 
rhen  guess,  guess,  who  she, 
(lie  lady  of  my  love,  may  bo. 

I  find  tb£  lustre  of  her  brow, 

Como  o'er  me  in  my  darkest  w^y* ; 
And  feel  as  it  her  voice,  ev'n  now, 

Were  echoing  far  off  my  lays. 
Diere  is  no  scene  of  joy  or  woe 

But  she  doth  gild  with  in&uence  bright ; 
^Jld  shed  o'er  all  so  rich  a  glow 

As  makes  ev'n  tears  seem  full  jf  light : 
'Tien  guess,  guess,  who  she, 
^e  lady  of  my  love,  may  be. 


WHEN  LOVE,  WHO  I^ViSt^. 
^HEN  Lore,  who  ruled  as  Admiral  o'en 

His  rosy  mother's  isles  of  light. 
Was  cruising  off  the  Paphian  shore, 

A  sail  at  sunset  hove  in  sight. 
■•  A  chase,  a  chase  !  my  Cupids  all," 
^did  Love,  the  little  AdmiraL 

Alott  the  winged  sailors  sprung, 
And,  swarming  up  the  mast  like  beeo, 

rhe  snow-white  sails  expanding  tiung. 
Like  broad  magnolias  to  the  breeze. 

"  Yo  ho,  yo  ho,  my  Cupids  all !  " 

Said  Love,  the  little  AdmiraL 

The  oLase  was  o'er  —  the  bark  was  caught. 
The  winged  crew  her  freight  explored  ; 

And  found  'twas  just  as  Lore  had  thought, 
For  all  was  contraband  aboard. 

«•  A  prize,  a  prize,  my  Cupids  all ! " 

Said  Love,  the  little  AdmiraL 

Safe  stow'd  in  many  a  package  there. 
And  labell'd  slyly  o'er,  as  "  Glass," 

Were  lots  of  all  th'  illegal  ware, 

I  ove's  Custom  House  forbids  to  past. 

"  O'erhaul,  o'crhaul,  my  Cupids  all  I " 

Said  Love,  the  little  AdmiraL 

False  curls  they  found,  of  every  hue. 
With  rosy  blushes  ready  made  ; 

And  teeth  of  ivorj',  good  as  new. 
For  veterans  in  the  smiling  trade. 

"  Ho  ho,  ho  ho,  my  Cupids  aU," 

Said  Love,  the  little  AdmiraL 

Hock  »igh8,  too,  —  kept  in  bags  for  use. 
Like  breezes  bought  of  Lapland  seers,  — 


i^y  ready  here  to  be  let  Ioom, 

When  wanted,  in  young  •piacMn' 
"  Ha  ha,  ha  ha,  my  Cupids  alL" 
Said  Love,  the  little  AdmiraL 


False  papers  next  on  board  were  fooad. 
Sham  invoices  of  flames  and  darts. 

Professedly  for  Paphos  bound, 
But  meant  for  Hymen's  golden  marU. 

"  For  shame,  for  shame,  my  Cupid*  all  I " 

Said  Love,  the  little  AdmiraL 

Nay,  still  to  every  fraud  awake, 

Those  pirates  all  Love's  signals  ka^Wt 

And  hoisted  oft  his  flag,  to  make 
Kich  wards  and  heiresses  bring'to.* 

••A  foe,  a  foe,  my  Cupids  all  I  " 

Said  Love,  the  little  AdmiraL 

'*  This  must  not  be,"  the  boy  exclaima, 
"  Li  vain  I  rule  the  Paphian  seas, 

- '  If  Love's  and  Beauty's  sovereign  namM 
"  Are  lent  to  cover  frauds  like  these. 

"  Prepare,  prepare,  my  Cupids  all  I  * 

Said  Love,  the  little  AdmiraL 

Each  Cupid  stood  with  lighted  matcu  — 
A  broadside  struck  the  smuggling  iba. 

And  swept  the  whole  unhallow'd  batok 
Of  Falsehood  to  the  depths  below 

*'  Huzza,  huzza !  my  Cupids  all  I 

Said  Love,  the  little  Admiral. 


STILL  THOU  FUEST. 
Still  thou  fliest,  and  still  I  woo  thee^ 

Lovely  phantom,  —  all  in  vain ; 
Restless  ever,  my  thoughts  pursue  thee, 

Fleeting  ever,  thou  mock'st  their  pain. 
Such  doom,  of  r  Id,  that  youth  bctidcd. 

Who  wooed,  he  thought,  some  angel's  chamu 
But  found  a  cloud  that  from  him  glided,  — 

As  thou  dost  from  these  outstretched  i 


Scarce  I've  said,  **  How  fair  thou  shinestf'* 

Ere  thy  light  hath  vauish'd  by ; 
And  'tis  when  thou  look's!  divineat 

Thou  art  still  most  sure  to  fly. 
Ev'n  as  the  lightning,  that,  dividing 

The  clouds  of  night,  saith,  -  Look  on  me,* 
Then  flits  again,  its  splendor  hiding,  — 

Ev'n  such  the  glimpse  I  catch  of  tbM. 

I  <•  To  BsiHo-To,  IB  cback  Ik*  eauH  tt  a  iMf  "  -  Ai 


S60 


UNPUBLISHED   SONGS,   ETC. 


THEN  FIRST  FROM  LOVE. 

Then  first  from  Love,  in  Nature's  bow'rs, 

Did  Painting  learn  her  fairy  skill, 
Ind  cull  the  hues  of  loveliest  flow'rs, 

To  picture  woman  lovelier  stilL 
F'ir  vain  was  ev'ry  radiant  hue. 

Till  Passion  lent  a  soul  to  art, 
ILnd  taught  the  painter,  ere  he  drew,     . 

To  fix  the  model  in  his  heart. 

Thus  smooth  his  toil  a  while  went  on. 

Till,  lo,  one  touch  his  art  defies  ; 
The  brow,  the  lip,  the  blushes  shone. 

But  who  could  dare  to  paint  those  eyes  ? 
Twas  all  in  vain  the  painter  strove ; 

So  turning  to  that  boy  divine, 
••  Here  take,"  he  said,  "  the  pencil.  Love, 

"  No  hand  shoiild  paint  such  eyes,  but  thine." 


HUSH,  SWEET  LUTE. 

Hush,  sweet  Lute,  thy  songs  remind  me 

Of  past  joys,  now  turn'd  to  pain  ; 
Of  ties  that  long  have  ceased  to  bind  me, 

But  whose  burning  marks  remain. 
In  each  tone,  some  echo  fallcth 

On  my  ear  of  joys  gone  by ; 
Ev'ry  note  some  dream  rccalleth 

Of  bright  hopes  but  born  to  die. 

Yet,  sweet  Lute,  though  pain  it  bring  me, 

Once  more  let  thy  numbers  thrill ; 
Though  death  were  in  the  strain  they  sing  me, 

I  must  woo  its  anguish  still. 
Since  no  time  can  e'er  recover 

Love's  sweet  light  when  once  'tis  set,  — 
Better  to  weep  such  pleasures  over, 

Than  smile  o'er  any  left  us  yet. 


BRIGHT  MOON. 

BaiQHT  moon,  that  high  In  heav'n  art  shining, 

All  smiles,  as  if  within  thy  bower  to-night 
Thy  own  Endymion  lay  reclining. 

And  thou  wouldst  wake  him  with  a  kiss  of 
Ught ! — 
By  all  the  bliss  thy  beam  discovers. 

By  all  those  visions  far  too  bright  for  day, 
•Vluch  dreaming  bards  and  w  Aking  lovers 

Behold,  this  night,  beneath  thy  ling'ring  ray,  — 


I  pray  thee,  queen  of  that  bright  heaven. 

Quench  hot  to-night  thy  love  lamp  in  the  sesi 
Till  Anthe,  in  this  bower,  hath  given 

Beneath  thy  beam,  her  long-vow'd  kiss  to  me. 
Guide  hither,  guide  her  steps  benighted. 

Ere  thou,  sweet  moon,  thy  bashful  ciesceol 
hide ; 
Let  Love  but  in  this  bow'r  be  lighted. 

Then  shroud  in  darkness  all  the  world  jesida 


LONG  YEARS  HAVE  PASS'D. 

Long  years  have  pass'd,  old  friend,  since  we 

First  met  ii^  life's  young  day ; 
And  friends  long  loved  by  thee  and  me, 

Since  then  have  dropp'd  away  ;  — 
But  enough  remain  to  cheer  us  on. 

And  sweeten,  when  thus  we're  met, 
The  glass  we  fill  to  the  many  gone. 

And  the  few  who're  left  us  yet. 

Our  locks,  old  friend,  now  thinly  grow. 

And  some  hang  white  and  chill ; 
While  some,  like  flow'rs  'mid  Autumn's  snow 

Retain  youth's  color  stUl. 
And  so,  in  our  hearts,  though  one  by  one, 

Youth's  sunny  hopes  have  set, 
Thank  heav'n,  not  all  their  light  is  gone  — 

We've  some  to  cheer  us  yet. 

Then  here's  to  thee,  old  friend,  and  long 

May  thou  and  I  thus  meet, 
To  brighten  still  with  wine  and  song 

This  short  life,  ere  it  fleet. 
And  still  as  death  comes  stealing  on. 

Let's  never,  old  friend,  forget, 
Ev'n  while  we  sigh  o'er  blessings  gone. 

How  many  are  left  us  yet. 


DREAMING  FOREVER. 

DREAiima  forever,  vainly  dreaming, 

Life  to  the  last  pursues  its  flight ; 
Day  hath  its  visions  fairly  beaming. 

But  false  as  those  of  night. 
The  one  illusion,  the  other  real. 

But  both  the  same  brief  dreamo  at  last  s 
And  when  we  grasp  the  bliss  ideal. 

Soon  as  it  shines,  'tis  past. 

Hete,  then,  by  this  dim  lake  reposing. 
Calmly  I'll  watch,  while  hght  and  gloan 


Flit  o'er  its  face  till  night  is  closing  — 

Emblem  of  life's  short  doom  ! 
But  though,  by  turns,  thus  dark  and  shining, 

'Tis  still  unlike  man's  changeful  day, 
VNTiose  light  returns  not,  once  declining, 

Whose  cloud,  one©  come,  will  stay. 


THOUGH  LIGHTLY  SOUNDS  THE  SONG 
I  SING. 

A  SONO  op  TBB  AXFS. 

Thocoh  lightly  sounds  the  song  I  sing  to  theo. 
Though  like  the  lark's  its  soaring  music  be, 
Thou'lt  find  ov'n  here  some  mournful  note  that 

tells 
How  near  such  April  joy  to  weeping  dwells. 
Tis  'mong  the  gayest  scenes  that  oft'nest  steal 
Those  saddening  thoughts  we  fear,  yet  love  to 

feel ; 
And  music  never  naif  so  sweet  appears. 
As  when  her  mirth  forgets  itself  in  tears. 

Then  say  not  thou  this  Alpine  song  is  gay  — 
It  comes  from  hearts  that,  like  their  mountain 

lay. 
Mix  joy  with  pain,  and  oft  when  pleasure's  breath 
Most  warms  the  surface,  feel  most  sad  beneath. 
The  very  beam  in  which  the    snow  wreath 

wears 
fts  gayest  smile  is  that  which  wins  ita  tears,  — 


And  passion's  pow'r  can  never  lend  the  glow 
Which  wakens  bliss,  without  ttuat  touch  »C  ww 


THE  RUSSIAN  LOVER. 

Plbbtit  o'er  the  moonlight  snow* 

Speed  we  to  my  lady's  bow'r ; 
Swift  our  sledge  aa  lightning  goes. 

Nor  shall  stop  till  morning's  hour. 
Bright,  my  steed,  the  northern  star 

Lights  us  from  yon  jewell'd  skiea ; 
But,  to  greet  us,  brighter  far, 

Mom  shall  bring  my  lady's  erea. 

Lovers,  luU'd  in  sruiny  bow'rs, 

Sleeping  out  their  dream  of  timc^ 
Know  not  half  the  bliss  that's  oui» 

In  this  snowy,  icy  clime. 
Like  yon  star  that  livelier  gleanu 

From  the  frosty  heavens  arouud. 
Love  himself  the  keener  beams 

When  with  snows  of  coyness  erown'l. 

Fleet  then  on,  my  merry  steed, 

Bound,  my  sledge,  o'er  hill  and  dal« ;  — 
What  can  match  a  lover's  sj>oed  i 

See,  'tis  daylight,  breaking  pale  i 
Brightly  hath  the  northern  star 

Lit  us  from  yon  radiant  skies  i 
But,  behold,  how  brighter  far 

Yonder  shine  my  lady's  eyes  I 


LA.LI  i.    ROOKH. 


PREFACE 

TO  THE  SIXTH  VOLUME. 

Fbk  Poem,  or  Romance,  of  Lalla  Rookii, 
laving  now  reached,  I  understand,  its  twentieth 
edition,  a  short  account  of  the  origin  and  prog- 
ress of  a  work  which  has  been  hitherto  so  very 
fortunate  in  its  course,  may  not  be  deemed,  per- 
haps, superfluous  or  misplaced. 

It  was  about  the  year  1812  that,  far  more 

through  the  encouraging  suggestions  of  friends 

than  from  any  confident  promptings  of  my  oWm 

«  ibitlon,  I  09  iceivcd  the  design  of  writing  a 

4S 


Poem  upon  some  Oriental  subject,  and  of  thorn 
quarto  dimensions  which  Scott's  successful  puh 
lications  in  that  form  had  then  rendered  the 
regular  poetical  standard.  A  negotiation  oa 
the  subject  was  opened  with  the  MeMim.  Long- 
man, in  tlie  same  year ;  but,  from  some  causes 
which  I  cannot  now  r  jcollert,  led  to  no  decisive 
result ;  nor  was  it  till  a  year  or  (wo  after,  that 
any  furtlicr  steps  were  taken  itk  the  matter,  — 
their  house  being  the  only  one,  it  is  rigl  t  to 
add,  with  which,  from  first  to  last,  I  hrU  anf 
communication  upon  tho  subject. 

On    this    last  occasion,    Mr.    Perry    kindlf 
offered   himself  as   my   reprcsentativs  in  tha 


262 


LALLA  EOOKH. 


treaty  ;  and,  what  mth  the  friendly  zeal  of  my 
negotiator  on  the  one  side,  and  the  prompt 
iind  liberal  spirit  with  wliich  he  was  met  on 
the  other,  there  has  seldom,  I  think,  occurred 
any  transaction  in  which  Trade  and  Poesy  have 
Bhone  out  so  advantageously  in  each  other's 
eyes.  The  short  discussion  that  then  took  place, 
between  the  two  parties,  may  be  comprised  in  a 
very  few  sentences.  "  I  am  of  opinion,"  said 
Mr.  Terry,  —  enforcing  his  view  of  the  case  by 
arguments  which  it  is  not  for  me  to  cite,  — 
"  that  Mr.  Moore  ought  to  receive  for  his 
Poem  the  largest  price  that  has  been  given,  in 
our  day,  for  such  a  work."  '♦  That  was,"  an- 
swered the  Messrs.  Longman,  "  three  thousand 
guineas."  "Exactly  so,"  replied  Mr.  Perry, 
"  And  no  less  a  sura  ought  ho  to  receive." 

It  was  then  objected,  and  very  reasonably, 
on  the  part  of  the  firm,  that  they  had  never 
yet  seen  a  single  line  of  the  Poem  ;  and  that  a 
perusal  of  the  work  ought  to  be  allowed  to 
them,  before  they  embarked  so  large  a  sura  in 
the  jjurchase.  But,  no  ;  —  the  romantic  view 
which  ray  friend.  Perry,  took  of  the  matter, 
was,  that  this  price  should  be  given  as  a  tribute 
to  reputation  already  acquired,  without  any 
condition  for  a  previous  perusal  of  the  new 
work.  This  high  tone,  I  must  confess,  not 
a  little  startled  and  alarmed  me ;  but,  to  the 
honor  and  glory  of  Romance,  —  as  well  on 
the  publishers'  side  as  the  poet's,  —  this  very 
generous  view  of  the  transaction  was,  without 
any  difficulty,  acceded  to,  and  the  firm  agreed, 
before  we  separated,  that  I  was  to  receive  three 
thousand  guineas  for  my  Poem. 

At  the  time  of  this  agreement,  but  little 
of  the  work,  as  it  stands  at  present,  had  yet 
been  written.  But  the  ready  confidence  in 
my  success  shown  by  others,  made  up  for 
the  deficiency  of  that  requisite  feeling,  within 
myself;  while  a  strong  desire  not  wholly  to 
disappoint  this  "  auguring  hope,"  became  al- 
most a  substitute  for  inspiration.  In  the 
year  1815,  therefore,  having  made  some  prog- 
ress in  my  task,  I  wrote  to  report  the  state 
of  tl.e  work  to  the  Messrs.  Longman,  adding, 
tuat  I  vas  now  most  willing  and  ready,  should 
they  desire  it,  to  submit  the  manuscript  for 
tl  pir  consideration.  Their  answer  to  this  offer 
was  as  follows  :  —  "  We  are  certainly  impatient 
for  the  perusal  of  the  Poem  ;  but  solely  for  our 
gratification.  Your  sentiments  are  always  hon- 
orable." ' 

1  Aoril  10. 1815. 


I  continued  to  pursue  my  task  for  anothci 
year,  being  likewise  occasionally  occupied  with 
the  Irish  Melodies,  two  or  three  numbers  cf 
which  made  their  appearance,  during  the  period 
employed  in  writing  Lalla  Ilookh.  At  length, 
in  the  year  1816,  I  found  my  work  sufficientlj 
advanced  to  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  pub- 
lishers. But  the  state  of  distress  to  which 
England  was  reduced,  in  that  dismal  year,  by 
the  exhausting  effects  of  the  series  of  wara 
she  had  just  then  concluded,  and  the  gemral 
embarrassment  of  all  classes  both  agricultural 
and  commercial,  rendered  it  a  juncture  tl.e 
least  favorable  that  could  well  be  conceived 
for  the  first  launch  into  print  of  so  light  and 
costly  a  venture  as  Lalla  Rookh.  Feeling  con- 
scious, therefore,  that,  under  such  circum- 
stances, I  should  act  but  honestly  in  putting  it 
in  the  power  of  the  Messrs.  Longman  to  rccon- 
sider  the  terms  of  their  engagement  with  rae,  — 
leaving  them  free  to  postpone,  modify,  or  even, 
should  such  be  their  wish,  relinquish  it  alto- 
gether, I  wrote  them  a  letter  to  that  efflect,  and 
received  the  following  answer  :  —  "  We  shall 
be  most  happy  in  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  in 
February.  We  agree  with  you,  indeed,  that 
the  times  are  most  inauspicious  for  *  poetry  and 
thousands ;  '  but  we  believe  that  your  poetry 
would  do  more  than  that  of  any  other  living 
poet  at  the  present  moment."  * 

The  length  of  time  I  employed  in  writing  the 
few  stories  strung  together  in  Lalla  Rookh  will 
appear,  to  some  persons,  much  more  than  was 
necessary  for  the  production  of  such  easy  and 
"  light  o'  love "  fictions.  But,  besides  that  I 
have  been,  at  all  times,  a  far  more  slow  and 
painstaking  workman  than  would  ever  be 
guessed,  I  fear,  from  the  result,  I  felt  that,  in 
this  instance,  I  had  taken  upon  myself  a  more 
than  ordinary  responsibility,  from  the  immense 
stake  risked  by  others  on  my  chance  of  success. 
For  a  long  time,  therefore,  after  the  agrecmen* 
had  been  concluded,  though  generally  at  Avork 
with  a  view  to  this  task,  I  made  but  very  little 
real  progress  in  it ;  and  I  have  still  by  me  the 
beginnings  of  several  stories,  continued,  some 
of  them,  to  the  length  of  three  or  four  hun- 
dred lines,  which,  after  in  vain  endeavoring  to 
mould  them  into  shape,  I  threw  aside,  like  the 
tale  of  Cambuscan,  "  left  half  told."  One  of 
these  stories,  entitled  the  Peri's  Daughter, 
was  meant  to  rehite  the  loves  of  a  nympL  of 
this  aerial  extraction  with  a  youth  of  morta' 

»  Noi  ember  9.  '616. 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


Ml 


race,  '.he  rightful  Prince  of  Ormuz,  who  had 
been,  from  his  infancy,  brought  up,  in  seclusion, 
on  the  banks  of  the  River  Araou,  by  an  aged 
guardian  named  Mohassan.  The  story  opens 
with  the  first  meeting  of  those  destined  lorers, 
then  in  their  childhood ;  the  Peri  having 
waftod  her  daughter  to  this  holy  retreat,  in  a 
bright,  enchanted  boat,  whose  first  appearance 
Is  thu'i  described  :  — 


Pur,  down  the  tilverjr  tide  aAr, 
Tlifire  cauie  a  boat,  an  swift  and  bright 
*     An  liliiiiei*,  ill  lieav'n,  M>iiie  iiilcrim  star. 
That  leaves  iM  uwii  liigli  liuiiie,  nt  night, 
I'd  sliiHit  III  distant  shniies  of  light 
"  It  couie«,  it  comes,"  young  Orian  erica. 
And  panting  to  MoliaKsan  flies. 
Then,  down  upon  the  flowery  graw 
Reclines  to  see  the  vision  paan; 
With  partly  joy  and  partly  fear, 
To  find  \U  wondrous  light  so  near, 
And  hiding  oft  his  dazzled  eyea 
Among  the  flowers  on  which  be  lies. 
•  •  •  •  • 

Williin  tlie  boat  a  baby  slept, 
Like  a  young  pearl  within  its  shell ; 

While  one,  who  seem'd  of  riper  yMin, 

Rut  not  of  eartli,  or  earth-like  sphere*, 
Her  watch  beside  the  slumbcrer  kepC ; 
Grarefully  waving,  in  her  hand. 

The  feathers  of  some  holy  bird, 

With  which,  from  lime  to  time,  she  stirrM 
The  fraprant  air,  and  coolly  fann'd 
The  baby's  brow,  or  brush'd  away 

The  butterflies  that,  bright  and  blua 
As  on  the  mountains  of  Malay, 

Around  the  sleeping  infant  flew. 
And  now  the  fairy  boat  halh  stopp'd 
ISeside  the  bank,  — the  nymph  has  dropp'd 
Her  golden  anchor  in  the  stream  ; 


A  song  is  sung  by  the  Peri  in  approaching, 
if  which  the  following  forms  a  pari; :  — 

My  child  she  is  but  half  divine. 
Her  fatlier  sleejie  in  tJie  Caspian  water; 
Seaweeds  twine 
His  funeral  shrine. 
But  he  lives  agnin  in  the  Peri's  daughter. 
Fain  wmild  I  fly  from  mortal  sight 

To  my  own  sweet  bowers  of  Peristan ; 
But,  there,  the  flowers  are  all  ton  bright 

For  the  eyes  of  a  baby  bom  of  man. 
On  flowers  of  earth  her  feet  must  tread  ; 
So  liither  my  light-wing'd  bark  hath  brou(bt  iiar; 
Stranger,  spread 
Thy  leafiest  bed. 
To  raat  the  wandering  Peri*a  daughter. 

In  another  of  these  inchoate  fragments,  a 
proud  female  saint,  named  Banou,  plays  a  prin- 
cipal part ;  and  her  progress  through  the  streets 


of  Cufa,  on  the  night  of  a  great  UanJaata^ 
festival,  I  find  thus  described  . 

It  was  a  seen*  otmdtik  ikM  4lMr 
A  smile  fixwi  sr*M  iha  Bajai  Bums, 
As,  Uiiougb  tlw  hMkM,  stelriiV  ttm^, 
8ha  waat  with  mauHf  as^  aloac 
And  counted  o'er.  Hut  all  misfi*  ra» 
The  rubies  of  tier  nwary. 
But  none  might  s««  tlte  worldly  ami's 
Tliat  lurk'd  beiteaih  Iter  veil,  tba  wliila:«> 
Alia  iiirbid  !  lur,  wlto  wuuld  wait 
Her  blessing  at  tlte  temple's  gate,— 
What  holy  man  wouh)  ever  run 
To  kiss  the  grouDd  aha  kaalt  npoa, 
If  once,  by  lucklass  cliaaca,  ha  kaaw 
Bite  luok'd  and  saii'd  as  Uhsft  do. 
Her  hands  were  Join'd,  and  from  each  wital 
By  tlirends  of  pearl  and  goldan  twist 
Hung  relics  of  tlie  saints  of  jrora, 
And  scraps  of  lalismanic  lura,  — 
Cliamis  for  the  old,  tJie  sick,  tlte  frail, 
borne  made  for  use,  and  all  U>t  sal* 
On  either  Kide,  the  crowd  wiilidrew, 
To  let  the  Sniiit  (lass  proudly  thmugb . 
While  lurtun'd  heads,  of  every  liua. 
Green,  white,  and  crimson,  bow'd  aiaoad. 
And  gay  tiaras  touch'd  the  gruund,  — 
As  tulip  belUi,  wbea  oV  Ihair  bad* 
The  musk  wind  pasaaa,  band  tliair  beadc 
Nay,  some  there  were,  among  the  crowd 
Of  Moslem  heads  that  round  her  bow'd, 
80  flll'd  with  zeal,  by  many  •  diaH^ 
Of  Shiraz  wine  pmfaaaljr  qoalPd, 
That,  sinking  low  io  r«v*re«e*  than. 
They  never  n»«  till  mom  again. 

There  are  yet  two  more  of  these  unfinisheo 
sketches,  one  of  which  extends  to  a  inucb 
greater  length  than  I  was  aware  of ;  and,  as  fja 
as  I  can  judge  from  a  hasty  renewal  of  my 
acquaintance  with  it,  is  not  incapable  of  being 
yet  turned  to  accoimt. 

In  only  one  of  these  unfinished  sketches,  the 
talc  of  ITxe  Peri's  Daughter,  had  I  yet  vcntun'd 
to  invoke  that  most  homefelt  of  all  my  inspira- 
tions, which  has  lent  to  the  story  of  The  Fin 
Worshippers  its  main  attraction  and  interest. 
That  it  was  my  intention,  in  the  concealed 
Prince  of  Ormtix,  to  shadow  out  some  imi»«r* 
sonation  of  this  feeling,  I  take  for  granted  ftoa 
the  prophetic  words  supposed  to  be  addrwMd 
to  him  by  his  aged  guardian :  — 

Bright  child  of  dasUny  t  araa  mem 
I  read  tba  piwni**  on  that  blow, 
That  tyranu  shall  no  mton  daOla 
Tba  gloria*  oftha  Giwa  8*a  iaK 
But  Ormuz  shall  agaia  b*  fr*a, 
And  baU  bar  nativa  Lusi  is  dMsi 

In  none  of  the  other  fragments  do  I  An  1  aay 
trace  of  this  sort  of  feeling,  either  in  the  m^ 


IM 


LAXLA  ROOKH. 


jeet  or  the  personages  of  the  intended  story ; 
and  this  was  the  reason,  doubtless,  though 
hardly  known,  at  the  time,  to  myself,  that,  find- 
ing my  subjects  so  slow  in  kindling  my  own 
sympathies,  I  began  to  despair  of  their  ever 
touching  the  hearts  of  others ;  and  felt  often 
mclined  to  say, 

"  O  no,  I  have  no  voice  or  hand 
for  such  a  song,  in  such  a  land." 

Had  this  series  of  disheartening  experiments 
been  carried  on  much  further,  I  must  have 
thrown  aside  the  work  in  despair.  But,  at  last, 
fortunately,  as  it  proved,  the  thought  occurred 
to  me  of  founding  a  story  on  the  fierce  struggle 
80  long  maintained  between  the  Ghebers,'  or 
ancient  Fire  Worshippers  of  Persia,  and  their 
haughty  Moslem  masters.  From  that  moment, 
a  new  and  deep  interest  in  my  whole  task  took 
possession  of  me.  The  cause  of  tolerance  was 
again  my  inspiring  theme ;  and  the  spirit  that 
had  spoken  in  the  melodies  of  Ireland  soon 
found  itself  at  home  in  the  East. 

Having  thus  laid  open  the  secrets  of  the 
workshop  to  account  for  the  time  expended  in 
writing  this  work,  I  must  also,  in  justice  to  my 
own  industry,  notice  the  pains  I  took  in  long 
and  laboriously  reading  for  it.  To  form  a  store- 
house, as  it  were,  of  illustration  purely  Oriental, 
and  so  familiarize  myself  with  its  various  treas- 
ures, that,  as  quick  as  Fancy  required  the  aid 
of  fact,  in  her  spiritings,  the  memory  was  ready, 
like  another  Ariel,  at  her  "  strong  bidding,"  to 
furnish  materials  for  the  spell-work,  —  such 
was,  for  a  long  while,  the  sole  object  of  my 
studies  ;  and  whatever  time  and  trouble  this 
preparatory  process  may  have  cost  me,  the  ef- 
fects resulting  from  it,  as  far  as  the  humble 
merit  of  truthfulness  is  concerned,  have  been 
such  as  to  repay  me  more  than  sufficiently  for 
my  pains.  I  have  not  forgotten  how  great  was 
my  pleasure,  when  told  by  the  late  Sir  James 
Mackintosh,  that  he  was  once  asked  by  Colonel 
\V s,  the  historian  of  British  India,  "  wheth- 
er it  was  true  that  Moore  had  never  been  in 
the  East  ?  "      "  Never,"  answered  Mackintosh. 

"  Well,  that  shows  me,"  replied  Colonel  W s, 

"that  reading  over  D'Herbelot  is  as  good  as 
riding  on  the  back  of  a  camel." 

1  need  hardly  subjoin  to  this  lively  speech, 


1  Voltaire,  in  his  tragedy  of"  Les  Gufebres,"  written  with 
a  nimilar  undercurrent  of  meaning,  was  accused  of  having 
transformed  his  Fire  Worsliippers  into  Jansenists :  —  "  duel- 
)uw  figuristes,"  he  says,  "  pretendent  que  les  Gu^bies  sent 
I     Jansonistes.'' 


that  although  D'Herbelot's  valuable  work  wtJ^ 
of  course,  one  of  my  manuals,  I  took  the  whoie 
range  of  all  such  Oriental  reading  as  was  ac- 
cessible to  me  ;  and  became,  for  the  time,  indeedj 
far  more  conversant  with  all  relating  to  that 
distant  region,  than  I  have  ever  been  with  the 
scenery,  productions,  or  modes  of  life  of  any  of 
those  countries  lying  most  within  my  reach. 
We  know  that  D'Anville,  though  nevei  in  hi* 
life  out  of  Paris,  was  able  to  correct  a  number 
of  errors  in  a  plan  of  the  Troad  taken  by  Do 
Choiseul,  on  the  spot ;  and,  for  my  own  very 
different,  as  well  as  far  inferior,  purposes,  the 
knowledge  I  had  thus  acquired  of  distant  local- 
ities, seen  only  by  me  in  my  daydreams,  was 
no  less  ready  and  useful. 

An  ample  reward  for  all  this  painstaking  has 
been  found  in  such  welcome  tributes  as  I  have 
just  now  cited  ;  nor  can  I  deny  myself  the  grat- 
ification of  citing  a  few  more  of  the  same  de- 
scription. From  another  distinguished  author- 
ity on  Eastern  subjects,  the  late  Sir  John  Mal- 
colm, I  had  myself  the  pleasure  of  hearing  a 
similar  opinion  publicly  expressed  ;  —  that  emi- 
nent person,  in  a  speech  spoken  by  him  at  a 
Literary  Fund  Dinner,  having  remarked,  that 
together  with  those  qualities  of  the  poet  which 
he  much  too  partially  assigned  to  me  was  con^- 
bined  also  •'  the  truth  of  the  historian." 

Sir  William  Ouseley,  another  high  authority, 
in  giving  his  testimony  to  the  same  effect,  thus 
notices  an  exception  to  the  general  accuracy  for 
which  he  gives  me  credit :  —  '•  Dazzled  by  the 
beauties  of  this  composition,'  few  readers  can 
perceive,  and  none  surely  can  regret,  that  the 
poet,  in  his  magnificent  catastrophe,  has  for- 
gotten, or  boldly  and  most  happily  violated, 
the  precept  of  Zoroaster,  above  noticed,  which 
held  it  impious  to  consume  any  portion  of  a 
human  body  by  fire,  especially  by  that  which 
glowed  upon  their  altars."  Having  long  lost,  I 
fear,  most  of  my  Eastern  learning,  I  can  only 
cite,  in  defence  of  my  catastrophe,  an  old 
Oriental  tradition,  which  relates,  that  Nimr  >d, 
when  Abraham  refused,  at  his  command,  to 
worship  the  fire,  ordered  him  to  be  thrown 
into  the  midst  of  the  flames.'  A  precedent  so 
ancient  for  this  sort  of  use  of  the  worshipped 
element,  would  appear,  for  all  purposes  at  least 
of  poetry,  fully  sufficient. 


«  The  Fire  Worshippers. 

s  Traduiit  autem  liebrsi  banc  fabiilam  quod  Abraham  1| 
Ignem  missus  sit  quia  ignem  ad'irare  uoluit.—  St  Hikb«« 
in  qiuBsL  in-  Oenuim, 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


Ml 


In  additiou  to  these  agreeable  testimonies,  I 
nave  also  heard,  and,  need  hardly  add,  with 
•ome  pride  and  pleasure,  that  parts  of  this  work 
have  been  rendered  into  Persian,  and  have 
found  their  way  to  Ispahan.  To  this  fact,  as  I 
am  willing  to  think  it,  allusion  is  made  in  some 
lively  verses,  written  many  years  since,  by  my 
'riend  Mr.  Luttrell :  — 

"  I'm  told,  dear  Moore,  your  lay*  are  lung, 
(Con  it  be  true,  you  lucky  man  I) 
By  moonlight,  in  the  Persian  tongue. 
Along  the  streets  or  Iipahan." 

That  some  knowledge  of  the  work  may  have 
really  reached  thet  reriop,  appears  not  improba- 
ble from  a  passegp  ir  the  Travels  of  Mr.  Frazcr, 
who  says,  that  "  being  delayed  for  some  time  at 
K  town  on  the  shores  of  the  Caspian,  he  was 
lucky  piongh  to  be  able  to  amuse  himself  with 
a  copy  of  Lalla  Kookh,  which  a  Persian  had 
lent  him." 

Of  the  description  of  Balbcc,  in  ••  Paradise 
and  the  Peri,"  Mr.  Came,  in  his  Letters  from 
the  East,  thus  speaks :  •«  The  description  in 
Lalla  Kookh  of  the  plain  and  its  ruins  is  ex- 
quisitely faithful.  The  minaret  is  on  the  de- 
clivity near  at  hand,  and  there  wanted  only  the 
muezzin's  cry  to  break  the  silence." 

I  shall  now  tax  my  readers'  patience  with  but 
one  inore  of  these  generous  vouchers.  What- 
ever of  vanity  there  may  be  in  citing  such 
tributes,  they  show,  at  least,  of  what  great 
value,  even  in  poetry,  is  that  prosaic  quality,  in- 
dustrj' ;  since,  as  the  reader  of  the  foregoing 
pages  is  now  fully  apprised,  it  was  in  a  slow 
and  laborious  collection  of  small  facts,  that  the 
first  foundations  of  this  fanciful  Romance  were 
laid. 

The  friendly  testimony  I  have  just  referred 
to,  appeared,  some  years  since,  in  the  form  in 
which  I  now  give  it,  and,  if  I  recollect  right,  in 
the  Athenaeum :  — 

"  I  embrace  this  opportunity  of  bearing  my 
Indindual  testihiony  (if  it  be  of  any  value)  to 
the  extraordinary  accuracy  of  Mr.  Moore,  in 
his  topographical,  antiquarian,  and  characteris- 
tic devils,  whether  of  costume,  manners,  or 
less  changing  monuments,  both  in  his  Lalla 
Rookh  and  in  the  Epicurean.  It  has  been  my 
fortune  to  read  his  Atlantic,  Bermudean,  and 
American  Odes  and  Epistles,  in  the  countries 
and  among  the  people  to  which  and  to  whom 

*  Lalla  RoOki,  Diverti>wmenl  mCU  d*  Chaiiti  at  d« 
PanMs,  Berlin,  1333.   The  worlr  eoniaiiia  a  aeriaa  of  ookn4 


they  related;  I  enjoyed  also  tne  ezqulsiti 
delight  of  reading  hi»  Lalla  Rookh,  in  PenU 
itself :  and  I  have  perused  the  Epicurean,  while 
all  my  recollections  of  Egypt  and  its  ttill  exist* 
ing  wonders  are  as  fresh  as  when  I  quittsd  tha 
banks  of  the  Nile  for  Arabia  :  —  I  owe  it,  thet«- 
fore,  as  a  debt  of  gratitude  (though  the  payment 
is  most  inadequate),  for  the  great  pleaaurv  I 
have  derived  from  his  productions,  to  bear  mv 
humble  testimony  to  their  local  fidelity. 

-  J.  8.  B." 

Among  the  incidents  connected  with  thia 
work,  I  must  not  omit  to  notice  the  splendid 
Divertissement,  founded  upon  it,  which  was 
acted  at  the  ChAteau  Royal  of  Berlin,  during 
the  visit  of  the  Grand  Diiko  Nicholas  to  that 
capital,  in  the  year  1822.  The  different  stories 
composing  the  work  were  represented  in  Ta- 
bleaux Vivans  and  songs ;  and  among  tha 
crowd  of  royal  and  noble  personages  engaged 
in  the  performances,  I  shall  mention  tboae  only 
who  represented  the  principal  characters,  and 
whom  I  find  thus  enumerated  in  the  published 
account  of  the  Divertissement.' 


\         it  C0urj. 
8.A.I.L1  Ormmd  Dmt. 
S.A.I.  U  Ormmdt  DmO- 


•<  FadladiD,  Grand  Nasir, 
Aliris,  Roi  de  Bucbarie 

Lalla  Roftkh  .  

ia,Jl.lL  Is  PHuet  (hut. 
Auningzeb,  la  Grand  Mofot      |     ^,^  ^^  j^  ^^ 

\  S.  A.  R.  U  Dut  4*  Cum- 
Abdallah,  P*re  d'Allria       .     j     ^^,1,^4^ 

\S.  A.    R.   U    Priutmu 
La  Reine,  fon  «pouM  .     }     Uuut  tUdtimU " 

Besides  these  and  other  leading  pcrsonagea, 
there  were  also  brought  into  action,  under  tha 
various  denominations  of  Seigneurs  et  Damea 
de  Bucharie,  Dames  de  Cachemire,  Seigneurs  e« 
Damea  dansans  ii  la  F/^te  des  Roses,  &c.  nearly 
150  persotis. 

Of  the  manner  and  style  in  which  the  T  i- 
bleaux  of  the  different  stories  are  deacribe<l  .; 
the  work  from  which  I  cite,  the  follow  ir« 
account  of  the  performance  of  Paradise  axJ 
the  Peri  will  aflbrd  some  spcciman :  — 

"  La  d6coration  reprf-senloit  lea  portM  bl  I- 
lantcs  du  Paradis,  ententes  de  nnagea.  Dam 
le  premier  tableau  on  voyoit  la  Peri,  trial*  et 
desol6e,  couchcc  sur  le  scuil  des  port«a  Cannte^ 
et  I'Ange  de  lumi6re  qui  lui  addraasa  das  tim- 
solations  et  des  conseila.    Le  second 

Mgravtegi^  rtpnMntint  !««•«*.  jiiui""**".  **•»•■  ' 
•at  Oiienul  eomautm. 


jo6 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


le  moment,  oii  la  Peri,  dans  I'cspoir  que  ce  don 
lui  ouvrira  Tentrpe  du  Paradis  rccueille  la  der- 
aiere  goutte  de  sang  que  vient  de  verser  le 
jeune  guerrier  Indien 

*'  La  Peri  et  I'Ange  de  lumidre  r6pondoient 
pleinement  a  I'image  et  d  rid6e  qu'on  est  tentfe 
le  se  faire  de  ces  deux  indi^idus,  et  I'impression 
{U'&  faite  generalement  la  suite  des  tableaux 
■,]e  »et  6pisode  d61icat  et  interessant  est  loin  de 
■i  sllacer  de  notre  souvenir." 

In  this  grand  Fete,  it  appears,  originated  the 
translation  of  Lalla  Rookh  into  German  verse, 
by  the  Baron  de  la  Motte  Fouqu6  ;  and  the  cir- 
cumstances which  led  him  to  undertake  the 
task,  are  described  by  himself,  in  a  Dedicator}' 
Poem  to  the  Empress  of  Russia,  which  he  has 
prefixed  to  his  translation.  As  soon  as  the  per- 
formance, he  tells  us,  had  ended,  Lalla  Kookh 
(the  Empress  herself)  exclaimed,  with  a  sigh, 
"  Is  it,  then,  all  over  r  arc  we  now  at  the  close 
of  all  that  has  given  us  so  much  delight  ?  and 
lives  there  no  poet  who  will  impart  to  others, 
and  to  future  times,  some  notion  of  the  happi- 
ness we  have  enjoyed  this  evening  ? "  On  hear- 
ing this  appeal,  a  Knight  of  Cashmere  (who  is 
no  other  than  the  poetical  Baron  himself)  comes 
forward  and  promises  to  attempt  to  present  to 
the  world  "  the  Poem  itself  in  the  measure  of 
the  original :  "  —  whereupon  Lalla  Kookh,  it  is 
•Hded,  approAdngly  smiled. 


SAMUEL    ROGERS,    ESQ. 

THIS   EASTERN   ROMANCE 

II   IS8CRIBED  BY  BIS  VEEV  GRATEFUL  AND  AFFECTIONATE 
FBIKND, 

THOMAS   MOORE. 

May  19,  1817. 


Jti  the  eleventh  year  of  the  reign  of  Aurung- 
lebe,  Abdalla,  King  of  the  Lesser  Bucharia,  a 
lineal  descendant  from  the  Great  Zingis,  having 
fcbdirated  the  throne  in  favor  of  his  son,  set  out 
on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Shrine  of  the  Prophet ; 
Mid,  piissing  into  India  through  the  delightful 

1  These  particulars  of  tlie  visit  ol  the  King  of  Bucharia  to 
Aiirungzebe  are  found  in  Dow'n  History  of  ffindostan,  vol. 
m.  p.  399.  2  Tulip  cheek. 

3  'llie  mistress  of  Mejnoun,  upon  whuse  story  so  many 
Romances  i'  all  the  languages  of  the  East  are  founded. 

4  M.'  ttao  loves  ot  'his  celebrated  ^aaur'  with  Khosrou 


valley  of  Cashmere,  rested  for  u  short  time  at 
Delhi  on  his  way.  He  was  entertained  by  Aa- 
rungzebe  in  a  style  of  magnificent  tospitality, 
worthy  alike  of  the  visitor  and  the  host,  and 
was  afterwards  escorted  with  the  same  splen- 
dor to  Surat,  where  he  embarked  for  Arabia. 
During  the  stay  of  the  Royal  Pilgrim  at  Delhi; 
a  marriage  was  agreed  upon  between  the  Prince, 
his  son,  and  the  youngest  daughter  of  tlie  Em- 
peror, Lalla  Rookh  ;  * — a  Princess  described 
by  the  poets  of  her  time  as  more  beautiful  than 
Leila,'  Shirine,*  Dewildl-,*  or  any  of  those  her- 
oines whose  names  and  loves  embellish  the 
songs  of  Persia  and  Hindostan.  It  was  ir- 
tended  that  the  nuptials  should  be  celebrate-] 
at  Cashmere  ;  where  the  young  King,  as  soon 
as  the  cares  of  empire  would  permit,  was  t» 
meet,  for  the  first  time,  his  lovely  bride,  and, 
after  a  few  months'  repose  in  that  enchanting 
valley,  conduct  her  over  the  snowy  hills  into 
Bucharia. 

The  day  of  Lalla  Rookh's  departure  fron« 
Delhi  was  as  splendid  as  sunshine  and  pageantry 
could  make  it.  The  bazaars  and  baths  were  all 
covered  with  the  richest  tapestry  ;  hundreds  of 
gilded  barges  upon  the  Jumna  floated  with  their 
banners  shining  in  the  water ;  while  through  the 
streets  groups  of  beautiful  children  went  strew- 
ing the  most  delicious  flowers  around,  as  in  that 
Persian  festival  called  the  Scattering  of  the 
Roses  ;  *  till  every  part  of  the  city  was  as  fra- 
grant as  if  a  caravan  of  musk  from  Khoten  had 
passed  through  it.  The  Princess,  having  takei 
leave  of  her  kind  father,  who  at  parting  hung  a 
carnelian  of  Yemen  round  her  neck,  on  which 
was  inscribed  a  verse  from  the  Koran,  and  hav- 
ing sent  a  considerable  present  to  the  Fakirs, 
who  kept  up  the  Perpetual  Lamp  in  her  sister's 
tomb,  meeklj'  ascended  the  palanquin  prepared 
for  her ;  and,  while  Aurungzebe  stood  to  take 
a  last  look  from  his  balcony,  the  procession 
moved  slowly  on  the  road  to  lahorc. 

Seldom  had  the  Eastern  world  seen  a  cavti 
cade  so  superb.     From  the  gardens  in  the  sub- 
urbs to  the  Imperial  palace,  it  was  one  unbroken 
line  of  splendor.     The  gallant  appearance  of  the 
Rajahs  and  Mogul  Lords,  distinguished  by  those 


and  with   Ferhad,  see  D'Herbclot,  Oibban,  Oriental  CoUee 
tiOTU,  i^c 

«  "  The  history  of  the  loves  of  Dewilde  and  Cliizer,  tb« 
son  of  the  Emperor  Alia,  is  written  in  un  eloj^nnl  {>uen[i,  by 
the  noble  Chusero."  —  Ferishta. 

*  Gul  Reaze*. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


m 


bisignia  of  the  Emperor's  favor,'  the  feathers  of 
the  egret  of  Cashmere  in  their  turbans,  and  the 
•mall  silver-rimmed  kettledrums  at  the  bows 
of  their  saddles ;  —  the  costly  armor  of  their 
cavaliers,  who  vied,  on  this  occasion,  with  the 
guards  of  the  great  Keder  Khan,*  in  the  bright- 
ness of  their  silver  battle  axes  and  the  massi- 
ncss  of  their  maces  of  gold ;  —  the  glittering  of 
the  gilt  pine  apples '  on  the  tops  of  the  palan- 
quins ;  —  the  embroidered  trappings  of  the  ele- 
phants, bearing  on  their  backs  small  turrets,  in 
the  shajie  of  little  antique  temples,  within  which 
the  Ladies  of  Lalla.  Uookh  lay  as  it  were  en- 
shrined ;  —  the  rose-colored  veils  of  the  Princess's 
own  sumptuous  litter,*  atthc  front  of  which  a 
fair  young  female  slave  sat  fanning  her  through 
the  curtains,  with  feathers  of  the  Argus  pheas- 
ant's w  ing  ;  * —  and  the  lovely  troop  of  Tartarian 
and  Caahmcrian  maids  of  honor,  whom  the 
young  King  had  sent  to  accompany  his  bride, 
and  who  rode  on  each  side  of  the  litter,  upon 
small  Arabian  horses ;  —  all  was  brilliant,  taste- 
ful, and  magnificent,  and  pleased  even  the  crit- 
ical and  fastidious  Fadladeen,  Great  Nazir  or 
Ohamberlain  of  the  Harem,  who  was  borne  in 
his  palanquin  immediately  after  the  Princess, 
and  considered  himself  not  the  least  important 
personage  of  the  pageant. 

>  "  Une  mark  of  honor  or  knighthood  bestowed  by  the 
Eiii[H!ror  U  the  permiKRion  to  wpara  Riiinll  kettledrum  nt  the 
{k'Wh  of  their  saddles,  n°hirh  at  fii^t  was  invented  lur  the 
training  of  hawks,  and  to  call  liieni  to  the  hire,  and  is 
Worn  in  thi;  field  by  all  sportsmen  to  tliat  end."  —  Fryer's 
Travels. 

"  I'Ihmk!  on  whom  the  King  has  conferred  the  privilege 
must  wear  an  oniament  of  jewels  on  the  right  side  of  the 
turban,  Hiirmounted  by  a  hifih  plume  of  the  feathere  of  a 
kind  of  ecrct.  Tlii.^  bird  is  found  only  in  Cashmere,  and 
the  feaiiiem  are  carefully  collected  for  the  King,  who  be- 
•tiiws  them  on  his  nobles."  —  Ephin.itone't  Account  of  Cau- 
bul. 

s  **  Khedar  Khan,  the  Khnkan,  or  King  of  Turquestan  be- 
yond the  Gihon  (at  the  end  (if  the  eleventh  century),  when- 
ever he  ap|)earod  abroad  was  preceded  by  seven  hundred 
b.'irsemen  with  silver  battle  axes,  and  was  fidlowed  by  an 
equal  n'iniber  beurinj!  niaies  of  gold,  lie  was  a  great  pa- 
tron of  p(ie(r>°,  and  it  was  he  who  used  to  prexide  at  public 
eternises  of  genius,  with  fnur  basins  of  gold  and  silver  by 
hi  n  ti.  distribute  among  the  poets  who  excelled."  —  Riek- 
mrdton't  Dissertatiun  prefixed  to  his  Dictionary. 

I  "  The  kiibdrh,  a  large  :;ulden  knob,  generally  in  the 
«h.i|ie  of  a  pine  apple,  on  the  lop  of  the  canopy  over  tbe  litter 
or  palanquin." —  ScuU'm  .Votes  on  the  Bahardanusb. 

*  In  the  Pi^m  of  Zohair,  In  the  .Moallakat,  there  is  the 
following  lively  description  of"  a  company  of  maidens  seat- 
td  on  camels." 

"  They  are  mounted  in  carriages  covered  with  costly 
■wnings,  and  with  rose-coUired  veils,  the  lining*  "f  which 
k«ve  the  hue  of  crim'Min  Andem  w«)od. 

"  WhM  they  asc'i  d  from  Uic  bosom  of  the  vaJ*  thejr  A 


Faolaokbk  wm  a  judg«  of  ©vorr  thing, 
from  the  pencilling  of  a  CircaMian'a  eyelids  U 
the  deepest  questions  of  science  and  Uteratur*  j 
from  the  mixture  of  a  conaenre  of  roae  lesTw  to 
the  composition  of  an  epie  poem :  and  aueh  ;a> 
flucnco  had  his  opinion  upon  the  Tarinus  *astc« 
of  the  day,  that  all  the  cooks  and  poeU  of  Delhi 
stood  in  awe  of  him.  Ilis  political  conduet  and 
opinions  were  founded  upon  that  line  of  St  di,  - 
"  Shoidd  the  Prince  at  noonday  say.  It  #  ni^jj  t, 
declare  that  you  behold  the  moon  and  tUn."  — 
And  his  zeal  for  religion,  of  which  Aurungseha 
was  a  munificent  protector,*  was  about  as  disin- 
terested as  that  of  the  goldsmith  who  fell  in  lore 
with  the  diamond  eyes  of  the  idol  of  Jaghemaut.* 

During  the  first  days  of  their  journey,  Lalla 
RooKH,  who  had  passed  all  her  life  within  ttie 
shadow  of  the  Iloyal  Gardens  of  Delhi,*  found 
enough  in  the  beauty  of  the  scenery  tlurough 
which  they  passed  to  interest  her  mind,  and  de- 
light her  imagination  ;  and  when  at  evening,  or 
in  the  heat  of  the  day,  they  turned  ofl*  from  the 
high  road  to  those  retired  and  romantic  places 
which  had  been  selected  for  her  encampments 

—  sometimes  on  the  banks  of  a  small  rivulel. 
as  clear  as  the  watcra  of  the  Lake  of  Pearl ;  * 
sometimes  under  the  sacred  shade  of  a  Panyai 

forward  on  the  saddlecloth,  with  eveiy  nurfc  of  a  rohiplb 
oils  gayety. 

'■  Now,  when  tliey  have  reached  the  brink  of  yon  Mii» 
gushing  nvulet,  they  fix  tl)e  poles  of  thair  laato  lik*  lb* 
Arab  with  a  nettled  raansion." 

»  See  Bermer's  dMcripiioa  of  tlM  itaadsan  on  laacba 
nara-Begum,  in  her  progress  lo  CastamMS. 

*  'I'his  hy|>ocritical  Empemr  wcsild  hare  made  ■  wottiiv 
associate  of  certain  Holy  Leagues.  — "  lie  held  the  cloak 
of  religion  (says  Dow)  between  his  actions  and  the  vulgar  ; 
and  impiiMisly  thanked  the  Divinity  for  a  mieeem  wliirh  he 
owed  to  his  own  wickedneas.    When  he  was  MHiniering 
and  persecuting  his  brothers  and  their  ftmlllw,  ha  »«* 
building  a  magnificent  moeque  at  Delhi,  as  an  oflMnf  t<* 
God  for  his  assistance  to  him  in  the  civil  want,    lie  arierf 
SLK  hlph  priest  at  the  consecration  of  this  temple  :  and  inadn 
a  practice  of  attending   livine  service  thrrr,  in  the  hcirt'r 
dress  of  a  Fakir.    But  vhen  he  lifted  <>ne  hand  In  il.<   I" 
vinity,  he,  with  the  other,  signed  wanant*  *>»  the  »■»*.   i  • 
tion  of  his  relations." —  Hittarf  •/  Hiniltrimit,  V"l  tu.  r*-   ft 
See  also  the  curious  letter  of  Aurungzelir,  (ivca  tu  ilw  On 
tntal  OtUtSiumt,  vol.  i.  p.  39a 

t  "  Tlie  idi>l  at  Jagbemai  has  two  flat  tfianNwds  fctf  rfsa 
No  goldsmith  is  suflbred  to  enter  the  Paguda,  i«#  bsvtog 
stole  one  of  liiese  eyes,  being  kicked  up  all  htgki  wMb  Um 
Idol."—  Tartmier. 

*  See  a  driM-ripimn  ol  these  myal  Gsrdens  >n  "  An  Ac 
count  of  the  prwml  ScaM  of  Delhi,  by  Umn.  W  Praakha.' 

—  ^n  L  Rftfmrtk.  vnl.  Hr.  p,  417. 

<  '•  In  tbe  iieigMMtteod  is  KoOa  (Mil,  or  fbe  l^aka  c 
Feari,  which  rec«<vos  this  aaaM  tram 


l(iS 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


tree,  from  which  the  view  opened  upon  a  glade 
covered  with  antelopes  ;  and  often  in  those  hid- 
den, embowered  spots,  described  by  one  from 
the  Isles  of  the  West,'  as  "  places  of  melan- 
choly, delight,  and  safety,  where  all  the  company 
around  was  wild  peacocks  and  turtle  doves  ;  " 
—  she  felt  a  charm  in  these  scenes,  so  lovely 
and  80  new  to  her,  which,  for  a  time,  made  her 
'ndiiferent  to  every  other  amusement.  But 
Lalla  Rookh  was  young,  and  the  young  love 
variety ;  nor  could  the  conversation  of  her  La- 
dies and  the  Great  Chamberlain,  Fadladeen, 
(the  only  persons,  of  course,  admitted  to  her 
pavilion,)  sufficiently  enliven  those  many  va- 
cant hours,  which  were  devoted  neither  to  the 
pillow  nor  the  palanquin.  There  was  a  little 
Persian  slave  who  sung  sweetly  to  the  Vina, 
and  who,  now  and  then,  lulled  the  Princess  to 
Bleep  with  the  ancient  ditties  of  her  country, 
about  the  loves  of  Wamak  and  Ezra,'  the  fair- 
haired  Zal  and  his  mistress  Rodahver ; '  not  for- 
getting the  combat  of  Rustam  with  the  terrible 
White  Demon.*  At  other  times  she  was  amused 
by  those  graceful  dancing  girls  of  Delhi,  who 
had  been  permitted  by  the  Bramins  of  the  Great 
Pagoda  to  attend  her,  much  to  the  horror  of 
the  good  Mussulman  Fadladeen,  who  could 
see  nothing  graceful  or  agreeable  in  idolttters, 
and  .0  whom  the  very  tinkling  of  their  golden 
ank-ets    was  an  abomination. 

But  these  and  many  other  diversions  were 
repeated  till  they  lost  all  their  charm,  and  the 
nights  and  noondays  were  beginning  to  move 


"  Nasir  Jung  encamped  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Lake  of 
Tonoor,  amused  himself  with  sailing  on  that  clear  and 
beautiful  water,  and  gave  it  the  fanciful  name  of  Motee  Ta- 
lah,  '  the  Lake  of  Pearls,'  which  it  still  retains."  —  ff ilia's 
South  of  India. 

1  Sir  Thomas  Roe,  Ambassador  from  James  I.  to  Jehan- 
guire 

a  "  The  romance  Wemakweazra,  written  in  Persian 
Terse,  which  contains  the  loves  of  VVamak  and  Ezra,  two 
celebrated  lovers  who  livi  u  before  the  time  of  Mahomet"  — 
M'ote  on  Vu  Oriental  Talea 

5  Their  amour  is  recon  'ted  in  the  Shah-Nam^h  of  Fer- 
«oiisi ;  and  there  is  much  beauty  in  the  passage  which  de- 
■rribes  the  slave  i  of  Rodahver  sitting  on  the  bank  of  the 
river  and  throwing  flowers  into  the  stream,  in  order  to  draw 
the  attention  of  the  young  Hero  who  is  encamped  on  the 
opposite  side.  —  See  Champion's  translation. 

4  Rustam  is  the  Hercules  of  the  Persians.  For  the  partic- 
ulars of  his  victory  over  the  Sepeed  Deeve,  or  Wliite  De- 
inon,  see  Oriental  Collections,  vol.  ii.  p.  45.  —  Near  the  city 
of  Shirauz  is  an  immense  quadrangular  monument,  in  com- 
nemoration  of  this  combat,  called  the  Kelaat-i-Deev  Sepeed, 
or  castle  of  the  White  Giant,  which  Father  Angelo,  in  his 
Cazopliilacium  PerHicum,  p.  137,  declares  to  have  been  the 


heavily,  when,  at  length,  it  was  recollected  that, 
among  the  attendants  sent  by  the  bridegroom, 
was  a  young  poet  of  Cashmere,  much  celebrated 
throughout  the  Valley  for  his  manner  of  recit- 
ing the  Stories  of  the  East,  on  whom  his  Royal 
Master  had  conferred  the  privilege  of  being  ad- 
mitted to  the  pavilion  of  the  Princess,  that  he 
might  help  to  beguile  the  tediousness  of  the 
journey  by  some  of  his  most  agreeable  recitals, 
At  the  mention  of  a  poet,  Fadladeen  elevated 
his  critical  eyebrows,  and,  having  refresl  od  his 
faculties  with  a  dose  of  that  delicious  opium  • 
which  is  distilled  from  the  black  poppy  of  the 
Thebais,  gave  orders  for  the  minstrel  to  be  forth 
with  introduced  into  the  presence. 

The  Princess,  who  had  once  in  her  life  seen 
a  poet  from  behind  the  screens  of  gauze  in  her 
Father's  hall,  and  had  conceived  from  that  speci- 
men no  very  favorable  ideas  of  the  Caste,  ex- 
pected but  little  in  this  new  exhibition  to  inter- 
est her  ;  —  she  felt  inclined,  however,  to  alter 
her  opinion  on  the  very  first  appearance  of  Fek- 
AMORz.  He  was  a  youth  about  Lalla  Rookh'p 
own  age,  and  graceful  as  that  idol  of  women, 
Crishna,^  —  such  as  he  appears  to  their  young 
imaginations,  heroic,  beautiful,  breathing  mus^o 
from  his  very  eyes,  and  exalting  the  religion  of 
his  worshippers  into  love.  His  dress  was  sim- 
ple, yet  not  without  some  marks  of  costliness  ; 
and  the  Ladies  of  the  Princess  were  not  long 
in  discovering  that  the  cloth,  which  encircled 
his  high  Tartarian  cap,  was  of  the  most  deli- 
cate kind  that  the  shawl  goats  of  Tibet  supply.' 


most  memorable  monument  of  antiquity  which  he  had  seen 
in  Persia.  —  See  Ouseley's  Persian  Miscellanies. 

8  "'The  women  of  the  Idol,  or  dancing  girls  of  the  Pago- 
da, have  little  golden  bells,  fastened  to  their  feet,  the  soft 
harmonious  tinkling  of  which  vibrates  in  unison  with  the 
exquisite  melody  of  their  voices,"  —  Maurice's  Indian  An 
tiquities. 

"  The  Arabian  courtesans,  like  the  Indian  women,  have 
little  golden  bells  fastened  round  their  legs,  nee  k,  and  el- 
bows, to  the  sound  of  which  they  dance  befoie  the  King 
The  Arabian  princesses  wear  golden  rings  on  their  Angers, 
to  which  little  bells  are  suspended,  as  well  as  in  the  flowing 
tresses  of  their  hair,  that  their  superior  rank  may  be  known, 
and  they  themselves  receive  in  passing  the  homage  due  U. 
them."  —  See  Calmet's  Dictionary,  art.  Bells. 

«  "  Abou-Tige,  ville  de  la  Thebaide,  ou  il  crolt  beaucouj 
de  pavot  noir,  dont  se  fait  le  meilleur  opium."  —  D'Herbelot 

1  The  Indian  Apollo.  —  ''He  and  the  three  Riraas  are 
described  as  youths  of  perfect  beauty ;  and  the  princessea 
of  Hindustan  were  all  passionately  in  love  with  Chrishna, 
who  continues  to  this  hour  the  darling  God  of  the  Indian 
women." —  Sir  W.  Jones,  on  the  Gods  of  Greece,  Italy,  and 
India. 

<  See  Turner's  Embassy  for  a  description  of  this  animal 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


36fc 


Here  and  there,  too,  over  his  vest,  which  was 
confined  by  a  flowered  girdle  of  Kashan,  hung 
Btrings  of  fine  pearl,  disposed  with  an  air  of 
Btudied  negligence ;  —  nor  did  the  exquisite  em- 
broidery of  his  sandals  escape  the  observation 
of  those  fair  critics  ;  who,  however  they  might 
give  way  to  Fadladeen  upon  the  unimportant 
topics  of  religion  and  goveniracnt,  had  the  spirit 
of  martjTS  in  every  thing  relating  to  such  mo- 
mentous matters  as  jewels  and  embroidery. 

For  the  purpose  of  relieving  the  pauses  of 
recitation  by  music,  the  young  Cashmerian  held 
in  hia  hand  a  kitar ;  —  such  as,  in  old  times, 
the  Arab  maids  of  the  West  used  to  listen  to  by 
moonUght  in  the  gardens  of  the  Alhambra  — 
and,  having  premised,  with  much  humility, 
that  the  story  he  was  about  to  relate  was 
founded  on  the  adventures  of  that  Veiled 
Prophet  of  Khorassan,'  who,  in  the  year  of  the 
Hegira  1G3,  created  such  alarm  throughout  the 
Eastern  Empire,  mnde  an  obeisance  to  the  Prin- 
cess, and  thus  began  :  — 


THE  VEILED    PROPHET    OF    KHORAS- 
SAN.» 

In  that  delightful  Province  of  the  Sun, 
The  first  of  Persian  lands  he  shines  upon, 
"Where  all  the  loveliest  children  of  his  beam. 
Flow' rets  and  fruits,  blush  over  every  stream,' 
And,  fairest  of  ail  streams,  the  Muuga  roves 
Among  Merou's  *  bright  palaces  and  groves  ;  — 
There  on  that  throne,  to  which  the  blind  belief 
Of  millions  rais'd  him,  sat  the  Prophet  Chief^ 
The  Great  Mokanna.     O'er  his  features  hung 
The  Veil,  the  Silver  Veil,  which  he  had  flung 

•  the  most  beautiful  among  the  whole  tnbe  of  goals."  The 
material  for  the  shawU  (which  is  carried  to  Caahmere)  is 
fcund  next  the  tikin. 

1  Fur  the  real  history  of  this  Impontor,  wboM  original 
name  was  Ilaketn  ben  Ilaschem,  and  who  was  called  Mo- 
caniia  fhjni  the  veil  of  silver  gauze  (or,  as  others  say,  gold- 
en) which  he  always  wore,  see  D^HrrbeloL 

«  KhorasMn  signifies,  in  the  old  Persian  language,  Prov- 
me*  or  Region  of  tlie  Sun.  —  Sir  W.  Jonea. 

»  "  The  friits  of  Meru  are  finer  than  tJiose  of  any  other 
place  ;  and  one  cannot  see  in  any  other  city  such  palaces 
with  noves,  and  streama,  and  gardens."  —  .»■  aaukmPs 
Ceography. 

*  One  of  the  royal  ciUes  of  KhorasMn 

*  Moees. 

*  "  Ses  disciplM  assuroient  qu'il  le  couvroit  l«  visage, 
pour  ne  pas  4blouir  ceux  qui  I'approchoient  par  I'iclat  de 
von  visage  comme  .Moyse." —  D'HerbeloL 

'  Black  was  the  color  adopted  by  the  Caliphs  of  the  IIoum 
f  Al)bas,  in  their  garments,  turbans,  and  sUndarda.  —  "  II 

i7 


In  mercy  there  to  hide  from  martsl  ught 

His   dazzling    orow,   till    man  could  bnar  lU 

light. 
For,  far  less  himinous,  his  votaries  said. 
Were  ev'n  the  gleams,  miraculously  shed 
O'er  Moussa's*  cheek.*  when  down  the  M:tui 

he  trod, 
All  glowing  from  the  prssenca  of  his  Ood  ! 

On  either  side,  with  ready  hearts  snd  I  ands, 
His  chosen  guard  of  bold  Believers  stands ; 
Young  fire-eyed  disputants,   who  de«m  ttefa 

swords. 
On  i)oints  of  faith,  more  eloquent  than  wor  Is ; 
And  such  their  zeal,  there's  not  a  youth  with 

brand 
Uplifted  there,  but,  at  the  Chiefs  commands 
W'ould  make  his  own  devoted  heart  its  sheath, 
And  bless  the  lips  that  doom'd  so  dear  a  death  * 
In  hatred  to  the  Caliph's  hue  of  night,' 
Their  vesture,  helms  and  all,  is  snowy  white ; 
Their  weapons  various  —  bome    equipp'd,   f*« 

speed, 
With  javelins  of  the  light  Ksthaian  reed  / 
Or  bows  of  buffalo  horn  and  shining  quiiers 
Fill'd  with  the  stems*  that  bloom  on   Ihai'* 

rivers ; '" 
VtThilc  some,  for  war's  more  terrible  attacks. 
Wield  the  huge  mace  and  i>onderoiu  battir 

axe; 
And  as  they  wave  aloft  in  monung's  beam 
The  milk-white  plumage  of  their  helms,  they 

seem 
like  a  chenar-trec  grove ' '  when  winter  throws 
O'er  all  its  tufted  heads  his  feathenng  snows. 

Between  the  porphyry  pillars,  that  uphold 
The  rich  moresque  work  of  the  roof  of  gold, 

faut  remarquer  id  touchant  les  babils  Maacs  dM  dMeipM 
de  tiakcm,  que  la  coiileur  dm  habits,  das  coiinirss  m  dM 
itendaru  des  Khalifes  Abusides  «tanl  la  noire,  r*  chef  4» 
Rchelleit  ne  pouvoit  pas  cbouir  une  qui  liil  (Ql  pMW(V|« 
fte."  —  D'Iltrielot 

»  "  Our  dark  Javelins,  ezqui'itely  wiMghl  of  Khall«a« 
reeds,  slender  and  delicate."—  #"•«■  rfJimru. 

•  Pirbula,  used  anciently  fi-r  arrows  bjr  Um  ftolsaa 

IP  The  I'enfiani.  call  this  plant  Oa*.  The  eeMfSMd  ekU 
of  Isfendiar,  one  of  their  ancirni  heinee,  wse  mads  ef  It  - 
«'  Nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than  the  »rfmnme»  tt M» 
plant  in  flower  during  the  rains  oa  the  banks  rf  rivaf^ 
where  it  is  usually  inierworen  with  B  loeeljr  iwiaiag  ae- 
clepias."—  Sir  If.  Jtntf,  Botaaksl  CTWanrsHnas  «•  *ak«: 
ladiaii  Plants. 

n  The  oriental  plane.  "  The  dieaar  is  s  4*H|^M  Oss , 
iu  boll  is  of  a  fine  white  and  amnnh  baih  ;  ead  Ms  fcUsCh 
which  gn)ws  In  a  tuft  at  'V  awwatt,  is  of  s  M«hl  ••ea ' 
—  JVerisr's  Travels. 


J7C 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


Aloft  the  Harem's  curtain'd  galleries  rise, 
.  Where  through  the  silken  network,   glancing 

eyes, 
From  time  to  time,  like  sudden  gleams  that  glow 
rhrough  autumn  clouds,  shine  o'er  the  pomp 

below.  — 
Wliat  impious  tongue,  ye  blushing  saints,  woiild 

dare 
To  hint  that  aug*>t  but  Heav'n  hath  plac'd  you 

there  ? 
Or  that  the  loves  of  this  light  world  could  bind, 
In   their   gross  chain,  your  Prophet's   soaring 

mind  ? 
No  —  wrongful  thought !  —  commission'd  jfrom 

above 
To.  people  Eden's  bowers  with  shapes  of  love, 
(Creatures   so  bright,  that  the  same  lips  and 

eyes 
They  wear  on  earth  will  serve  in  Paradise,) 
There  to  recline  among  Heav'n's  native  maids, 
And   crown   th"   Elect   with  bliss    that  never 

fades  — 
Well  hath  the  Prophet  Chief  his  bidding  done  ; 
And  eveiy  beauteous  race  beneath  the  sun, 
From   those   who  kneel  at  Bbahma's  burning 

fount,' 
To  the  fresh  nymphs  bounding  o'er  Yemen's 

mounts ; 
From  Persia's  eyes  of  full  and  fawnlike  ray, 
To  the  small,  half-shut  glances  of  Kathay  ;  * 
And  Georgia's  bloom,  and  Azab's  darker  smiles, 
And  the  gold  ringlets  of  the  Western  Isles  ; 
All,  all  are  there ;  —  each  Land  its  flower  hath 

given. 
To  form  that  fair  yotmg  Nursery  for  Heaven  I 

But  why  this  pageant  now  ?  this  arm'd  array  ? 
What  triumph  crowds  the  rich  Divan  to-day 
With  turban'd  heads,  of  every  hue  and  race, 
Bowing  before  that  veil'd  and  awful  face, 
Like  tulip  beds,'  of  different  shape  and  dyes, 
'  Bending  beneath  th'  invisible  West  wind's  sighs ! 
What    new-made   mystery  now,  for    Faith  to 

sign, 
A_ud  blood  to  seal,  as  genuine  and  divine, 
\V1.&»  dazzling  mimicry  of  God's  own  power 
•lla*h  the  bold  Prophet  plann'd  to  grace  this 
hour  ? 


1  The  burning  fountains  of  Brahnna  near  Chittogong,  es- 
wen.ed  as  holy. —  Turner. 

*  China. 

»  "  T  he  name  of  iiliii  is  said  to  be  of  Turkish  extraction, 
W)d  given  to  tlie  flower  on  account  of  its  re.senibling  a  tur- 
•>iin."' —  Beckninim'.i  History  of  Inventions. 

♦  "  The  inhabitanlii  '>f  l?ucharia  wear  a  lound  cloth  bon- 


Not  such  the  pageant  now,  thougn  not  le»» 
proud ; 
Yon  warrior  youth,  advancing  from  the  crowd, 
With  silver  bow,  with  belt  of  broiaer'd  crape, 
And  fur-bound  bonnet  of  Bucnarian  shape,* 
So  fiercely  beautiful  in  form  ana  eye, 
Like  war's  wild  planet  in  a  summer  sky  ; 
That  youth  to-day, — a  proselyte,  worth  horde* 
Of  cooler  spirits  and  less  practis'd  swords, - 
Is  come  to  join,  all  bravery  and  belief. 
The  creed  and  standard  ot  tne  heav'n-seat  Chiel 

Though  few  his  years,  the  West  already  kn  iwi* 
Young  Azim's  fame ;  —  beyond  th'   Olympian 

snows 
Ere  manhood  darken'd  o'er  his  down}:  cheek, 
O'erwhelm'd  in  fight  and  captive  to  the  Greek,' 
He    linger'd    there,    till    peace   dissolved    hi» 

chains ;  — 
0,  who  could,  ev'n  in  bondage,  tread  the  plain* 
Of  glorious  Greece,  nor  feel  his  spirit  rise 
Kindling  within  him  ?  who,  with  heart  and  eyes, 
Could  walk  where  Liberty  had  been,  iior  se«» 
The  shining  fo*"  -prints  of  her  Deity, 
Nor  feel  those  godlike  breathings  in  ihi  air, 
Which  mutely  told  her  spirit  had  been  there  J 
Not  he,  that  youthful  warrior,  —  no,  too  well 
For  his  soul's  quiet  Avork'd  th'  awakening  speU  ; 
And  now,  retui'ning  to  his  own  dear  land. 
Full  of  those  dreams  of  good  that,  vainly  grand. 
Haunt    the    young    heart,  —  pi-oud   views    of 

humankind. 
Of  men  to  Gods  exalted  and  leiln'o,  — 
False  views,  like  tha   horizoii^  fair  deceit. 
Where  earth  and  heav'n  but  veem,  alas,  to  meetl 
Soon  as  he  heard  an  Arm  Divine  was  rais'd 
To  right  the  nations,  and  uehcld,  emblaz'd 
On  the  white  flag  MoKAN^A's  host  unfurl' d. 
Those  words   of  sunshine,   "  Freedom  to  the 

Worid," 
At  once  his  faith,  his  swora,  his  soul  obey'd 
Th'  inspiring  summons  ;  every  chosen  blade 
That  fought  benet.th  that  banner's  sacred  text 
Seem'd  doubly  eig'd,  for  this  world  and  the 

next ; 
And  ne'er  did  Ff.ith  with  her  smooth  oandage 

bind 
Eyes  more  devoutly  willing  to  be  blind, 


net,  shaped  much  afti  r  the  I'olisli  fashion,  having  a  large 
fur  border.  They  tie  iheir  kafians  about  the  middle  w;fh  a 
girdle  of  a  kind  of  .silk  crape,  several  times  round  the  body." 
—  Aetount  of  Indepeniint  T'l-tary,  in  Piniierton^s  ColUc 
ion. 

6  In  the  war  of  the  (^aliph  Mahadi  against  the  Et.  prw 
Irene,  for  an  account  cf  whici'  vide  rnhhon,  vcl.  * 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


In  virtue's  cause  ;  —  never  was  soul  inspir'd 
With  livelier  trust  in  what  it  moat  desir'd, 
rhan  his,  th'  enthusiast  there,  who  kneeling, 

pale 
W^ith  pious  awe,  before  that  Silver  Veil, 
Believes  the  form,  to  which  he  bends  his  knee, 
Some  pure,  redeeming  angel,  sent  to  free 
rh's    fettter'd    world    from    every    bond    and 

stain, 
A.nd  brng  its  prima]  glories  back  again  ! 

liOw  ar  young  Aziv  knelt,  that  motley  crowd 
Of  nil  earth's  nations  sunk  the  knee  and  bow'd, 
With  shouts  of    "  Alla  ! "   echoing  long  and 

lou'l ; 
\NTiile  high  in  air,  above  the  Prophet's  head. 
Hundreds  of  banners,  to  the  sunbeam  spread, 
Wav'd,  like  the  \vings  of  the  white  birds  that 

fan 
The  flying  throne  of  star-taught  Soliman.' 
Then  thus  he  spoke  :  —  "  Stranger,  though  new 

the  frame 
••  Thy  soul  inhabits  now,  I've  track'd  its  flame 
•*  For  many  an  age,*  in  every  chance  and  change 
•*  Of   that    existence,    through   whose    varied 

range,  — 
"  As  through  a  torch  race,  where,  from  hand  to 

hand 
••  The  fljnng  youths  transmit  their  shining  brand, 
"  From  frame  to  frame  the  unextinguish'd  soul 
••  Rapidly  passes,  till  it  reach  the  goal ! 

"  Nor  think  'tis  only  the  gross  Spirits,  warm'd 
••  With  duski*>r  fire  and  for  earth's  medium 

form'd, 
"That  run    t'lis  course; — Beings,  the  moat 

divin*?, 
•  Thus  deign  through  dark  mortality  to  shine. 
' '  Such  was  t',10  Essence  that  in  Adam  dwelt, 
'*  To  which  all  Ilcav'n,  except  the  Proud  One, 

knelt:' 

1  This  wonderful  Throne  was  called  The  Star  of  the  G«- 
nii.  For  a  fiill  description  of  it,  see  the  Fragment,  translated 
by  Captain  Fmnklin,  from  a  Persian  MS.  entitled  "  The 
History  of  Jerusalem,"  Oriental  O'Ueetunu,  vol.  i.  p.  235. — 
Wn.er.  fioliman  tnvclled,  the  eastern  writern  say,  "  He  had 
a  carpet  of  green  silk  on  which  his  throne  was  placed,  being 
af  a  prodigious  length  nnd  breadth,  and  sufficient  for  all  hit 
forces  to  stand  upon,  the  men  placing  themselvei  on  hb 
rigN  hand,  and  the  spirit.'  on  his  left ;  and  that  when  all 
'vere  in  order,  the  wind,  nt  his  command,  took  up  the  car- 
•Tet,  and  transported  it,  with  all  that  were  upon  it,  wherever 
be  pleased  ;  the  army  nf  birds  at  the  same  time  flying  over 
Jnir  heads,  and  forming  a  kind  of  canopy  to  ihade  tban 
Hum  the  SKin."  —  Saie'i  Koran,  vol.  11.  p.  214,  nola. 

*  I'ho  tran.ouiigraiion  of  aouls  was  one  of  bis  doctriaM.— 
*id*  L'aerbiUU 


•♦  Such  the  refin'd  Intelligence  that  glnw'd 
"In  Moussa's*   frame,— and,  thenot 

ing,  flow'd 
"  Through  many  a  Prophet's  braeet ;  •  —  In  laai  • 

shone, 
"  And  in  Mohammbd  boni'd ;  till,  hwteabifl 

on, 
"  (As  a  bright  river  that,  from  fall  to  fall 
"  In  many  a  maze  descending,  briKht  thiovfll 

all, 
"  Finds  some  fair  region  where,  each  labyrinQi 

pass'd, 
"  In  one  full  lake  of  light  it  rwtt  at  last) 
"  That  Holy  Spirit,  settling  calm  and  free 
"  From  lapse  or  shadow,  centers  allin  me ! " 

Again,  throughout  th'  aaaembly  at  theee  words, 
Thousands  of  voices  rung  :  the  warrior's  swords 
Were  pointed  up  to  heaven  ;  a  sudden  wind 
In  th'  open  banners  play'd,  and  from  behind 
Those  Persian  hangings,  that  but  ill  could  screen 
The  Harem's  loveliness,  white  hands  were  aeen 
Waving  embroider'd  scarft,  whoae  motion  gave 
A  perfume  forth  —  like  those  the  Houris  wave 
When  beck'ning  to  their  bowers  th'  immortal 
Brave. 

"  But  these,"  pursued  the  Chief,  "  are  truths 

sublime, 
"  That  claim  a  holier  mood  and  calmer  lime 
"  Than  earth  allows  ua  now ;  —  this  swora  must 

first 
"  The  darkling  prison  house  of  Mankind  bum. 
"  Ere  Peace  can  visit  them,  or  Truth  let  m 
"  Her  wakening  daylight  on  a  world  of  sin. 
"  But  then,  —  celestial  warriors,  then,  when  ty 
"  Earth's  shrines  and  thrones  before  otu  bannes 

fall; 
"  When  the  glad  SUre  shall  at  theee  feet  lay 

down 
"  His  broken  chain,  the  tyrant  Lord  his  crown, 

*  "  And  when  we  said  nnto  iba  aoffsla,  WonMp  A4mi. 
they  all  worshipped  him  excefiC  BUli  (LocttbrX  who  r>- 
fused."—  Tkt  Kor*%,  cbap^  U. 

4  MoMsa. 

»  This  is  according  to  D'IIerba<ol%  aeceeM  of  iM  4a» 
trines  of  .Mokanna  :  —  "  8a  dortrlM  4lsil,  fW  Ms*  tvefe 
pris  uno  forme  el  figure  humain*,  A&fmh  ^*H  wN  eaai- 
mandi  auz  AngM  d'adnier  Adam,  l«  pnaitr  4m  Uii— a 
Ou'aprto  la  ntnrt  d'Adam,  DiMi  Moll  Wfftn  mm  la  igan 
de  plusieun  Propbitra,  et  autre*  gnwds  llnwai  q«*U  avail 
clioisis,JuM|u'k  ce  qu'il  prii  cell*  4*Ah«  Mnlii,  FXta  e» 
KbonMnn,  leqiMi  profcMoh  Itnwr  tf*  la  TMMMMkhWl  a« 
MsiMnpKlijpciiaM  {  tt  qn'aptte  la  aoR  4*  tm  rriaaa  Is  W 
vinM  Moit  paaito,  at  < 


'72 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


*  The  Priest  his  book,  the  Conqueror  his  wreath, 
'•  And  from  the  lips  of  Truth  one  mighty  breath 
"  Shall,  like  a  whirlwind,  scatter  in  its  breeze 
«•  That  whole  dark  pile  of  human  mockeries  ;  — 
"Then  shall  the  reign  of  mind  commence  on 

earth, 
"  And  starting  fresh  as  from  a  second  birth, 
«•  Man,  in  the  sunshine  of  the  world's  new  spring, 
•*  Shall  walk  transparent,  like  some  holy  thing  ! 
"Then,  too,  your  Prophet  from  his  angel  brow 
"  Sliall  cast  the  Veil  that  hides  its  splendors  now, 
"  And  glhdden'd  Earth  shall,  through  her  wide 

expanse, 
•*  Bask  in  the  glories  of  this  countenance ! 

"  For  thee,  yoxing  warrior,  welcome  !  —  thou 

hast  yet 
"  Some  tasks  to  leam,  some  frailties  to  forget, 
"  Ere  the  white  war  plume  o'er  thy  brow  can 

wave ;  — 
"  But,  once  my  own,  mine  all  till  in  the  grave ! " 

The   pomp  is   at  an   end  —  the  crowds  are 

gone  — 
Each  ear  and  heart  still  haunted  by  the  tone 
Of  that  deep  voice,  which  thrill'd  like  Alla's 

own  ! 
Tlie  Young  all  dazzled  by  the  plumes  and  lances, 
The  glittering  throne,  and  Harem's  half-caught 

glances ; 
The  Old  deep  pondering  on  the  promis'd  reign 
Of  peace  and  truth  ;  and  all  the  female  train 
Ready  to  risk  their  eyes,  could  they  but  gaze 
A  moment  on  that  brow's  miraculous  blaze ! 

But  there  was  one,  among  the  chosen  maids. 
Who  blush'd  behind  the  gallery's  silken  shades. 
One,  to  whose  soul  the  pageant  of  to-day 
Has  been  like  death  :  —  you  saw  her  pale  dismay, 
Ye  wondering  sisterhood,  and  heard  the  burst 
Of  exclamation  from  her  lips,  when  first 
She  saw  that  youth,  too  well,  too  dearly  known, 
Rilently  kneeling  at  the  Prophet's  throne. 

Ah  Zelica  !  there  was  a  time,  when  bliss 
Bhone  o'er  thy  heart  from  every  look  of  his  ; 
When  but  to  see  him,  hear  him,  breathe  the  air 
In  which  he  dwelt,  was  thy  soul's  fondest  prayer ; 
When  round  him  hung  such  a  perpetual  spell, 
Whate'er  he  did,  none  ever  did  so  well. 
Too  happy  days  !  when,  if  he  touch'd  a  flower 
Or  gem  of  thine,  'twas  sacred  from  that  hour  ; 


J  The  Amoo.  which  rises  in  the  Belur  Tag,  or  Dark 
Mountains,  ant*,  run  "ing  nearly  from  east  to  west,  splits  into 


When  thou  didst  study  him  till  every  tc  ne 
And  gesture  and  dear  look  became  thy  own,  — 
Tliy  voice  like  his,  the  changes  of  his  face 
In  thine  reflected  with  still  lovelier  grace, 
Like  echo,  sending  back  sweet  music,  fraught 
With  twice  th'  aerial  sweetness  it  had  brought  I 
Yet  now  he  comes,  —  brighter  than  even  he 
E'er  beam'd  before. — but    ah'   not  bright  fo! 

thee ; 
No  —  dread,  unlook'd  for,  like  a  visitant 
From  th'  other  world,  he  comes  as  if  to  haunt 
Thy  guilty  soul  with  dreams  of  lost  delight. 
Long  lost  to  all  but  memory's  aching  sight :  — 
Sad  dreams  !  as  when  the  Spirit  of  our  Youth 
Returns  in  sleep,  sparkling  with  all  the  truth 
And  innocence  once  ours,  and  leads  us  back. 
In  mournful  mockery,  o'er  the  shining  track 
Of  our  young  life,  and  points  out  every  ray 
Of  hope  and  peace  we've  lost  upon  the  way  ! 

Once    happy  pair  !  —  In    proud  Bokhara 
groves,  . 
Who  had  not  heard  of  their  first  youthful  loves 
Born   by  that   ancient   flood,'    which   from  iM 

spring 
In  the  dark  Mountains  swiftly  wandering, 
Enrich'd  by  every  pilgrim  brook  that  shines 
With  relics  fi"om  Bucharia's  ruby  mines, 
And,  lending  to  the  Caspian  half  its  strength, 
In  the  cold  Lake  of  Eagles  sinks  at  length ;  — 
There,  on  the  banks  of  that  bright  river  born. 
The  flowers,  that  hung  above  its  wave  at  mom, 
Bless'd  not  the  waters,  as  they  murmur'd  by. 
With  holier  scent  and  lustre,  than  the  sigh 
And  virgin  glance  of  first  aff'ection  cast 
Upon  their  youth's  smooth  current,  as  it  pass'd  J 
But  war  disturb'd  this  vision,  —  far  away 
From  her  fond  eyes  summon'd  to  join  th'  array 
Of  Persia's  warriors  on  the  hills  of  Thrace, 
The  youth  exchang'd  his  sylvan  dwelling-place 
For  the  rude  tent  and  war  field's  deathful  clash  ! 
His  Zelica's  sweet  glances  for  the  flash 
Of  Grecian  wildfire,  and  Love's  gentle  chains 
For  bleeding  bondage  on  Byzantium's  plains. 

Month  after  month,  in  widowhood  of  soul 
Drooping,  the  maiden  saw  two  summers  roll 
Their  suns  away  —  but,  ah,  how  cold  and  dim 
Ev'n  summer  suns,  when  not  beheld  with  him  I 
From  time  to  time  ill-omen'd  rumors  came, 
Like  spirit  tongues,  mutt'ring  the  sick  man'i 
name. 


two  branches ;  one  of  which  falls  into  the  Caspian  s«a,  an 
the  other  into  Aral  Nahr,  or  the  Lake  of  Eagles. 


LAXLA  ROOKH. 


m 


lust  ere  Lc  dies :  —  at  length  those  sounds  of 

dread 
fell  withering  on  her  soul,  "  Azim  is  dead ! " 
l)  Grief,  beyond  all  other  griefs,  when  fate 
First  leaves  the  young  heart  lone  and  desolate 
in  the  wide  world,  without  that  only  tie 
For  which  it  lov'd  to  live  or  fear'd  to  die ;  — 
Lorn  as  the  hung-up  lute,  that  ne'er  hath  spoken 
Since  the  sad  day  its  master  chord  was  broken  ! 

I'ond  maid,  the  sorrow  of  her  soul  was  such, 
Ev'n  reason  sunk,  —  blighted  beneath  its  touch  ; 
And    though,    ere  long,   her    sangiiine    spirit 

rose 
Above  the  first  dead  pressure  of  its  woes, 
Though  health  and  bloom  return'd,  the  delicate 

chain 
Of  thought,  once  tangled,  never  clear'd  again. 
Warm,  lively,  soft,  as  in  youth's  happiest  day, 
The  mixid  was  still  all  there,  but  tum'd  astray ;  — 
A  wandering  bark,  upon  whose  pathway  shone 
All  stars  of  heaven,  except  the  guiding  one  ! 
Again  she  smil'd,  nay,  much  and  brightly  smil'd. 
But  'twas  a  lustre,  strange,  unreal,  wild  ; 
And  when  she  sung  to  her  lute's  touching  strain, 
Twas  like  the  notes,  half  ecstasy,  half  pain, 
The  bulbul '  utters,  ere  her  soul  depart, 
\\  ^en,  vanquish'd  by  some  mir^trel's  powerful 

art, 
She  dies  upon  the  lute  whose  sweetness  broke 

her  heart ! 

8uch  was  the  mood  in  which  that  mission 

found 
Young  Zelica,  —  that  mission  which  around 
The  Eiistem  world,  in  every  region  blest 
With  woman's  smile,  sought  out  its  loveliest. 
To  grace  that  galaxy  of  lips  and  eyes 
Which  the  Veil'd  Prophet    destin'd    for    the 

skies  :  — 
And  such  quick  welcome  as  a  spark  receives 
Dropp'd  on  a  bed  of  Autumn's  wither'd  leaves. 
Did  every  tale  of  these  enthusiasts  find 
la  the  wild  maiden's  sorrow-blighted  mind. 
All  fire  at  once  the  madd'ning  zeal  she  caught ; 
Elect  of  Paradise  !  blest,  rapturous  thought ! 
Predestin'd  bridp,  in  heaven's  eternal  dome. 
Of  some  brave   youth  —  ha!    durst  they  say 

"  Ot  »ome  f  " 
No  —  of  the  on%  one  only  object  trac'd 
In  her  heart's  core  too  deep  to  be  effac'd ; 
the  on«  wi>o»e  memory,  fresh  as  life,  is  twin'd 
With  PvcTv  broken  link  of  her  lost  mind  ; 

t  Tha  nlgtirtngato 


Whose  image  live»,  though  Kmsoq  •  sslf  W 

wreck'd. 
Safe  'mid  the  ruiiy  of  her  inteUaot  Y 

Alas,  poor  Zeuca  !  it  oeeded  all 
The  fantasy,  which  held  thy  mind  in  thf^n. 
To  see  in  that  gay  Uarem's  glowiag  midt 
A  sainted  colony  for  Eden's  shades; 
Or  dream  that  he,  —  of  whose  unholy  flam* 
Thou  wert  too  soon  the  victim,  —  shining  euu 
From  Paradise,  to  people  its  pure  sphere 
With  souLi  like  thine,  which  he  hath  lain' I 

here  ! 
No  —  had  not  reason's  light  totally  set. 
And  left  thee  dark,  thou  hadst  an  amulet 
In  the  lov'd  image,  graven  on  thy  heart, 
Which  would  have  sav'd  thee  firom  the  tempt- 

er's  art. 
And  kept  alive,  in  all  its  bloom  of  breath* 
lliat  purity,  whose  fading  is  love's  death  I  — 
But  lost,  infiam'd,  —  a  restless  teal  took  place 
Of  the  mUd  virgin's  still  atvd  feminine  grace  ; 
First  of  the  Prophet's  favorites,  proudly  first 
In  zeal   and  charms,  —  too  well  th'  ImpotU,* 

nurs'd 
Her  soul's  delirium,  in  whose  active  flame, 
Thus  lighting  up  a  young,  luxuriant  frames 
He  saw  more  potent  sorceries  to  bind 
To  his  dark  yoke  the  spirits  of  mankind. 
More  subtle  chains  than  hell  itself  e'er  twin'd. 
No  art  was  spar'd,  no  witchery  ;  —  all  the  skill 
His  demons  taught  him  was  cmploy'd  to  fill 
Her  mind  with  gloom  and  ecstasy  by  turns  — 
That  gloom,  through  which  Frenzy  but  fiercer 

burns ; 
That  ecstasy,  which  from  the  depth  of  sadnaBS 
Glares  like  the  maniac's  moon,  whose  light  It 

madness  ! 

'Twas  from  a  brilliant  banquet,  where  th» 

sound 
Of  poesy  and  music  breath'd  around. 
Together  picturing  to  her  mind  and  ear 
The  glories  of  that  heav'n,  her  destin'd  spherik 
Where  all  was  pure,  where  every  stain  that  If) 
Upon  the  spirit's  light  should  pass  away, 
And,  realizing  more  than  youthful  love 
E'er  wish'd  or  dream'd,  she  should  forever  rovt 
Through  fields  of  fragrance  by  her  Axta's  dd* 
His  own  bleas'd,  purified,  eternal  bride !  — 
Twas  from  a  scene,  a  u-itching  trance  like  this, 
He  hurried  her  away,  yet  breathing  bliss. 
To  the  dim  chamel  house ;  —  through  all  HI 

steams 
Of  damp  and  death,  led  onlj  bj  thoae  i 


S74 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


Which  foul  Corruption  lights,  as  with  design 
To  3how  the  gay  and  proud  she  too  can  shine  — 
And,  passing  on  through  upright  ranks  of  Dead, 
Which  to  the  maiden,  doubly  craz'd  by  dread, 
Seem'd  through  the  bluish  death  light  round 

them  cast, 
To  move  their  lips  in  mutterings  as  she  pass'd  — 
There,  in  that  awful  place,  when  each  had  quafTd 
And  pledg'd  in  silence  such  a  fearful  draught. 
Such  —  O,  the  look  and  taste  of  that  red  bowl 
Will  haunt  her  till  she  dies  —  he  bound  her  soul 
By  a  dark  oath,  in  hell's  own  language  fram'd, 
Never,  while  earth  his  mystic  presence  claim' d. 
While  the  blue  arch  of  day  hung  o'er  them 

both. 
Never,  by  that  all-imprecating  oath, 
In  joy  or  sorrow  from  his  side  to  sever.  — 
She  swore,  and  the  wide  chamel  echoed,  "  Never, 

never ! " 

From  that  dread  hour,  entirely,  wildly  given 
To  him  and  —  she  believ'd,   lost  maid  !  —  to 

heaven ; 
Her  brain,  her  heart,  her  passions  all  inflam'd. 
How  proud  she  stood,  when  in  full  Harem  nam'd 
The  Priestess  of  the  Faith  !  —  how  flash'd  her 

eyes 
With  light,  alas,  that  was  not  of  the  skies, 
When  round,  in  trances,  only  less  than  hers, 
Tie  saw  the  Harem  kneel,  her  prostrate  wor- 
shippers. 
Well  might  Mokanna  think  that  form  alone 
Had  spells  enough  to  make  the  world  his  own :  — 
Light,  lovely  limbs,  to  which  the  spirit's  play 
Gave  motion,  airy  as  the  dancing  spray. 
When  from  its  stem  the  small  bird  wings  away  : 
Lips  in  whose  rosy  labyrinth,  when  she  smil'd. 
The  soul  was  lost ;  and  blushes,  swift  and  wild 
As  are  the  momentary  meteors  sent 
Across  th'  uncalm,  but  beauteous  firmament. 
And  then  her  look  —  0,  where's  the  heart  so  wise 
Could  unbewilder'd  meet  those  matchless  eyes  ? 
Quick,  restless,  strange,  but  exquisite  withal, 
Like  those  of  angels,  just  before  their  fall ; 
Now  shadow'd  with  the  shames  of  earth  —  now 

cross'd 
By  glimpses  of  the  Heav'n  her  heart  had  lost ; 
In  every  glance  there  broke,  without  control, 
The  flashes  of  a  bright,  but  troubled  soul, 
Where  sensibility  &till  wildly  play'd, 
Like  lightning,  round  the  ruins  it  had  made  ! 

And    such    was    now    young    Zelica  —  so 
chang'd 
I       Prom  her  wh  ">,  some  years  since,  delighted  rang'd 


The  almond  groves  that  shade  Bokhaba's  tiie 
All  life  and  bliss,  with  Azim  by  her  side  I 
So  alter'd  was  she  now,  this  festal  day, 
When,  'mid  the  proud  Divan's  dazzling  array, 
The  vision  of  that  Youth  whom  she  had  lov'd, 
Had   wept   as   dead,   before   her  breath'd  aiwfl 

mov'd ;  — 
When  —  bright,  she  thought,  as  if  from  Edcc  « 

track 
But  half  way  trodden,  he  had  wander'd  back 
Again  to  earth,  glistening  with  Eden's  light-- 
Her  beauteous  A21M  shone  before  her  sight. 

O  Reason  !  who  shall  say  what  spells  renew, 
When  least  wo  look  for  it,  thy  broken  clew  1 
Through  what  smaU  vistas  o'er  the  darken'd 

brain 
Thy  intellectual  daydream  bursts  again  ; 
And  how,  like  forts,  to  which  beleaguerers  win 
Unhop'd-for    entrance    through    some    friend 

within. 
One  clear  idea,  wakened  in  the  breast 
By  memory's  magic,  lets  in  all  the  rest. 
Would  it  v/ere  thus,  unhappy  girl,  with  thee  ! 
But  though  light  came,  it  came  but  partially ; 
Enough  to  show  the  maze,  in  which  thy  sense 
Wander'd  about,  —  but  not  to  guide  it  thence  , 
Enough  to  glimmer  o'er  the  yawning  wave. 
But  not  to  point  the  harbor  which  might  save. 
Hours  of  delight  and  peace,  long  loft  behind. 
With  that  dear  form  came  rushing  o'er  her  mind ; 
But,  0,  to  think  how  deep  her  soul  had  gone 
In  shame  and  falsehood  since  those  momenta 

shone ; 
And,  then,  her  oath  —  t?iere  madness  lay  again, 
And,  shuddering,  back  she  sunk  into  her  chain 
Of  mental  darkness,  as  if  blest  to  flee 
From  light,  whose  every  glimpse  was  agony ! 
Yet,  one  relief  this  glance  of  former  years 
Brought,  mingled  with  its  pain,  —  tears,  flood* 

of  tears. 
Long  frozen  at  her  heart,  but  now  like  rills 
Let  loose  in  spring  time  from  the  snowy  hixls, . 
And  gushing  warm,  after  a  sleep  of  frost. 
Through  valleys  where  their  flow  had  long  been 

lost. 

Sad  and  subdued,  for  the  first  time  her  frame 
Trembled  with  horror,  when  the  summons  came 
(A  summons  proud  and  rare,  which  all  but  she. 
And  she,  till  now,  had  heard  wiln  ecstasy,) 
To  meet  Mokanna  at  his  place  01  prayer, 
A  garden  oratory,  cool  and  fair. 
By  the  stream's  side,  where  still  at  close  of  daj 
The  Prophet  of  the  Veil  retir'd  to  pray  ; 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


»• 


Bometimcs  alone  —  but,  oftener  far,  with  one, 
One  chosen  nymph  to  share  his  orison. 

(>f  late  none  found  such  favor  in  his  sight 
As  the  young  Priestess  ;  and  though,  since  that 

night 
^VTien  the  death  caverns  echoed  every  tone 
Of  the  dire  oath  that  made  her  all  his  own, 
lb'  Impostor,  sure  of  his  infatuate  prize, 
ll&d,  more  than  once,  thrown  off  his  soul's  dis- 

g-iise, 
A.cd  utter'd  such  unheav'nly,  monstrous  things, 
As  ev'n  across  the  desperate  wanderings 
Of  a  weak  intellect,  whose  lamp  was  out, 
ITirew  startling  shadows  of  dismay  and  doubt ;  — 
Yet  zeal,  ambition,  her  tremendous  vow, 
The  thought,  still  haunting  her,  of  that  bright 

brow, 
Whose  blaze,  as  yet  from  mortal  eye  conceal'd. 
Would  soon,  proud  triumph  !  be  to  her  reveal'd. 
To  her  alone ;  —  and  then  the  hope,  most  dear, 
Most  wild  of  all,  that  Jier  transgression  here 
Was   but    a    passage  through  earth's  grosser 

fire. 
From  which  the  spirit  would  at  last  aspire, 
Ev'n  purer  than  before,  —  as  perfumes  rise 
Xhrougli  flame  and  smoke,  most  welcome  to  the 

skies  — 
And  that  when  Azm's  fond,  divine  embrace 
Should  circle  her  in  heav'n,  no  darkening  trace 
Would  on  that  bosom  he  once  lov'd  remain. 
But  all  be  bright,  be  pure,  be  hit  again  !  — 
These  were  the  wildering  dreams,  whose  curs'd 

deceit 
Had  chain'd  her  soul  beneath  the  tempter's  feet. 
And  made  her  think  ev'n  damning  falsehood 

sweet. 
But  now  that  Shape,  which  had  appall'd  her 

view, 
That  Semblano'  —  O  how  terrible,  if  true  ! 
Which  came  acioss  her  frenzy's  full  career 
With  shock  of  consciousness,  cold,  deep,  severe, 
A*  waen,  in  northern  seas,  at  midnight  dark, 
A  c  ifil  3  of  ice  encounters  some  swift  bark, 
A  nd,  startling  all  its  wretches  from  their  sleep. 
By  one  cold  impulse  hurls  them  to  the  deep ;  — 
Bu    ame  that  shock  not  frenz}  's  self  could  bear, 

1  The  cib«8  or  Com  (or  Room)  and  Cashan  an  ftill  of 
Bosqiies,  matisolniims,  and  repiilchrea  of  the  deacMidantf 
•f  Ali,  the  Saints  of  Persia.  —  Chardin. 

<  An  island  in  the  Penian  Gulf,  celebrated  for  iu  whit* 
wine. 

*  The  mlraculoiiR  well  at  Merca;  ao  called,  njra  Sala, 
from  the  niurmiiring  of  ita  watera. 

*  The  god  Ilannaman. -•'  Apea  are  in  manjr  paila  of 
Udia  taighlv  '•nerated,  o*i'  i   leepect  to  the  God  Hanna 


And  waking  up  each  long-lull'd  image  them, 
But  check'd  her  headlong  soul,  to  »«nV  it  ia 
despair ! 

Wan  and  dejected,  through  the  •reaing  diMk 
She  now  went  slowly  to  that  muL  klaak* 
Where,  pondering  alone  hia  impious  eebciBM^ 
MoKANNA  waited  her  —  too  rapt  in  draeat 
Of  the  fair  ripening  future's  rich  murniM. 
To  heed  the  sorrow,  pale  and  spiritleaa. 
That  sat  upon  his  victim's  downcast  brow. 
Or  mark  how  slow  her  step,  how  alter'd  now 
From  the  quick,  ardent  Priestess,  whose  light 

bound 
Came  like  a  spirit's  o'er  th*  imcchoing  ground, 
From  that  wild  Zelica,  whoiie  every  glance 
Was  thrilling  fire,  whose  every  thought  a  trsno* '. 

Upon  his  couch  the  Yeil'd  Hokanna  lay. 
While  lamps  around  —  not  such  as  lend  theif 

ray. 
Glimmering  and  cold,  to  those  who  nightly  pray 
In  holy  KooM,'  or  Mecca's  dim  arcades,  — 
But  brilliant,  soft,  such  lights  as  lovely  maids 
Look  loveliest  in,  shed  their  Itixurious  glow 
Upon  his  mystic  Veil's  white  glittering  flow. 
Beside  him,  'stead  of  beads  and  books  of  pra)  ai 
Which  the  world  fondly  thought  he  mused  ot. 

there. 
Stood  Vases,  fill'd  with  Kisbmbk's*  golden  wme, 
And  the  red  weepings  of  the  Suioaz  vine ; 
Of  which  his  curtain'd  lips  full  many  a  draught 
Took  zealously,  as  if  each  drop  they  quaff* d. 
Like  Zemzem's  Spring  of  Holiness,'  had  power 
To  freshen  the  soul's  virtues  into  flower ! 
And  still  he  drank  and  ponder'd  —  nor  could  se« 
'ill'  approaching  maid,  so  deep  his  rcvery  ; 
At  length,  with  fiendish  laugh,  like  that  whio^ 

broke 
From  Eblis  at  the  Fall  of  Man,  he  spoke  :  — 
"  Yes,  ye  vile  race,  for  hell's  amusement  givm 
"Too  mean  for  earth,  yet  claiming  kin  with 

heaven ; 
•<  God's  images,  forsooth  !  —  such  gods  as  be 
"  Whom  India  serves,  the  monkey  deit j  :  «  - 
••  Ye  creatures  of  a  breath,  proud  Uings  otch), 
"  To  whom  if  LvciruUt  as  grandaits  ssy. 

man,  a  deity  partaking  of  the  fern  of  that  rac*  '•—  Pm 
luiU't  Hindoostaa. 

See  a  curioua  accoant  In  any>w'a  PwtU,  ti  a  auh"" 
embaaqr  from  mmm  pan  of  Um  Indiw  le  Ooa,  wkaa  dw  ftar 
tugueM  were  tbwe,  odMsg  nm  ummiss  fer  tfM  iw«*«« 
of  a  monkpy'f  tooth,  which  they  kcM  la  gnal  n 
and  which  had  bMO  laitni  away  upoa  the  »cs<s' '  *' 
kingdom  of  Jatanapataa. 


576 


LAXLA  ROOKH. 


"  Refus'd,  though  at  the  forfeit  of  heaven's  light, 
"  To  bend  in  worship  Lucifer  was  right !  '  — 
"  Soon  shall  I  plant  this  foot  upon  the  neck 
"  Of  your  foul  race,  and  without  fear  or  check, 
'•  Luxuriating  in  hate,. avenge  my  shame, 
"  My  deep-felt,  '.ong-nurs'd  loathing  of  man's 

name  !  — 
'  Soon  at  the  head  of  myriads,  blind  and  fierce 

Aa  liooded  falcons,  through  the  universe 
'  I'll  sweep  my  darkening,  desolating  way, 
"  Weak  man  rcy  instrument,  curs'd  man  my 
prey! 

"  Ye  wise,  ye  leam'd,  who  grope  your  dull 
way  on 
"  By  the  dim  twinkling  gleams  of  ages  gone, 
"  Like  superstitious  thieves,  who  think  the  Ught 
"  From  dead  men's  marrow  guides  them  best  at 

night  «  — 
"  Ye  shall  have  honors  —  wealth,  —  yes,  Sages, 

yes  — 
"  1  know,  grave  fools,  your  wisdom's  nothing- 
ness; 
*  Undazzled  it  can  track  yon  starry  sphere, 

•  But  a  gilt  stick,  a  bawble  blinds  it  here. 

'•  How  I  shall  laugh,  when  trumpeted  along, 
••  In  lying  speech,  and  still  more  Ij'ing  song, 
"  By  these  learn'd  slaves,  the  meanest  of  the 

throng ; 
••  Their  wits  bought  up,  their  wisdom  slirunk 

so  small, 
••  A  sceptre's  puny  point  can  wield  it  all ! 

"  Ye  too,  believers  of  incredible  creeds, 
••  Whose  faith  enshrines  the  monsters  which  it 

breeds ; 
'■'  Who,  bolder  ev'n  than  Nemrod,  think  to  rise, 

•  By  nonsense  heap'd  on  nonsense,  to  the  skies  ; 
••  Ye  shall  have  miracles,  ay,  sound  ones  too, 

"  Seen,  heard,  attested,  every  thing  —  but  true. 
"  Your  preaching  zealots,  too  inspir'd  to  seek 
"  One  grace  of  m'^aning   for  the   things   they 
speak ; 

•  Your  martyrs,  ready  to  shed  out  their  blood, 

'•  This  resol  ition  of  Eblis  not  to  acknowledge  the  new 
nvature,  man,  was,  according  to  Mahometan  tradition,  thus 
adopted  :  — "  The  earth  (which  God  had  selected  for  the 
materials  of  his  work)  was  carried  into  Arabia  to  a  place 
Between  Mecca  and  Tayef,  where,  being  first  kneaded  by 
tile  angels,  it  was  afterwards  fashioned  by  God  himself  into 
a  human  form,  and  left  to  dry  for  the  space  of  forty  days,  or, 
as  others  say,  as  many  years  ;  the  angels,  in  the  mean  time, 
often  visiting  it,  and  Eblis  (then  one  of  the  angels  nearest  to 
"Jod's  presence,  afterwards  the  devil)  among  the  rest ;  but 
ne,  not  contented  with  looking  at  it,  kicked  it  with  his  foot 
4II  it  lung  ;  a  id  knowing  God  designed  that  creature  <o  be 


"  For  truths  too  heavenly  to  be  understood  ; 
"  And  your  State  Priests,  sole  venders  of  th« 

lore, 
"  That  works  salvation  ;  —  as,  on  Ava's  shore, 
"  Where  none  but  priests  are  privileged  to  tiade 
"  In  that  best  marble  of  which  Gods  are  made ; 
"  They  shall  have  mysteries  —  ay,  precious  stufl 
"  For  knaves  to  thrive  by  —  mysteries  enough ; 
"  Dark,  tangled   doctrines,  dark  as  fraud  can 

weave, 
"  Which  simple  votaries  shall  on  trust  receive, 
"  While  craftier  feign  belief,  till  they  believe. 
"  A  Heav'n  too  ye  must  have,  ye  lords  of  dust,  — 
"  A  splendid  Paradise,  —  pure  8ouls»  ye  must : 
♦'  That  Prophet  iU  sustains  his  holy  call. 
•'  Who  iinds  not  heav'ns  to  suit  the  tastes  of  al' 
"  Houris  for  boys,  omniscience  for  sages, 
•'  And  wings  and  glories  for  all  ranks  and  ages. 
"  Vain  things  !  —  as  lust  or  vanity  inspires, 
"  The  heav'n  of  each  is  but  what  each  desires, 
"  And,  sotil  or  sense,  whate'er  the  object  be, 
"  Man  would  be  man  to  all  eternity  ! 
"  So  let  him  —  Eblis  !  grant  this  crowning  curse^ 
"  But  keep  him  what  he  is,  no  Hell  were  wors**." 

"  O  my  lost  soul ! "  exclaim'd  the  sl.addi.r- 

ing  maid. 
Whose  ears  had  drunk  like  poison  all  he  said : 
MoKANNA  started  —  not  abash'd,  afraid, — 
He  knew  no  more  of  fear  than  one  who  dwells 
Beneath  the  tropics  knows  of  icicles  ! 
But,  in   those   dismal  words  that  reach'd  his 

ear, 
"  O  my  lost  soul ! "  there  was  a  souna  so  dreax 
So  like  that  voice,  among  the  sinful  dead. 
In  which  the  legend  o'er  Hell's  Gate  is  read, 
That,  new  as   'twas  from  her,  whom  nought 

could  dim 
Or  sink  till  now,  it  startled  even  him. 

"  Ha,  my  fair  Priestess  !  "  — thus,  with  ready 
wile, 
Th'    impostor    turn'd    to   greet  her  —  "  thua, 
whose  smile 

his  superior,  took  a  secret  resolution  never  to  acknnwleiigt 
him  as  such."  —  Sale  on  the  Koran. 

s  A  kind  of  lantern  formerly  used  by  robbers,  called  th« 
Hand  of  Glory,  the  candle  for  which  was  made  of  the  fat 
of  a  dead  malefactor.  This,  however,  was  rather  a  western 
than  an  eastern  superstition. 

8  Tlie  material  of  wliich  images  of  Gaulma  (the  BirmaB 
Deity)  are  made,  is  held  s?-red.  "  Birinans  may  not  pur- 
chase the  marble  in  mass,  but  are  suffered,  and  irdeed  ea 
couraged,  to  buy  figures  of  the  Deity  ready  mai^e  '  t'ymca' 
Ava,  voL  iL  p.  376. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


S71 


'  lla  h  inspiration  in  its  rosy  beam 

I  B^vond  th'  Enthusiast's    hope  or   Prophet'* 

dream; 
>  Light  of  the  Faith !    who  twin'st  religion's 

zeal 
'  So  close  with  love's,  men  know  not  which  they 

feel, 
I  Nor  which  to  sigh  for,  in  their  trance  of  heart, 
I  The  heav'n  thou  preachcst  or  the  heav'n  thou 

art! 
'  What  should  I  be  ■without  thee  ?    without 

thee 
'  IIow  duu  were  power,  how  joyless  victory  ! 
'  Tliough  borne  by  angels,  if  that  smile  of  thine 
'  Bless'd  not  my  banner,  'twere  but  half  divine. 
'  But  —  why  so  mournful,  child  ?  those  eyes, 

that  shone    ' 
'  All  life  last  night  —  what !  —  is  their  glory 

gone } 
'  Come,  come  —  this  mom's  fatigue  hath  made 

them  pale, 
'  They    want     rekindling  —  suns     themselves 

would  fail 
'  Did  not  their  comets  bring,  as  I  to  thee, 
'  From  light's  own  fount  supplies  of  brilliancy. 
'Thou  seest  this  cup  —  no  juice  of  earth  is 

here, 
'  But  the  pure  waters  of  that  upper  sphere, 
'  "Whose  rills  o'er  ruby  beds  and  topaz  flow, 
'  Catching  the  item's  bright  color,  as  they  go. 
'  Nightly  my  Genii  come  and  fill  these  urns  — 
'  Nay,    drink  —  in    every    drop  life's    essence 

bums; 

■  'Twill  make  that  soul  all  fire,  those  eyes  all 

light— 

■  Come,  come,  I  want  thy  loveliest  smiles  to- 

night : 
'  There  is  a  youth  —  why  start  ?  —  thou  saw'st 

him  then ; 
'  Look'd  he  not  nobly  ?  such  the  godlike  men 

•  Thou'lt  have  to  woo  thee  in  the  bowers  above; 
'  Though  he,  I  fear,  hath  thoughts  too  stem  for 

love, 
ro»  rui'd  by  that  cold  enemy  of  bliss 
'  Ihc  world   calls  virtue  —  we  must  conquer 
this: 

■  Nay,  shrink  not,  pretty  sage !  'tis  not  for  thee 

•  To  scan  the  mazes  of  Heav'n's  mystery : 

•  The  steel  miist  pass  through  fire,  ere  it  can 

yield 
'  Fit  instruments  for  mighty  hands  to  wield. 

•  This  very  night  I  mean  to  try  the  art 

'  Of  powerful  beauty  on  that  warrior's  heart. 

•  All  that  my  Harem  boasts  of  bloom  and  wit, 
'  Of  skill  and  charms,  most  rare  and  exqxiisite, 

48 


•  Shall  tempt  the  boy ;  —  young  UxioAUt'A  bint 

eyea, 
'  Wlioae  sleepy  lid  like  anow  oa  violete  Mm ; 

•  Akocta's  cheek,  warm  as  a  spring-day  sea, 
'  And  lips  that,  like  the  seal  of  Solomuh, 

'  Have  magic  in  their  preasurr  ;  Zkka'*  lute^ 
*And  LiLui'a  dancing  feet,  thai  iflaaiu  »v| 

shoot 
'  Rapid  and  white  as  sea  birds  o'er  the  deep 

•  All  shall  combine  their  witching  powen  to 

steep 

•  My  convert's  spirit  in  that  softening  traz.ee, 

'  From  which  to  heav'n  is  but  the  next  advance; 

•  That  glowing,  yielding  fusion  of  the  breast, 

•  On  which  Religion  stamps  her  image  best 

'  But  hear  me,  Priestess  1  —  though  each  njmpk 
of  these 

•  Hath  some  peculiar,  practis'd  power  to  plea£A 
*Some  glance  or  step  which,   at  the  mirrv/r 

tried, 
'  First  charms  herself^  then  all  the  world  beeidaf 
•There  still  wants  otie,   to  mak<>  the  victor* 

sure, 

•  One  who  in  every  look  joins  every  lure : 
'Through  whom  all  beauty't  beams  oonoeO' 

tred  pass, 

•  Dazzling  and  warm,  as  through  love's  bumiag 


"  ^Vhosc  gentle  lips  persuade  without  a  wc>t<« 
"  Whose    words,    ev'n  when  unmeaning,  axf 

ador'd, 
"  Like  inarticulate  breathings  from  a  shrine, 
*'  Which  our  &ith  takes  for  granted  arc  divmo  I 
"  Such  is  the  nymph  we  want,  all  warmth  and 

light, 
"  To  crown  the  rich  temptations  of  to-night ; 
•'  Such  the  refin'd  enchantress  that  must  bo 
"  This  hero's  vanquisher,  —  and  thou  art  she !  * 

With  her  hands  clasp'd,  her  lipa  apart  and 

pale. 
The  maid  had  stood,  gazing  upon  the  Veil 
From    which    these  words,  like  south  winds 

through  a  fence 
Of  Kerzrah  flow'rs,  came  fill'd  with  pestilenc* 
So  boldly  utter'd  too  !  as  if  all  dread 
Of  Crowns  &om  her,  of  virtuous  frowns,  wen 

fled. 
And  the  wretch  felt  assur'd  that,  once  plong'd 

in. 
Her  woman's  soul  would  know  no  pause  in  ata  I 


1  •<  It  b  eoaunooir  Mid  hi  Pante,  Umi  if  ■  i 
In  the  hot  mmUi  wind,  whkli  to  J«m  or  Jiitr 
Ibat  dowar  (Um  Kmuth),  U  wUl  kill  bia."— 


At  first,  though  mute  she  listen' d,  like  a  dream 
Seem'd  all  he  said :  nor  could  her  mind,  whose 

heam 
As  yet  was  weak,  penetrate  half  his  scheme. 
But  when,  at  length,  he   utter' d,   "Thou  art 

she ! " 
All  flash' d  at  once,  and  shrieking  piteously, 
"  O  not  for  worlds  !  '  she  cried  —  "  Great  God  ! 

to  whom 
"  I  once  knelt  innocent,  is  this  my  doom  ? 
"Are  all  my  dreams,  my  hopes  of  heavenly 

bliss, 
"  My  purity,  my  pride,  then  come  to  this,  — 
"  To  live,  the  wanton  of  a  fiend !  to  be 
"  The  pander  of  his  guilt  —  O  infamy  ! 
"  And  sunk,  my  self,  as  low  as  hell  can  steep 
"  In  its  hot  flood,  drag  others  down  as  deep  ! 
"  Others  —  ha !  yes  —  that  youth  who  came  to- 
day— 
« Not  him  I  lov'd  -  not  him  —  O  !  do  but  say, 
"  But  swear  to  me  this  moment  'tis  not  he, 
"And  I  will  serve,  dark  fiend,  wiU  worship 
even  thee ! " 

"  Beware,  young  raving  thing  !  —  in  time  be- 
ware, 
"  Nor  utter  what  I  cannot,  must  not  bear, 
"  Ev'n  from  thy  lips.     Go      try  thy  lute,  thy 

voice,  . 

"  The  boy  must  feel  their  magic ;  —  I  rejoice 
"  To  see  those  fires,  no  matter  whence  they  rise, 
"  Once  more  illuming  my  fair  Priestess'  eyes  ; 
•♦  And  should  the  youth,  whom  soon  those  eyes 

shall  warm, 
••  Indeed  resemble  thy  dead  lover's  form, 
"  So  much  the  liappier  wilt  thou  find  thy  doom, 
"  As  one  warm  lover,  full  of  life  and  bloom, 
"  Excels  ten  thousand  cold  on§s  in  the  tomb. 
"  Nay,  nay,  no  frowning,  sweet !  —  those  eyes 

were  made 
"For  love,  not  anger  —  I  must  be  obey'd." 

"  Obey'd !  —  'tis  well  —  yes,  I  deserve  it  all  — 
••  On  me,  on  me  Heaven's  vengeance  cannot  fall 
"  Toe  heavily  —  but  Azim,  brave  and  true 
"And  beautiful  —  must  he  be  ruin'd  too  ? 
•<  Must  he  too,  glorious  as  he  is,  be  driven 
•'  A  renegade  like  me  from  Love  and  Heaven  ? 
"  Like  me  ?  —  weak  wretch,  I  wrong  him  —  not 

like  me ; 
"No  —  he's  all  truth  and  strength  and  purity  1 

1  Thr  hummingbird  is  said  to  run  'iiis  risk  for  the  pur- 
fose  of  picking  the  crocodile's  teeth.  The  same  circum- 
(UJice  is  related  of  the  lapwing,  as  a  fact  to  which  he  was 
■vitnesB,  ly  Paici  Lueas,  Voyage  fait  en  1714. 


"Fill  up  your  madd'ning  hell  cup  to  the  brim 
"  Its  witchery,  fiends,  willhave  no  charm  for  him 
"Let  loose  your  glowing  wantons  from  thcii 

bowers, 
"  He  loves,  he  loves,  and  can  defy  their  poweier  [ 
"  Wretch  as  I  am,  in  his  heart  still  I  reign 
"  Pure  as  when  first  we  met,  without  a  slam  ! 
"  Though  ruin'd  —  lost  —  my  memory,  ize   a 

charm 
"  Left  by  the  dead,  still  keeps  his  soul  from  harm 
"  O,  never  let  him  know  how  deep  the  brow' 
"  He  kiss'd  at  parting  is  dishonor'd  now  ;  — 
"  Ne'er  tell  him  how  dcbas'd,  how  sunk  is  she, 
"Whom    once  he  lov'd  —  once!  —  still  loves 

doting]  y. 
"  Thou  laugh'st,  tormentor,  —  what !  —  thou'lt 

brand  my  name  ? 
"  Do,  do  —  in  vain  —  he'll  not  believe  my  shame, 
"  He  thinks  me  true,  that  nought  beneath  God's 

sky 
"  Could  tempt  or  change  me,  and  —  so  once 

thought  I. 
"  But  this  is  past  —  though  worse  than  death 

my  lot, 
"  Than  hell  —  'tis  nothing  while  he  knows  it  not. 
"  Far  off  to  some  benighted  land  I'll  fly, 
"  Where  sunbeam  ne'er  shall  enter  till  I  die : 
"  Where  none  will  ask  the  lost  one  whence  she 

came, 
"  But  I  mav  fade  and  fall  without  a  name. 
"  And  thou  —  curs'd  man  or  fiend,  whate'er  thou 

art, 
"  Who  found' st  this  burning  plague  spot  in  my 

heart, 
"  And   spread'st  it  —  O,  so  quick !  —  through 

soul  and  frame, 
"  With  more  than  demon's  art,  till  I  became 
"  A  loathsome  thing,  all  pestilence,  all  flame  !  — 

"If,  when  I'm  gone " 

"  Hold,  fearless  maniac,  hold, 
"  Nor  tempt  my  rage  —  by  Heaven,  not  half  so 

bold 
"  The  puny  bird,  that  dares  with  teasing  hum 
"  Within  the  crocodile's  stretch'd  jaws  to  come .  ■ 
"  And  so  thou'lt  fly,  forsooth  ?  —  what !  —  giv« 

up  all 
"  Thy  chaste  dominion  in  the  Harem  Hall, 
"  "Where  now  to  Love  and  now  to  A.lla  given, 
"  Half  mistress  and  half  saint,  thou  hang'st  as 

even 
"  As  doth  Medina's  tomb,  'twixt  hell  and  heaven 

The  ancient  story  concerning  the  Trochilus,  or  humming 
bird,  entering  with  impunity  into  the  mouth  of  tlie  crocodilr 
is  firmly  believed  at  Java.  —  BarroiB'a  Cocki»-Cki»a 


LALLA.  ROOKH. 


tn 


*♦  Thou'lt  fly  ?  —  as  easily  may  reptiles  run, 

"  ITie  gaunt  snake  once  hffth  fix'd  his  eyes  upon ; 

"  As  easily,  when  caught,  the  prey  may  be 

*'  Pluck' (1  from  his  loving  folds,  as  thou  from  mo. 

"  No,  no,  'tis  fix'd  —  let  good  or  ill  betide, 

"  lliou'rt  mine  till  death,  till  death  Mokamna's 

bride  ! 
"  TIast  thou  forgot  thy  oath  ? "  — 

At  this  dread  word, 
The  Maid,  whose  spirit  his  ruda  taunts  had  stirr'd 
ITirough  all  its  depths,  and  rous'd  an  anger  there, 
1  hat  burst  and  lighten'd  even  through  her  de- 
spair — 
Shrunk  back,  as  if  a  blight  were  in  the  breath 
That  spoke  that  word,  and  stagger'd  pale  as 
death. 

••Yes,  my  sworn  bride,  let  others  seek  in 

bowers 
•Their  bridal  place  —  the  chamel  vault  was 

ours  ! 
•*  Instead  of  scents  and  balms,  for  tnee  and  me 
••  Rose  the  rich  steams  of  sweet  mortality ; 
'•  Gay,  flickering  death  lights  shone  while  we 

were  wed, 
"  And,  for  our  guests,  a  row  of  goodly  Dead, 
'  (Immortal  spirits  in  their  time,  no  doubt,) 
' '  From  reeking  shrouds  upon  the  rite  look'd  out ! 
••  That  oath  thou  heard'st  more  lips  than  thine 

repeat  — 
'« That  cup  —  thou  shudderest,  Lady,  —  was  it 

sweet  ? 
'  That  cup  wc  pledg'd,  the  chamel's  choicest 

wine, 
ilath  bound  thee  —  ay  —  body  and  soul  all 

mine  ; 
•  Bound  thee  by  chains  that,  whether  blest  or 

curs'd 
••  No  matter  now,  not  heU  itself  shall  burst ! 
•*  Henre,  woman,  to  the  Harem,  and  look  gay, 
*'  Look  wild,  look  —  any  thing  but  sad  ;   yet 

stay  — 
'*  One  moment  more  —  from  what  this  night 

hath  passed, 
'*I  see  thou  know'st  me,  know'st  me  teeli  at 

last. 


I  ClKum  eai>ueaj  npoa  (Mill,  viz.;  aiM  e«  IMt.    BsMr- 

Pentium  populatur  ova,  gratiasimamque  ex  bia  cacam  nidi* 
suia  refert  —  Solinus. 

«  "  Tlie  feast  of  Lanterns  ia  celebrated  at  Yamtcbeou 
with  more  magiiiflcence  than  any  where  eUe :  and  the  re- 
port goes,  that  the  ilhuninations  there  are  ao  iplendid,  that 
tn  Emperor  once,  not  daring  openly  to  leave  bia  Court  to  (o 
tbitber,  committed  himself  with  the  Oueen  and  aeveral 
Prirccanaa  of  bia  family  in  'Mbe  handa  of  a  oufician,  wbu 


••  Ha  !  ha  !  and  so,  fond  thing,  thou  thooght'ai 

all  true, 
•*  And  that  I  love  mankind  >  —  I  do,  1  do  — 
•'  As  victims,  love  them  ;  as  the  sea  Jog  doat» 
"  Upon  the  small,  sweet  fry  that  round  him  float* . 
"  Or,  as  the  Nile  bird  loves  the  aliine  that  pv^ 
•'  That  rank  and  venomous  food  on  which  aha 

lives !  '  — 

"  And,  now  thou  secst  mj  touTt  angelic  hue 
'•"lis    time    those  featunt  were   uncurtain'4 

too;  — 
"This  brow,   whose  light  —  O    rare   "•l*titl 

light! 
•«  Hath  been  reserv'd  to  bless  thy  favor'd  sight ; 
••  These  dazzling  eyes,  before  whose  shrouded 

might 
••  Thou'st  seen  immortal  Man  kneel  down  and 

quake  — 
••  Would  that  they  uwre  heaven's  lightnings  for 

his  sake  ! 
"  But  turn  and  look  —  then  wonder,  if  thou  wilt, 
••  That  I  should  hate,  should  take  revenge,  by 

guilt, 
••  Upon  the  hand,  whose  mischief  or  whoee  mirtl 
••  Sent  me  thus  maim'd  and  monstrotu  upon 

earth, 
••  And  on  that  race  who,  though  more  vile  the) 

be 
•'  Than  mowing  apes,  are  demigods  to  me ! 
••Here — judge  if  hoU,  with  all  its  power  to 

damn, 
••  Can  add  one  curse  to  the  foul  thing  I  am ! "  — 

He  rais'd  his  veU  —  the  Maid  tum'd  slowly 
round, 
Look'd  at  him  —  shriek'd  —  and  sunk  upon  tha 
ground ! 


On  their  arrival,  next  night,  at  the  place  of 
encampment,  they  were  surprised  and  delighted 
to  find  the  groves  all  around  illuminated ;  some 
artists  of  Yamtcheou'  having  been  sent  on  pre- 
viously for  the  purpose.  On  each  side  of  ths 
green  alley,  which  led  to  the  Koyal  Pavilion, 

pmniaed  lo  tnuMpott  tbam  tbitbar  ia  a  vk».  Ra  mUi 
ibem  in  tlia  night  to  aaeaad  waiaHfaiil  IkroMB  ikat  wan 
bone  up  bjr  awana,  wbieb  ia  a  ■oiiiit  amvad  ai  Vaal 
clieou.  The  Empen>r  aaw  at  hi*  iaiawre  all  Ika  nlasMi^ 
being  carried  upon  a  doad  that  bovaiB^  o««r  *a  dqr  aii< 
deacMMiad  b7  dagraaa i  and  caaa back  a«Ua  rMidw anH 
•pMd  and  aqaipage,  BokMljr  at  cout  paaHlftBf  Ui  ifeiaM*  * 


380 


LALLA  ROOKH 


artificial  sceneries  of  bamboo  work '  were  erected, 
representing  arches,  minarets,  and  towers,  from 
which  hung  housands  of  silken  lanterns,  painted 
by  the  most  delicate  pencils  of  Canton.  —  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  beautiful  than  the  leaves  of 
ilie  mango  irees  and  acacias,  shining  in  the  light 
of  the  bamboo  scenery,  which  shed  a  lustre  round 
as  soft  as  that  of  the  nights  of  Peristan. 

Lalla  Rookh,  however,  who  was  too  much 
occupied  by  the  sad  story  of  Zelica  and  her 
lover,  to  give  a  thought  to  any  thing  else,  ex- 
cept, perhaps,  him  who  related  it,  hurried  on 
through  this  scene  of  splendor  to  her  pavilion, 
—  greatly  to  the  mortification  of  the  poor  artists 
of  Yamtcheou,  —  and  was  followed  with  equal 
rapidity  by  the  Great  Chamberlain,  cursing,  as 
he  went,  that  ancient  Mandarin,  whose  parental 
anxiety  in  lighting  up  the  shores  of  the  lake, 
where  his  beloved  daughter  had  wandered  and 
been  lost,  was  the  origin  of  these  fantastic  Chi- 
nese illuminations.^ 

Without  a  moment's  delay,  young  Fekamorz 
was  introduced,  and  Fadladeen,  who  could 
never  make  up  his  mind  as  to  the  merits  of  a 
poet,  till  he  knew  the  religious  sect  to  which  he 
belonged,  was  about  to  ask  him  whether  he  was 
a  Shia  or  a  Sooni,  when  Lalla  Rookh  impa- 
tiently clapped  her  hands  for  silence,  and  the 
youth,  being  seated  upon  the  musnud  near  her, 
proceeded :  — 


Pkepabb  thy  sovl,  young  Azih  !  —  thou  hast 
braved 

llie  bands  of  Greece,  still  mighty,  though  en- 
slaved ; 

Hast  faced  her  phalanx,  arm'd  with  all  its  fame. 

Her  Macedonian  pikes  and  globes  of  flame  ; 

1  See  a  description  of  the  nuptials  of  Vizier  Alee  in  tlie 
Igictic  Annual  Renter  of  1804. 

9  "  Tiie  vulgar  ascribe  it  to  an  accident  that  happened  in 
Qie  family  of  a  famous  mandarin,  wliose  daughter  walking 
cne  evening  upon  the  shore  of  a  lake,  fell  in  and  was 
drowned  ;  this  atilicted  father,  with  his  family,  ran  thither, 
tni^  the  jetter  to  And  her,  he  caused  a  great  company  of 
lanterns  to  be  lighted.  All  the  inhabitants  of  the  place 
thronged  after  hini  witli  torches.  The  year  ensuing  they 
ma  le  fires  upon  the  shores  the  same  day ;  they  continued 
th«  ceremony  every  year,  every  one  lighted  his  lantern,  and 
By  degrees  it  commenced  into  a  custom."  —  Present  State 
}f  China. 

8  "  Thou  hast  ravished  my  heart  with  one  of  thine  eyes." 
—  Sol  Simg. 

t  <<  Tliej  tinged  the  ends  of  ber  fingers  scarlet  with  Hen- 


All  this  hast  fronted,  with  firm  heart  and  brour 
But  a  more  perilous  trial  waits  thee  now,  — 
Woman's  bright  eyes,  a  dazzling  host  of  eyes 
From  every  land  where  woman  smiles  or  sighs 
Of  every  hue,  as  Love  may  chance  to  raise 
His  black  or  azure  banner  in  their  blaze  ; 
And  each  sweet  mode  of  warfare,  from  the  flash 
That  lightens  boldly  through  the  shadowy  lash. 
To  the  sly,  stealing  splendors,  almost  hid. 
Like  swords  half  sheath' d,  beneath  the  downcast 

lid;  — 
Such,  AziM,  is  the  lovely,  luminous  host 
Now  led  against  thee  ;  and,  let  conquerors  boast 
Theu'  fields  of  fame,  he  who  in  virtue  arms 
A  young,  warm  spirit  against  beauty's  charms, 
Who  feels  her  brightness,  yet  defies  her  thrall, 
Is  the  best,  bravest  conqueror  of  them  all. 

Now,  through  the  Harem  chambers,  moving 

lights 
And  busy  shapes  proclaim  the  toilet's  rites  ;  — 
From  room  to  room  the  ready  handmaids  hie. 
Some  skill' d  to  wreathe  the  turban  tastefully, 
Or  hang  the  veil,  in  negligence  of  shade, 
O'er  the  warm  blushes  of  the  youthful  maid, 
Who,  if  between  the  folds  but  o/ie  eye  shone. 
Like  Seba's  Queen  could  vanquish  with  that  one .  * 
While  some  bring  leaves  of  Henna,  to  imbue 
The  fingers'  ends  with  a  bright  roseate  hue,* 
So  bright,  that  in  the  mirror's  depth  they  seem 
Like  tips  of  coral  branches  in  the  stream  : 
And  others  mix  the  Kohol's  jetty  dye, 
To  give  that  long,  dark  languish  to  the  eye,* 
Which  makes  the  maids,  whom  kings  are  proud 

to  cull 
From  fair  Circassia's  vales,  so  beautiful. 
All  is  in  motion  ;  rings  and  plumes  and  pearls 
Are  shining  every  where  :  —  some  youngc  girl* 
Are  gone  by  moonlight  to  the  garden  beda. 
To  gather  fresh,  cool  chaplets  for  tiieir  heads ;  — 

na,  so  that  they  resembled  branches  of  coral." —  Story  <f 
Prince  Futtun  in  BaliardaniLsh. 

6  "  The  women  blacken  the  inside  of  their  eyelid*  with  • 
powder  named  the  black  Kohol."  —  RusseL 

"  None  of  these  ladies,"  says  Skaro,  "  take  themselves  ta 
be  completely  dressed,  till  they  have  tinged  the  liair  and 
edges  of  their  eyelids  with  the  powder  of  lead  ore.  Now, 
as  this  operation  is  performed  by  dipping  first  into  the  pow- 
der a  small  wooden  bodkin  of  the  thickness  of  a  quil.,  and 
then  drawing  it  afterwards  through  the  eyelids  over  the  baB 
of  the  eye,  we  shall  have  a  lively  image  of  what  the  Prophot 
(Jer.  iv.  30)  may  be  supposed  to  mean  by  rending  the  eyc4 
vith  painting.  This  practice  is  no  doubt  of  great  antiquity , 
for  besides  the  instance  already  taken  notice  of,  we  find 
that  where  Jezebel  is  said  (2  Kings,  ix.  30)  to  have  painted 
her  face,  the  original  words  are,  she  adjusted  her  eyes  lOtti 
the  powder  <tf  lead  ore."  —  Shato't  Travels. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


Gay  crcaturcB  !  sweet,  though  mournful,  'tia  to 

8ce 
How  each  prefers  a  garland  from  that  tree 
Which  brings  to  mind  her  childhood's  innocent 

day, 
And  the  dear  fields  and  friendships  far  away. 
The  maid  of  India.,  blest  again  to  hold 
In  her  full  lap  the  Champac's  leaves  of  gold,* 
Thii.ks  of  the  time  when,  by  the  Ganobs'  flood, 
Her  little  playmates  scatter'd  many  a  bud 
Upon  her  long  black  hair,  with  glossy  gleam 
Just  dripping  from  the  consecrated  stream ; 
While  the  young  Arab,  haunted  by  the  smell 
Of  her  own  mountain  flowers,  as  by  a  spell,  — 
The  sweet  Elcaya,*  and  that  courteous  tree 
Which  bows  to  all  who  seek  its  canopy,' 
Sees,  call'd  up  round  her  by  these  magic  scents. 
The  well,  the  camels,  and  her  father's  tents ; 
Sighs  for  the  home  she  left  with  little  pain. 
And  wishes  cv'n  its  sorrows  back  again  ! 

Meanwhile,  through  vast  illuminated  halls, 
Bilent  and  bright>  where  nothing  but  the  falls 
Of  fragrant  waters,  gushing  with  cool  sound 
From  many  a  jasper  fount,  is  heard  around. 
Young  AziM  roams  bewilder' d,  —  nor  can  guess 
What  means  this  maze  of  light  and  loneliness. 
He  «  the  way  leads,  o'er  tessellated  floorwi* 
Or  mats  of  Cairo,  through  long  corridors, 
Where,  rang'd  in  cassolets  and  silver  urns. 
Sweet  wood  of  aloe  or  of  sandal  bums  ; 
And  spicy  rods,  such  as  illume  at  night 
The  bowers  of  Tibet,*  send  forth  odorous  light. 
Like  Peris'  wands,  when  pointing  out  the  road 
For  some  pure  Spirit  to  its  blest  abode  :  — 
And  here,  at  once,  the  glittering  jjaloon 
Bursts  on  his  sight,  boundless  and  bright  as  noon ; 
W^here,  in  the  midst,  reflecting  back  the  rays 
In  broken  rainbows,  a  fresh  fountain  plays 


1  "The  appearance  of  tb«  blocsomt  of  the  gold-colored 
Champac  on  tlie  black  bair  of  the  Indian  women  haa  lupplied 
the  Sanjicrit  Poets  with  many  elegant  allimiona."  —  See  ^ti- 
aUt  Rfsearchet,  vol.  iv. 

<  A  tree  famous  for  its  perfniae,  and  common  on  the  hilla 
of  Yemen.  —  JfUbukr. 

*  Of  the  genua  mimofia,  "  which  droop*  ill  brancbea 
whenever  any  pereon  approaches  it,  seeming  as  if  it  laluted 
those  who  retire  under  its  shade."  —  Ibid. 

*  **  Cloves  are  a  principal  ingredient  in  tlie  composition 
of  the  perfumed  rod:),  which  men  of  rank  keep  constantly 
buniing  in  their  presence."— 7Vrm«r'*  TibeC 

»  «'  Cent  d'dii  vicnt  le  bob  d'aloes,  que  les  Arabes  apfwi- 
Init  Olid  Comari,  et  celui  du  sandal,  qui  •>  tnmv*  m 
grande  quantit*."—  lyiierbeleL 

«  "  Thousands  of  vari^saied  looriea  vMt  th*  coral  trtM." 
—  Barrrv. 

.    '  Ii  Mecca  there  are  quantities  of  bla*  pifMNM,  which 


High  as  th'  enamell'd  cupola,  wliich  t^wen 
All  rich  with  Arabc»ques  of  gold  and  flow«t 
And  the  mosaic  floor  beneath  thiisM  throufk 
The  sprinkling  of  that  fountain's  •Uv'ry  dew. 
Like  the  wet,  glistening  shells,  of  every  dye. 
That  on  the  margin  of  the  Red  8e«  lie. 

Here  too  he  traces  the  kind  visiting* 
Of  woman's  love  in  those  fair,  living  things 
Of  land  and  wave,  whose  fate  —  in  bondaft 

throviTi 
For  their  weak  lovelinew—  is  like  her  own  i 
On  one  side  gleaming  with  a  sudden  grace 
Through  water,  brilliant  as  the  crystal  vaM 
In  which  it  undulates,  small  fishes  ahinfl^ 
Like  golden  ingots  from  a  fairy  mine  ;  — 
While,  on  the  other,  latticed  lightly  in 
With  odoriferous  woods  of  Comokin,* 
Each  brilliant  bird  that  wings  the  air '  >  seen ;  ^ 
Gay,  sparkling  loories,  such  as  glev.i  bctweta 
The  crimson  blossoms  of  the  coral  tree ' 
In  the  warm  >Mes  of  India's  sunny  sea : 
Mecca's  blue  sacred  pigeon,^  and  the  thnuli 
Of  Ilindostan,*  whose  holy  warblings  gush. 
At  evening,  from  the  tall  pagoda's  top ;  — 
Those  golden  birds   that,  in  the  spioe  tinMb 

drop 
About  the  gardens,  drunk  with  that  sweet  jbod* 
Whose  scent  hath  Itu'd  them  o'er  the  aummU 

flood;" 
And  those  that  under  Araby's  soft  son 
Build  their  high  nests  of  budding  cinnamon ; ' 
In  short,  all  rare  and  beauteous  things,  that  fly 
Through  the  pure  element,  hero  calmly  lie 
Sleeping  in  light,  like  the  green  birds  '*  that  dw«l* 
In  Eden's  radiant  fields  of  asphodel ! 

So  on,  through  scenes  past  all  imagining. 
More  like  the  luxuries  of  that  impious  King, " 


none  will  aflVigfat  or  abase,  much  !•■  kill."— Ml*«  Ae 
count  of  the  .Mahometans. 

*  •'  The  Papoda  Thrash  is  artssatsd  amoog  iha  inl  ck-T 
iaten  of  India.  It  sits  parchsd  oa  th*  Mrrad  pafB<M,  SM 
from  thence  deliven  its  nielodiotts  •on^'*  —  FMMaCs  Okh 
dostan. 

•  Tnemitr  adds,  that  while  tb«  Birds  of  Pandlsa  lis  tt 
this  lnl<)iicated  stite,  the  emmets  come  and  cat  i4T  thek 
legs  ;  and  that  benre  it  is  tbejr  are  said  to  Imt*  m>  tmt 

M  Birds  of  Pawdise.  wbkh,  at  th*  — lt|  Mssaa,  nmt  la 
flights  tmu  ih*  southMn  isl«s  to  India  {  sirf  •*  th*  stiMfA 
of  tlM  autiiMg,"  my  Tavanier,  "  so  inloticalas  tiMM  th« 
Omf  (Ul  dead  drank  to  the  eanh." 

U  u  That  bird  which  liveth  in  .\rabia,  ai^  balM*di  tm 
B*s(  with  cinoamon."  —  SrM>a'«  Vulgar  Bnoab 

>t  "Th*  spirits  of  the  manyrs  wiU  b*  ia4gH  la  Ih*  ttofi 
or  groan  Mid*.'*— OiMm,  vol.  ix.  p^  4U. 

»  8h*dad.wboaMd*th*d*liciMMivd*MorMBulR-ml 


382 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


Wliom  Death's  dark  Angel,  with  his  lightning 

torch, 
Struck  down  and  blasted  even  in  Pleasure's 

porch, 
rhan  the  pure  dwelling  of  a  Prophet  sent, 
Arra'd  with  Heav'n's  sword,  for  man's  enfrar- 

chisement  — 
Ycnng  AziM  wander' d,  looking  sternly  round. 
His  simple  garb  and  war-boots'  clanking  sound 
But  ill  according  with  the  pomp  and  grace 
And  silent  lull  of  that  voluptuous  place. 

"  Is  this,  then,"  thought  the  youth,  "  is  this 

the  way 
'•To  free- man's  spirit  from  the  deadening  sway 
"  Of  worldly  sloth,  —  to  teach  him  while  he  lives, 
"  To  know  no  bliss  but  that  which  virtue  gives, 
'•  And  when  he  dies,  to  leave  his  lofty  name 
"  A  light,  a  landmark  on  the  cliffs  of  fame  ? 
"  It  was  not  so,  Land  of  the  generous  thought 
"  And  daring  deed,  thy  godlike  sages  taught ; 
"  It  was  not  thus,  in  bowers  of  wanton  ease, 
"  Thy  Freedom  purs' d  her  sacred  energies  ; 
"  O,  not  beneath  th'  enfeebling,  withering  glow 
"  Of  such  dull  luxury  did  those  myrtles  grow, 
"  With  which  she  wreath'd  her  sword,  when 

she  would  dare 
"  Immortal  deeds  ;  but  in  the  bracing  air 
■  •  Of  toil,  —  of  temperance,  —  of  that  high,  rare 
*  Ethereal  virtue,  which  alone  can  breathe 
"  Life,  health,  and  lustre  into  Freedom's  wreath. 
"  "Who,  that  surveys  this   span    of  earth  we 

pres!(,  — 
••  This  speck  of  life  in  time's  great  wilderness, 
••  This  narrow   isthmus  'twixt   two  boundless 

seas, 
"  The  past,  the  future,  two  eternities  !  — 
"  Would  sully  the  bright  spot,  or  leave  it  bare, 
"  When  he  might  build  him  a  proud  temple 

there, 
"  A  name,  that  long  shall  hallow  all  its  space, 
•'  And  be  each  purer  soul's  high  resting-place. 
"  But  no  —  it  cannot  be,  that  one,  whom  God 
Has  sent   to   break   the   wizard  Falsehood's 

rod,  — 
•'  A  Prophet  of  the  Truth,  whose  mission  draws 
"  Its  rights  from  Heaven,  should  thus  profane 

its  cause 
"  With  the  -v^orld's  vulgar  pomps  ;  —  no,  no,  — 

I  see  — 
••  He  thinks  me  weak  —  this  glare  of  luxury 


jttion  of  Paradise,  and  was  destroyed  by  lightning  the  first 
lime  he  attempted  to  enter  them. 
I  u  j\iy  Pandits  f>ssure  me  that  tlie  plant  before  us  (the 


"  Is  but  to  temjt,  to  try  the  eaglet  gaze 
"  Of  my  young  toul  —  shine  on,  'twill  stand  th* 
blaze  ! " 

So  thought  the  youth ;  —  but,  ev'n  while  he 

defied 
This  witching  scene,  he  felt  its  witchery  glide 
Through  ev'ry  sense.     The  perfume  breathixi|( 

round, 
Like  a  pervading  spirit ;  —  the  still  sour.d 
Of  falling  waters,  lulling  as  the  song 
Of  Indian  bees  at  sunset,  when  they  throng 
Around  the  fragrant  Nilica,  and  deep 
In  its  blue  blossoms  hum  themselves  to  sleep  :  ' 
And  music,  too  —  dear  music  !  that  can  tcu  a 
Beyond  all  else  the  soul  that  loves  it  much  — 
Now  heard  far  off,  so  far  as  but  to  seem 
Like  the  faint,  exquisite  music  of  a  dream  ; 
All  was  too  much  for  him,  too  full  of  bliss, 
The  heart  could  nothing  feel,  that  felt  not  this ; 
Soften'd  he  sunk  upon  a  couch,  and  gave 
His  soul  up  to  sweet  thoughts,  like  wave  on 

wave 
Succeeding  in  smooth  seas,  when  storms  are  laid 
He  thought  of  Zelica,  his  own  dear  maid. 
And  of  the  time  when,  full  of  blissful  sighs, 
They  sat  and  look'd  into  each  other's  eyes, 
Silent  and  happy  —  as  if  God  had  given 
Nought  else  worth  looking  at  on  this  side  heaven. 

"  O,  my  lov'd  mistress,  thou,  whose  spirit  stil] 
"  Is  with  me,  round  me,  wander  where  I  will  — 
"  It  is  for  thee,  for  thee  alone  1  seek 
"  The  paths  of  glory  ;  to  light  up  thy  cheek 
♦'  With  warm  approval —  in  that  gentle  look, 
"  To  read  my  praise,  as  in  an  angel's  book, 
"  And  think  all  toils  rewarded,  when  from  the* 
"  I  gain  a  smile  worth  immortality  ! 
"  How  shall  I  bear  the  moment,  when  restor'd 
"  To  that  young  heart  where  I  alone  am  Lord, 
"  Though  of  such  bliss  unworthy,  —  since  the 

best 
"  Alone  deserve  to  be  the  happiest .  — 
«'  When  from  those  lips,  unbreathed  upon  tuk 

years, 
♦•  I  shall  again  kiss  off  the  soul-felt  tears, 
"  And  find  those  tears  warm  as  when  last  thet 

started, 
"  Those  sacred  kisses  pure  as  when  we  parted. 
"  0  my  own  hfe  !  —  why  should  a  single  day, 
"  A  moment  keep  me  from  those  arms  away  ? " 


Nilica)  is  tlieir  Sephalica,  thus  nnmed  because  th*  bee* 
supposed  to  sleep  on  its  blossom."  "  —  Sir  W.  Jc%u 


LALLA   ROOKH. 


m 


Wli'ie  thus  he  vaiiiks,  still  nearer  on  the  breeze 
Uoine  those  deliciouj,  drram-liko  harmonies, 
Each  note  of  which  out  adds  new,  downy  links 
To  the  soft  chain  in  which  his  spirit  sinks. 
He  turns  him  toward  the  sound,  and  far  away 
Through  a  long  vi8t«t,{^parkling  with  the  play 
Of  countless  lamps,  —  like  the  rich  track  which 

Day 
leaves  on  the  waters  when  he  sinks  from  us, 
?o  long  the  path,  its  light  so  tremulous  ;  — 
lie  sees  a  groip  of  female  forms  advance, 
Some  chain'd  together  in  the  mazy  dance 
13y  fetters,  forg'd  in  the  green  sunny  bowers. 
As  thcv  were  captives  to  the  King  of  Flowers ; ' 
Ana  some  disporting  round,  unliiik'd  and  free, 
Who  seem'd  to  mock  their  sister's  slavery  ; 
And  round  and  round  them  still,  in  wheeling 

flight 
Went,  like  gay  moths  about  a  lamp  at  night ; 
Wlxile  others  wak'd,  as  gracefully  along 
Their  feet  kept  time,  the  very  soul  of  song 
From  psaltery,  pipe,  and  lutes  of  heavenly  thrill. 
Or  their  own  youthful  voices,  heavenlier  still. 
And  now  they  come,  now  pass  before  his  eye. 
Forms  such  as  Nature  moulds,  when  she  would 

vie 
With  Fancy's  pencil,  and  give  birth  to  things 
Lovely  beyond  its  fairest  picturings. 
A  while  they  dance  before  him,  then  (iiyide. 
Breaking,  like  rosy  clouds  at  eventide 
Around  the  rich  pavilion  of  the  sun, — 
i'iU  silently  dispersing,  one  by  one, 
Through  many  a  path,  that  from  the  chamber 

leads 
To  gardens,  terraces,  and  moonlight  meads, 
Their  distant  laughter  comes  upon  the  wind. 
And  but  one  trembling  njTnph  remains  behind,  — 
Beck'ning  them    back    in  vain,  for  they  are 

gone, 
And  she  is  left  in  all  that  light  alone ; 
No  veil  to  curtain  o'er  her  beauteous  brow, 
In  its  young  bashfulness  more  beauteous  now  ; 
But  a  light  golden  chainwork  round  her  hair,* 
Such  as  the  maids  of  Yezu'  and  Shiuas  wear, 
From  which,  on  cither  side,  gracefully  hung 
A  golden  amulet,  in  th'  Arab  tongue. 


1  "They  deferred  it  till  the  King  of  Flowen  sboald 
wrend  liia  thrune  of  e  lainelled  ft>\iig«." —  Tk*  Btkards- 
uuik 

*  "  One  of  the  headdressc*  of  the  Peniui  womm  i*  com- 
poowd  of  a  light  golden  chainwork,  aeC  with  nnall  pearU, 
with  a  iliiii  gold  plate  pe)dant,al>i>ut  the  bigneai  of  a  crown 
iiece,  oil  which  i*  impremed  an  Arabian  prayer,  and  which 
langt  up'>n  the  cheek  below  the  ear."  —  Hammtf'*  Traveln 
*■  Certainly  the  worcen  of  Yezd  are  lb* 


Engraven  o'er  with  some  immortal  line 
From  Holy  Writ,  or  bard  scarce  leaa  divine ; 
While  her  left  hand,  as  shiinkingly  she  stood, 
Held  a  small  lute  of  gold  and  sandal  wood. 
Which,  once  or  twice,  she  touch'd  with  hurried 

strain, 
Then  took  her  trembling  fingere  off  again. 
But  when  at  length  a  timid  glance  the  ttole 
At  AziM,  the  sweet  gravity  of  aoul 
She  saw  through  all  his  feattire«  ealro'd  her  fear 
And,  like  a  half-tam'd  antelope,  more  near. 
Though  shrinking  still,  ahe  came;  —  then  aat 

her  down 
Upon  a  musnud's*  edge,  and  bolder  grown. 
In  the  pathetic  mode  of  Isfahan  * 
Touch'd  a  preluding  strain,  and  thus  began :  — 

There's  a  bower   of  roeee  by  BsiTDUiuB'ii 

stream. 
And  the  nightingale  sings  rotmd  it  all  the  da; 

long; 
In  the  time  of  my  childhood  'twaa  like  a  aweei 

dream. 
To  sit  in  the  roses  and  hear  the  bird's  sons* 

That  bower  and  its  miuic  I  never  forget. 

But  oft  when  alone,  in  the  bloom  of  the  year, 

I  think  —  is  the  nightingale  singing  there  yet } 
Are  the  roses  still  bright  by  the  calm  Bbm* 

DBMBSB? 

No,  the  roses  soon  wither'd  that  hung  o'er  the 
wave, 
But  some  blossoms  were  gather'd,  while  freshly 
they  shone. 
And  a  dew  was  distill'd  from  their  flowers,  thai 
gave 
All  the  fragrance  of  summer,  when  sumn.ei 
was  gone. 

Thus  memory  draws  from  delight,  ere  it  dies. 

An  essence  that  breathes  of  it  many  a  year  ; 
Thus  bright  to  my  soul,  as  'twas  then  to  m} 
eyes. 

Is  that  bower  on  the  banks  of  the  calm  Bk^ 

DKMBBE 1 


woflMB  10  Pwria.  The  prmrub  ia,  that  to  live  hapiy  a  mtm 
nuat  have  a  wife  of  Yer^l,  eat  the  I  read  of  Yr/daea«,  aM 
drink  the  wine  of  Bhiiaa."— rMenuer. 

«  Mu«nud«  are  fuahtoasd  SMSi,  vmuOy  raaarvad  «nr  |w*- 
•una  of  dlatJnctioii. 

*  The  Petviana,  like  the  aitcieat  Oiwka,  rail  iMr  hm* 
caJ  modei  t'  Perdai  by  thr  naiBM  of  dif^iMrt  cwintrtar  •« 
cities,  V  the  mode  of  Icfaban,  iho  mode  of  Irak,  ^-. 

*  .K  river  y^'JL'M  flow*  near  liie  iuum  qH^ 


"  Poor  maiden  !  "  thought  the  youth,  "  if  thou 

wert  sent, 
"  With  thy  soft  lute  and  beauty's  blandishment, 
"  To  wake  unholy  wishes  in  this  heart, 
"  Or  tempt  its  truth,  thou  little  know'st  the  art. 
"For  though  thy  lip  should  sweetly  counsel 

wrong, 
"  Those  vestal  eyes  would  disavow  its  song. 
"  But  thou  hast  breath'd  such  purity,  thy  lay 
"  Returns  so  fondly  to  youth's  virtuous  day, 
••  And  leads  thy  soul  —  if   e'er  it  wander'd 

thence  — 
"  So  gently  back  to  its  first  innocence, 
"  That  I  would  sooner  stop  the  unchained  dove, 
"  When  swift  returning  to  its  home  of  love, 

•  And  round  its  snowy  wing  new  fetters  twine, 

*  Than  turn  from  virtue  one  pure  wish  of  thine  ! " 

Scarce  had  this  feeling  pass'd,  when,  sparkling 

through 
The  gently  open'd  curtains  of  light  blue 
That  veil'd  the  breezy  casement,  countless  eyes. 
Peeping  like  stars  through  the  blue   evening 

skicS; 
Look'd  laughing  in,  as  if  to  mock  the  pair 
That  sat  so  still  and  melancholy  there  :  — 
And  now  the  curtains  fly  apart,  and  in 
From  the  cool  air,  'mid  showers  of  jessamine 
Which  those  without  fling  after  them  in  play, 
I  wo  lightsome  maidens  spring,  —  lightsome  as 

they 
Who  live  in  th'  air  on  odors,  —  and  around 
The    bright    saloon,   scarce    conscious   of   the 

ground. 
Chase  one  another,  in  a  varpng  dance 
Of  mirth  and  languor,  coyness  and  advance. 
Too  eloquently  like  love's  warm  pursuit :  — 
While  she,  who  sung  so  gently  to  the  lute 
Her  dream  of  home,  steals  timidly  away. 
Shrinking  as  violets  do  in  summer's  ray,  — 
But  takes  with  her  from  Azim's  heart  that  sigh 
We  sometimes  give  to  forms  that  pass  us  by 
In  the  world's  crowd,  too  lovely  to  remain, 
Creatures  of  light  we  never  see  again  ! 

Around  the  white  necks  of  the  nymphs  who 
danc'd 
H  mg  carcanets  of  orient  gems,  that  glanc'd 


1  "  To  the  north  of  us  (on  the  coast  of  the  Caspian,  near 
Badku,)  waja  a  mountain,  which  sparkled  like  diamonds, 
intng  from  the  sea  glass  and  crystals  with  which  it 
Ibounds."— Jour?i(!y  of  the  Rtissian  Ambassador  to  Persia, 
1716 

•  "  To  which  will  be  added  the  sound  of  the  bells,  hang- 


More  brilliant  than  the  sea  glass  glittering  o'oi 

The  hills  of  crystal  on  the  Caspian  shore ;  * 

While  from  their  long,  dark  tresses,  in  a  fall 

Of  curls  descending,  bells  as  musical 

As  those  that,  on  the  golden-shafted  trees 

Of  Eden,  shake  in  the  eternal  breeze,* 

Rung  round  their  steps,  at  every  bound  mor» 

sweet. 
As  'twere  th'  ecstatic  language  of  their  feet. 
At  length  the  chase  was  o'er,  and  they  stood 

wreath' d 
Within  each   other's   arms ;    while  soft  there 

breath'd 
Through  the  cool  casement,  mingled  with  the 

sighs 
Of  moonlight  flowers,  music  that  seem'd  to  ris« 
From  some  still  lake,  so  liquidly  it  rose  ; 
And,  as  it  swell'd  again  at  each  faint  close, 
The  ear  could  track  through  all  that  maze  of 

chords 
And  young    sweet  voices,   these   impassion  i 

words :  — 

A  Spirit  there  is,  whose  fragrant  sigh 
Is  burning  now  through  earth  and  air ; 

Where  cheeks  are  blushing,  the  Spirit  is  nigh. 
Where  lips  are  meeting,  the  Spirit  is  there  ! 

His  breath  is  the  soul  of  flowers  like  these, 
And  his  floating  eyes  —  O,  they  resemble  ' 

Blue  water  lilies,*  when  the  breeze 

Is  making  the  stream  around  them  tremble. 

Hail  to  thee,  hail  to  thee,  kindling  power ! 

Spirit  of  Love,  Spirit  of  Bliss  ! 
Thy  holiest  time  is  the  moonlight  hour, 
And  there  never  was  moonlight  so  sweet  M 
this. 

By  the  fair  and  brave 

Who  blushing  unite, 
Like  the  sun  and  wave. 

When  they  meet  at  night ; 

By  the  tear  that  shows 

When  passion  is  nigh 
As  the  raindrop  flows 

FroEo  the  heat  of  the  sky ; 


ing  on  the  trees,  which  will  be  put  m  motion  by  the  wiitf 
proceeding  from  the  throne  of  God,  as  often  as  the  blessed 
wish  for  music."  —  Sale. 

8  '  Whose  wanton  eyes  resemble  blue  water  lilies,  agi 
tated  by  the  breeze."  —  Jai.adeva. 

*  The  blue  lotos,  which  grows  in  Cashmere  and  in  Venlt 


LAI  LA  ROOKH. 


SAl 


By  the  first  love  beat 

Of  the  youthful  heart, 
By  the  bliss  to  moet, 

\nd  the  pain  to  part ; 

By  all  that  thou  hast 

To  mortals  given. 
Which  —  O,  could  it  last, 

This  earth  were  heaven  ! 

We  call  thee  hither,  entrancing  Power  ! 

Spirit  of  Love  !  Spiiit  of  Bliss  ! 
Thy  ho'iest  t'mo  is  the  moonlight  hour, 

And  thcri'  never  was  moonlight  so  sweet  as 
this. 

Impatient  of  a  scene,  whose  luxuries  stole, 
8pitc  of  hin^sclf,  too  deep  into  his  soul. 
And  where,  'midst  all  that  the  young  heart  loves 

most, 
Flowers,  music,  smiles,  to  yield  was  to  be  lost. 
The  youth  had  stiirted  up,  and  turn'd  away 
From  the  light  nymphs,  and  their  luxurious  lay, 
To  muse  upon  the  pictures  that  hung  round,'  — 
Bright  images,  that  spoke  without  a  sound, 
And  views,  like  vistas  into  fairy  ground. 
iJut  here  again  new  spells  came  o'er  his  sense :  — 
All  that  the  pencil's  mute  omnipotence 
Could  call  up  into  life,  of  soft  and  fair. 
Of  fond  and  passionate,  was  glowing  there  ; 
Nor  yet  too  warm,  but  touch'd  with  that  fine  art. 
Which  paints  of  pleasure  but  the  purer  part ; 
Which  knows  ev'n  Beauty  when  half  veiled  is 

best, — 
Like  her  own  radiant  planet  of  the  west. 
Whose  orb  when  half  retired  looks  loveliest* 
T.'iere  hung  the  history  of  the  Genii  King, 
Trac'd  through  each  gay,  voluptuous  wandering 


1  It  lias  been  generally  supposed  that  the  Mahometans 
prnhihit  all  jiicttirci'  of  animals ;  but  Toderini  shows  that, 
tbo«igh  the  practice  is  fcrbiddcn  by  the  Koran,  they  ore  not 
more  avrnfo  to  painted  fiffurrs  and  imaices  than  other  peo- 
ple. From  Mr.  Murphy's  work,  too,  we  find  that  the  ArabH 
of  S|iain  had  no  objection  to  the  introduction  of  figures  intn 
punting 

s  This  iK  not  quite  astronomically  true.  "  Dr.  Hadley 
(says  Kelt)  has  shown  that  Venus  is  brightest  when  she  b 
■bout  forty  dcicrccM  removed  from  the  sun ;  and  that  then 
but  only  a  fourth  part  of  her  lucid  disk  is  to  b«  teen  fhmi  lb* 
earth." 

s  For  the  loves  of  King  Solomon  (who  was  suppoaed  lo 
preside  over  the  wliole  ruce  of  Genii)  witli  Bolkis,  the  Quean 
of  Sheba  ut  Saba,  see  D'llerbdot,  and  the  Jfotu  on  tk*  K»- 
r»M,  chap.  2. 

**  In  the  palace  which  Solomon  ordered  lo  be  buRt  axaintt 
tbe  arrival  of  the  Queen  of  Haba,  the  floor  or  pavement  traa 
'I  trniiiparent  glass,  laid  over  nioning  water,  In  which  Ash 
4B 


With  her  from  8A»&'r  bowers,  in  whoee  hrigk 

eye« 
He  read  that  to  be  blest  ia  to  be  wise ;*  — 
Here  fond  Zuleika  «  wooe  with  open  anna 
The  Hebrew  boy,  who  flic*  from  her  jooBf 

charms. 
Yet,  flying,  turns  to  gaxe.  and.  half  undone, 
Wishes  that  Hcar'n  and  she  could  Uth  be  we«, 
And  here  Mohammed,  bom  for  love  and  gttflr. 
Forgets  the  Koran  in  his  Makt's  smile;- 
Then  beckons  some  kind  angel  from  above 
With  a  new  text  to  consecrate  their  lore.' 

With  rapid  step,  yet  pleas'd  and  lingering  ere^ 
Did  the  youth  pass  these  pictur'd  htorics  by, 
And  hasten'd  to  a  casement,  where  the  light 
Of  the  calm  moon  came  in,  and  freshly  bright 
The  fields  without  were  seen,  sleejiing  as  still 
As  if  no  life  remain'd  in  breeze  or  rill 
Here  paus'd  he,  while  the  mui>ic,  now  lets  near. 
Breath'd  with  a  holier  language  on  his  car. 
As  though  the  distance,  and  that  heavenly  raj 
Through  which  the  sounds  came  floating,  took 

away 
All  that  had  liecn  too  earthly  in  the  lay. 

O,  could  he  listen  to  such  sounds  unmor'd. 
And  by  that  light  —  nor  dream  of  her  he  lov'd  I 
Dream  on,  unconscious  boy !  while  yet  thod 

mayst ; 
'Tis  the  last  bliss  thy  soul  shall  ever  taste. 
Clasp  yet  a  while  her  image  to  thy  heart. 
Ere  all  the  light,  that  made  it  dear,  depart. 
Think  of  her  smiles  as  when  thou  saw'st  then 

last. 
Clear,  beautiful,  by  nought  of  earth  o'ercatt ; 
Recall  her  tears,  to  thee  at  jiarting  given. 
Pure  as  they  weep,  •/  angels  weep,  in  Heaven. 


were  swimming."  This  led  the  Queen  intii  a  ver)'  nuturai 
mistake,  which  the  Koran  has  not  thiiiKbl  benenh  its  dig 
nity  to  commemnrile.  "  It  was  said  uiil'i  lirr,  *  Enl«r  lbs 
palace  '  And  when  she  saw  it  she  imsginrd  it  lo  l«  a  peM 
water ;  and  »he  divuvered  her  Itrs,  by  lifting  up  hrf  rr4ie  •• 
pass  through  it  \Vhereu{ion  Solomon  said  lo  her,  *  \  tr'< 
this  is  the  place  evenly  floured  with  glasa.* "—  Ciia|   <*>. 

«  The  wife  of  Pntiphar,  thus  named  bf  fbe  Oneat^. 

The  paxsion  which  this  frail  beMlljr  of  BMii^iiMr  9n 
ceived  tar  her  young  Hebrew  slave  bas  givetr  rW  m  a  aMieb 
esteemed  poem  in  lite  Pendan  buiguage,  miiilcd  t<u^  er* 
Z'likU,  by  Alwrsrfdia  Jamit  tbe  nMnuscrtjit  cu|iy  oTv  fcic» 
in  the  Bodleian  Library  at  Oxlunl,  is  supfwasd  lo  be  H 
finest  in  the  whole  world."— AW«  tifon  AWT*  Trmdmim 
tf  Hnftu 

»  Tbe  particulan  of  Mabooiei**  aioo«r  with  Mary,  Uh 
Cnpiic  girl,  in  JtiiCifleaiiaa  vt  wbicb  be  added  a  aeA-tlMtk 
tor  to  ihe  Koran,  aagr  be  fcuad  ia  €hf»tt^$  Mktm  m»» 
JlkuffeU,  p.  m 


Jt36 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


Think,  in  her  own  still  bower  she  waits  thee 

now, 
With  the  same  glow  of  heart  and  bloom  of  brow, 
Yet  shrin'd  in  solitude  —  thine  all,  thine  only. 
Like  the  one  star  above  thee,  bright  and  lonely. 
0,  that  a  dream  so  sweet,  so  long  enjoy'd. 
Should  be  so  sadly,  cruelly  destroy'd  ! 

The  song  is  hush'd,  the  laughing  nymphs  are 

tlown. 
And  he  is  left,  musing  of  bliss,  alone;  — 
Alone  r  — no,  not  alone  —  that  heavy  sigh. 
That  sob  of  grief,  which  broke  from  some  one 

nigh  — 
Whose  could  it  be  ?  —  alas  !  is  misery  found 
Here,  even  here,  on  this  enchanted  ground  ? 
He  turns,  and  sees  a  female  form,  close  veil'd, 
Leaning,  as  if  both  heart  and  strength  hadfail'd. 
Against  a  pillar  nenr  ;  —  not  glittering  o'er 
With  gems  and  wreaths,  such  as  the  others  wore, 
But  in  that  deep  blue,  melancholy  dress,' 
Botchaka's  maidens  wear  in  mindfulness 
Of  friends  or  kindred,  dead  or  far  away  ;  — 
And  such  as  Zelica  had  on  that  day 
He  left  her —  when,  with  heart  too  full  to  speak, 
He  took  away  her  last  warm  tears   upon  his 

check. 

A  strange  emotion  stirs  within  him,  —  more 
Than  mere  compassion  ever  wak'd  before  ; 
Unconsciously  he  opes  his  arms,  while  she 
Springs  forward,  as  with  life's  last  energy, 
But,  swooning  in  that  one  convulsive  bound, 
Sinks,  ere  sh  e  reach  his  arms,  upon  the  ground ; — 
Her  veil   falls   off — her  faint   hands  clasp  his 

knees  — 
Tis  she  herself !  —  'tis  Zelica  he  sees  ! 
■But,  iih,  so  pale,  so  chang'd  —  none  but  a  lover 
Could  in  that  wreck  of  beauty's  shrine  discover 
rhe  once  ador'd  divinity  —  ev'n  he 
"Stood  for  some  moments  mute,  and  doubtingly 
■  Put  back  the  ringlets  from  her  brow,  and  gaz'd 
llpm  those  lids,  where  once  such  lustre  blaz'd, 
Eve  tie  could  think  she  was  indeed  his  own, 
f  >wn  darling  maid,  whom  he  so  long  had  known 
In  joy  and  sorrow;  beautiful  in  both  ; 
Who,  cv'n  when  grief  was  heaviest  —  when  loath 
He  left  her  for  the  wars —  in  that  worst  hour 
t>at  in  her  sorrow  like  the  sweet  night  flower,' 
When  darkness  brings  its  weeping  glories  out, 
\nd  Sjjreads  its  sighs  like  frankincense  about. 


"  Look  up,  my  Zelica  —  one  mcment  sliow 
"  Those  gentle  eyes  to  me,  that  I  may  know 
"  Thy  life,  thy  loveliness  is  not  all  gone, 
"  But  there,  at  least,  shines  as  it  ever  shone. 
"  Come,  look  upon  thy  Azim  —  one  dear  glance 
"  Like   those  of  old.   were   heav'n  !   whateyei 

chance 
"  Hath  brought  thee  here,  O,  'twas  a  blessed  ont  • 
"  There  —  my   lov'd   lips  —  they  move  —  that 

kiss  hath  run 
"  Like   the   fii'st   shoot   of  life  through  everj 

vein, 
«•  And  now  I  clasp  her,  mine,  all  mine  again. 
"  O  the  delight  —  now,  in  this  very  hour, 
"  When  had  the  whole  rich  world  been  in  my 

power, 
"  I  should  have  singled  out  thee,  only  thte, 
"From  the  whole  world's  collected  treasury  — 
"  To  have  thee  here  —  to  hang  thus  fondly  o'er 
"  My  own,  best,  purest  Zelica  once  more  !  " 

It  was  indeed  the  touch  of  those  fond  lips 
Upon  her  eyes  that  chas'd  their  short  eclipse, 
And,  gradual  as  the  snow,  at  Heaven's  breath. 
Melts  off  and  shows  the  azure  flowers  beneath. 
Her  Kds   unclos'd,  and  the  bright   eyes  wert 

seen 
Gazing  on  his  —  not,  as  they  late  had  been, 
Quick,  restless,  wild,  but  mournfully  serene ; 
As  if  to  lie,  ev'n  for  that  tranced  minute, 
So  near  his  heart,  had  consolation  in  it ; 
And  thus  to  wake  in  his  belov'd  caress 
Took  from  her  soul  one  half  its  wretchednejw 
But,  when  she  heard  him  call  her  good  and  puiv, 
O,  'twas  too  much  —  too  dreadful  to  endure  ! 
Shuddering  she  broke  away  from  his  embrace, 
And,  hiding  with  both  hands  her  guilty  face, 
Said,  in  a  tone  whose  anguish  would  have  riven' 
A  heart  of  very  marble,  "  Pure,  O  Heaven ! " 

That  tone  —  those    looks  so    chang'd  —  th« 
withering  blight. 
That  sin  and  sorrow  leave  where'er  they  light ; 
The  dead  despondency  of  those  sunk  eyes. 
Where  once,  had  he  thus  met  her  by  surprise, 
He  would  have  seen  himself,  too  happy  boy, 
lieflected  in  a  thousand  lights  of  joy  ; 
And  then  the  place,  —  that  bright,  unholy  place 
Where  vice  lay  hid  bei\eath  each  winning  gracs 
And  charm  of  luxury,  as  the  viper  weaves 
Its  wily  covering  of  sweet  balsam  leaves,'  — 


1  "' Deep  lilue  is  their  monriiing  color."  —  Hanway.  '  among  ttie  balsam  trees,  I  made  vorj'  |);irTiciilar  uiqiiiry 

'  The  sorri>vvfiil  iiyrtaiitiies,  which  begins  to  spread  its  i  several  were  brought  me  alive  b  «lh  to  VainlH)  ami  Jidift.' 

irh  r.ilor  after  siiiict.  I  — Bruce. 

»  "  full'  eiiuiia  tli.'  \  iji?'-,  which  Pliny  says  were  fre  j'lent  1 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


an 


kll  struck  upon  his  heart,  sudden  and  cold 
As  death  itself;  —  it  needs  not  to  be  told  — 
No,  no  —  he  sees  it  all,  plain  as  the  brand 
Of   burning   shame   can   mark  —  whate'er   the 

hand 
rhat  could  from  Heav'n  and  him  such  brightneu 

sever, 
Tis  done  —  to  Heav'n  and  him  she's  lost  forever ! 
It  was  a  dreadful  moment ;  not  the  tears, 
rho  Un;;ering,  lasting  misery  of  years 
Hou^d  match  that  minute's  anguish  — all  the 

worst 
Of  sorrow's  elements  in  that  dark  burst 
Broke  o'er  his  soul,   and,   with   one  crash  of 

fate, 
Laid  the  whole  hopes  of  his  life  desolate. 

"  O,  curse  me  not,"  she  cried,  as  wild  he  toss'd 
EUs  desperate  hand  towards  Heav'n  —  "  though 

I  am  lost, 
"  Think  not  that  giiilt,  that  falsehood  made  me 

fall. 
"  No,  no  —  'twas  grief^  'twas  madness  did  it  all ! 
«'  Nay,  doubt  me  not  —  though  all  thy  love  hath 

ceus'd  — 
"  I  know  it  hath  —  yet,  yet  believe,  at  least, 
"That  every  spark  of  reason's  light  must  be 
•'  Quench'd  in  this  brain,  ere  I  could  stray  from 

thee. 
"  They  told  me  thou  wert  dead  —  why,  A2UI, 

why 
"  Did  we  not,  both  of  us,  that  instant  die 
"  When  we  were  parted  ?    O,  couldst  thou  but 

know 
"  With  what  a  deep  devotedness  of  woe 
•*  I  wept  thy  absence  —  o'er  and  o'er  again 
••  Thinking  of  thee,  still  thee,  till  thought  grew 

pain, 
•«  And  memory,   like   a  drop  that,   night  and 

day, 
"  Falls  cold  and  ceaseless,  wore  my  heart  away. 
"  Didst  thou  but  know  how  pale  I  sat  at  home, 
*'  My  eyes   still  tum'd  the  way  thou  wert  to 

come, 
•  And,  all  the  long,  long  night  of  hope  and  fear, 
»•  Thy  voice  and  step  still  sounding  in  my  ear  — 
••  O  God  I  thou  would'stnot  wonder  that,  at  last, 
"  When  every  hope  was  all  at  once  o'crcast, 
••  When  I  heard  frightful  voices  round  me  say 
"  Azim  is  dead.'  —  this  wretched  brain  gave  way, 
"  And  I  became  a  wreck,  at  random  driven, 
■*  Without  one  glimpse  of  reason  or  of  Heaven  — 
••All    wild  —  and   even    this   quenchless    love 

within 
"Tam'd  ^0  foul  fires  to  light  me  into  sin  I  — 


♦•Thou   pitiffct  me  — I  knew  thou  would  it  >- 

that  sky 
"  Hath  nought  beneath  it  half  to  lorn  M  L 
«'  The  fiend,  who  lur'd  me  hither  —  hilt !  oamt 

near, 
"  Or  thou  too,  thou  art  loat,  if  he  should  hear  ~ 
"  Told  me  such  things  —  O,  with  such  dfTilisb 

art, 
"  As  would  have  ruin'd  erhi  a  holier  heart  — 
"  Of  thee,  and  of  that  ever-radiant  sphere, 
"  Where  bleas'd  at  length,  if  I  but  serr'd  Mm 

here, 
"  I  should  forever  live  in  thy  dear  sight, 
"  And  drink  from  those  pure  eyet  eternal  light 
'•  I'hiiik,  think  how  lost,  how  maddeu'd  I  maj4 

be, 
"  To  hope  that  guilt  could  lead  to  Ood  or  thee ! 
"  Thou  weep'st  for  me  —  do  weep  —  O,  that  I 

durst 
•<  Kiss  off  that  tear  !  but,  no  —  theae  lipe  are 

curs'd, 
"  They  must  not  touch  thee ;  —  one  divine  cares* 
"  One  blessed  moment  of  forgetfulnen 
'•  I've  had  within  those  arma,  and  l/uU  shall  lie, 
<'  Shrin'd  in  my  soul's  deep  memory  till  I  die ; 
"  The  last  of  joy's  last  relics  here  below, 
"  The  one  sweet  drop,  in  all  this  waste  of  woe, 
*'  My  heart  has  treasur'd  from  affection's  spring, 
"  To  soothe  and  cool  its  deadly  withering  I 
"  But  thou  —  yes,  thou  must  go  —  forever  go ; 
"  This  place  is  not  for  thee  —  for  thee  !  O  no^ 
"  Did  I  but  tell  thee  half,  thy  tortur'd  brain 
"  Would  burn  like  mine,  and  mine  go  wild  again . 
"  Enough,  that  Ouilt  reigns  here  —  that  heartf. 

once  good, 
"  Now  tainted,   chill' d,    and  broken,  are   hit 

food.  — 
*'  Enough,  that  we  are  parted  —  that  there  roUi 
"  A  fiood  of  headlong  fate  between  our  soula. 
"  Whose  darkness  severs  me  as  wide  from  the* 
'*  As  hell  from  heav'n,  to  all  eternity  i " 

"  Zrlica,  Zelica  !  "  the  youth  excUim'd, 
In  all  the  tortures  of  a  mind  inflam'd 
Almost  to  madness  —  "  by  that  sacred  Heav'n. 
••  Where  yet,  if  pray'rs  can  move,  thou'lt  !*• 

forgiven, 
"  As  thou  art  here  —  here,  in  thin  writhin;*  ho.-irt 
••  All  sinful,  wild,  and  ruin'd  as  thou  art  ! 
••  By  tlie  remembrance  of  our  once  pure  lore, 
"  Which,  like  a  churchyard  li^ht,  still  baru« 

above 
"  The  grave  of  our  loet  souls—  which  guih    > 

thee 
•  Cannot  extinguish,  nor  despair  m  me  1 


J88 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


•♦  I  do  conjure,  implore  thee  to  fly  hence  — 
•♦  If  tnou  hast  yet  one  spark  of  innoccbce, 

-  Fly  with  me  irom  this  place " 

"  With  thee  !    O  hliss  ! 

•  'Tis  worth  whole  years  of  torment  to  hear  this. 
•♦  What !  take  the  lost  one  with  thee  ?  —  let  her 

rove 
"By  thy  dear  side,  as  in  those  days  of  love, 
"  When  we  were  both  so  happy,  both  so  pure  — 
•*  \\>o  heavenly  dream  !  if  there's  on  earth  a  cure 
'*  For  the  sunk  heart,  'tis  this  —  day  after  day 
"  To  be  the  blest  companion  of  thy  way ; 
"  To  hear  thy  angel  eloquence  —  to  see 
"  Those  virtuous  eyes  forever  turn'd  on  me  ; 
"  And,  in  their  light  rechasten'd  silently, 
"  Like   the  stain'd  web  that   whitens    in   the 

sun, 
»'  Grow  pure  by  being  purely  shone  upon  ! 
♦•  And  thou  wilt  pray  for  me  —  I  know  thou 

wilt  — 
"  At  the  dim  vesper  hour,  when  thoughts  of  guilt 
•'  Come  heaviest  o'er  the  heart,  thou' It  lift  thine 

eyes, 
«  Full  of  sweet  tears,  unto  the  dark'ning  skies, 
"And   plead  for  me  with  Heav'n,    till  I  can 

dare 
•«  To  fix  my  own  weak,  sinful  glances  there  ; 
"  Till  the  good  angels,  when  they  see  me  cling 
"  Forever  near  thee,  pale  and  sorrowing, 
"  Shall  for  thy  sake  pronounce  my  soul  forgiven, 
"And   bid   thee   take,  thy    weeping    slave    to 

Heaven ! 

"  O  yes,  I'll  fly  with  thee " 

Scarce  had  she  said 
These  breathless  words,  when  a  voice  deep  and 

dread 
As  that  of  MoNKEH,  waking  up  the  dead 
From  their  first  sleep  —  so  startling  'twas  to 

both  — 
Eung  through  the  casement  near,  "  Thy  oath  ! 

thy  oath  ! " 
O  Heav'n,  the  ghastliness  of  that  Maid's  look !  — 
"  'Tis  he,"  faintly  she  cried,  while  terror  shook 
Her  inmost  core,  nor  durst  she  lift  her  eyes, 
Though  through  the  casement,  now,  nought  but 

the  skies 
And  moonlight  fields  were  seen,  calm  as  before  — 
"  'Tis  he,  and  I  am  his  —  all,  all  is  o'er  — 
"  Go  —  fly  this  instant,  or  thou'rt  ruin'd  too  — 
"  My  oath,  my  oath,  O  God  !  'tis  all  too  true, 
•<  True  as  the  worm  in  this  cold  heart  it  is  — 

•  I  am  Mokanna's  bride  —  his,  Azim,  his  — 


1  "  In  tee  territory  of  Istkabar  thewe  is  a  kind  of  apple, 
Oalf  o  w'liich  is  sweet  and  half  sour."  —  Ebn  IlaukaL 


"  The  Dead  stood  round  us  while  I  spo/  s  thn- 

vow, 
"  Their  blue  lips  echo'd  it  —  I  heat  them  now  1 
'•  Their  eyes  glar'd  on  me,  while  I  \)]ed^'''.  thai 

bowl, 
"  'Twas  burning  blood  —  I  feel  it  in  a,.y  boul ! 
"  And  the  Veil'd  Bridegroom  —  hhi  —  I've  seen 

to-night 
"  What  angels  know  not  of —  so  lo'^  a  sight, 
•'  So  horrible  —  O,  never  mayst  thou  see 
'•  What  there  lies  hid  from  all  but  hell  and  me  ! 
"  But  I  must  hence  —  off,  off —  I  am  not  thine, 
"  Nor  Heav'n's,  nor  Love's,  nor  aught  that  it 

divine  — 
"  Hold  me  not  —  ha  !  think'st  thou  the  fiend* 

that  sever 
•'  Hearts,  cannot  sunder  hands  ?  —  thus,  then  — 

forever ! " 

With  all  that  strength,  v/hich  madness  lend 

the  weak. 
She  flung  away  his  arm  ;  and,  with  a  shriek, 
Whose  sound,  though  he  should  linger  oat  mort 

years 
Than  wretch  ere  told,  can  never  lenvi  his  etsa  ~ 
Flew  up  through  that  long  avenue  r.f  L^nt, 
Fleetly  as  some  dark,  ominous  bird  <  i  ni^ht, 
Across  the  sun,  and  soon  was  out  of  oignt  I 


Lalla  Kookh  could  think  of  nothing  all  daj 
but  the  misery  of  these  two  young  lovers.  Hei 
gaj'ety  was  gone,  and  she  looked  pensively  even 
upon  Fadladeen.  She  felt,  too,  without  know- 
ing why,  a  sort  of  uneasy  pleasure  in  imagining 
that  Azim  must  have  been  just  such  a  youth 
as  Feuamorz  ;  just  as  worthy  to  enjoy  all  the 
blessings,  without  any  of  tlie  pangs,  of  that  il- 
lusive passion,  which  too  often,  like  the  sunny 
apples  of  Istkahar,'  is  all  sweetness  on  one  side, 
and  all  bitterness  on  the  other. 

As  they  passed  along  a  sequestered  river  aftei 
sunset,  they  saw  a  young  Hindoo  girl  upon  the 
bank,*  whose  employment  seemed  to  them  sc 
strange,  that  they  stopped  their  palanquins  to 
observe  her.  She  had  lighted  a  small  lamp, 
filled  ■with  oil  of  cocoa,  and  placing  it  in  an 
earthcrn  dish,  adorned  with  a  wreath  of  flow- 
ers, had  committed  it  with  a  trembling  hand  tc 
the  stream;  and  was  now  anxiously  watching 


*  For  an  account  of  this  ceremony,  see  Oranaprt's  Voyagi 
in  the  Indian  Ocean. 


LAT.T.A   ROOKH. 


ts  progress  down  the  current,  heedless  of  the 
fay  cavalcade  which  had  drawn  up  beside  her. 
Lalla  Kouku  was  all  curiosity  ;  —  when  one  of 
her  attendants,  who  had  lived  upon  the  bi>nks 
of  the  Ganges,  (where  this  ceremony  jg  •©  fxe- 
;juent,  that  often,  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening, 
the  river  is  seen  glittering  all  over  'vith  light*, 
like  the  Oton-tala  or  Sea  of  Stj»-fl,')  inioruied 
the  Princess  that  it  was  the  us'ial  niay,  in  which 
(  the  friends  of  those  M'ho  hj»d  gone  on  dangerous 
voyages  offered  up  vow»  for  thuir  safe  return. 
J£  the  lamp  sunk  i)x>ui<^iiat.-ly,  tho  omen  was 
disastrous ;  but  >f  it  APut  saining  down  the 
«tream,  and  CMitirued  to  ourn  till  entirely  out 
of  sight,  the  rcturr.  of  ctie  beloved  object  was 
considered  us  c^rtsLi. 

Laj^T-a  Bo^kh,  as  tlicy  moved  on,  more  than 
once  IcjKcd  oacit,  to  observe  how  the  young 
Hinuoo's  lamp  proceeded ;  and,  while  she  saw 
with  plcstsure  that  it  was  still  unextinguished, 
she  could  not  help  fearing  that  all  the  hopes  of 
this  life  were  no  better  than  that  feeble  light 
upon  the  river.  The  remainder  of  the  journey 
was  passed  in  silence.  She  now,  for  tho  first 
time,  felt  that  shade  of  melancholy,  which  comes 
over  the  youthful  maiden's  heart,  as  sweet  and 
transient  as  her  own  breath  upon  a  mirror ';  nor 
was  it  till  she  heard^the  lute  of  Ferauorz, 
touched  lightly  at  the  door  of  her  pavilion,  that 
•he  waked  from  the  revery  in  which  she  had 
been  wandering.  Instantly  her  eyes  were  light- 
ed up  with  pleasure  ;  and,  after  a  few  unheard 

1  '•  The  place  where  the  Wbangho,  a  river  of  Tibet,  rise*, 
uid  where  there  are  more  than  a  hundred  springs,  which 
sparkle  like  stars;  whence  it  is  called  Uutun-nor,  that  is, 
the  Sea  ut  Stars."  —  DtMription  of  Tibet  tn  Pinkertvn. 

*  "  The  Lescar  or  Iin|>erial  Canip  is  divided,  like  a  regu- 
Ur  town,  into  squares,  alleys,  and  streets,  and  from  a  rising 
ground  furnishes  one  of  the  most  agreeable  prospects  in  tlie 
wnrH.  Starting  up  in  a  few  liours  In  an  uninhabited  plain. 
It  raises  the  idea  of  a  city  built  by  enchantment.  Even  those 
wbo  leave  their  liuuacs  in  cities  to  follow  the  prince  in  his 
progieM  are  frci|aently  so  charmed  with  the  Lescar,  when 
situated  in  a  beautiful  and  convenient  place,  that  they  can- 
not prevail  with  themselves  to  remove.  To  prevent  this  in- 
convenience to  the  court,  the  Emperor,  after  sufficient  time 
M  allowed  ro  the  tradesmen  to  fnlluw,  orders  tlien  to  b* 
burnt  out  <  f  their  tents."  —  Do»'»  liindostan. 

Crlonel  Wilks  gives  a  lively  picture  of  an  Ea<tem  en- 
limpment :  — "  His  camp,  like  that  of  roost  Indian  armies, 
(xliibited  a  motley  collection  nf  cover*  fiom  (he  scorchinK 
•in  and  dews  of  the  night,  variegated  accordii.g  to  Ibe  taste 
*r  means  of  each  individual,  by  extensive  enclusures  at  col- 
sred  laIico  surrounding  superb  suit*  of  tents  ;  by  ngfti 
cloths  or  blanketx  stretched  over  stick*  or  branches ;  palm 
Mve*  hastily  spread  over  similar  supports  ;  handsome  t«DM 
ml  splendid  canopies ;  horses,  oxen,  elephants,  and  csiimIs  ; 
tU  intermixed  wil*iout  any  •xtrrkur  mark  of  older  or 


remarks  fron.  FADLAbEEM  upoa  th*  iadeeonui 
of  a  poet  seau  ug  him«elf  in  praMoe*  of  a  Pna- 
cess,  every  thing  was  arranged  as  on  th«  pra* 
ceding  evening,  and  all  listened  with 
while  the  story  was  thus  continued : 


Whoab  are  the  gilded  tents  that  crowd  the  way. 
Where  all  was  waste  and  silent  yesterday  \ 
This  City  of  War,  which,  in  a  bw  short  hoan, 
Hath  sprung  up  here,*  as  if  the  magio  powers 
Of  Him  who,  in  the  twinkling  of  a  star. 
Built  the  high  pillar'd  hails  of  (Juiimuiam,* 
Hud  conjur'd  up,  far  as  the  eye  can  see. 
This  world  of  tents,  and  domes,  and  sun-bright 

armory  :  — 
Princely  pavilions,  screcn'd  by  many  a  fold 
Of  crimson  cloth,  ;md  topp'd  with  balls  of 

gold :  — 
Steeds,  with  their  housings  of  rich  silrer  spun. 
Their  chains  and  poitrcls  glittering  in  the  sun : 
And  camels,  tufted  o'er  with  Yemen's  shells,' 
Shaking  in  every  breeze  their  light-ton'd  Hells ' 

But  yestcrevc,  so  motionless  around. 
So  mute  was  this  wide  plain,  that  not^a  sound 
But  tho  far  torrent,  or  the  locust  bird  * 
Hunting  among  the  thickets,  could  be  heard ;  — 
Yet  hark  !  what  discords  now,  of  every  kind, 
Shouts,  laughs,  and  screams  are  revelling  in  ths 

wind ; 
The  neigh  of  cavalry  ;  —  the  tinkling  throngs 
Of  laden  camels  and  their  drivers'  songs ;  *  — 

except  the  flafs  of  th*  chleb>  which  usually  mark  the  e«a 
tree  of  a  congeries  of  these  massei  ;  the  only  regular  |>ait  ol 
the  encampment  being  the  streets  of  shop*,  each  of  which 
constructed  nearly  in  liie  maniMr  of  a  booth  ai  an  Bngliai 
tair."  —  Hutoric«l  &.tUkt$  uftk*  8om$k  if  Imdm. 

*  The  edifices  of  Chilminar  and  BalbM  are  Mipposad  K 
have  been  built  by  the  t;enii,  acting  under  the  onief*  of  Jas 
ben  Jan,  who  governed  the  world  loag  bafas  Ihs  dm*  oi 
Adam. 

4  "  A  superb  camel,  omanconted  with  strinp  and  tufts  ol 
small  shells." — Mi  Btf. 

*  A  native  of  Khormasan,  and  allarad  Mothwaid  Lf  mu  m 
of  the  water  nf  a  ftmntain  bet  WW  Sbiras  aiid  Is^aiHa 
called  Um  Fountain  of  Birds,  of  whkh  it  is  k.  iMid  dAk  « 
will  follow  wherever  that  water  is  carried 

«  "  Some  of  the  cameU  lave  belU  about  their  Mcksi,  •■< 
some  about  tbeir  lep,  like  those  which  our  canlMi  |«H 
abi>ut  their  fore-borses'  necks,  which  togetiMr  wMk  Iks  •» 
rants  (who  belong  to  the  camels,  and  travel  oa  fee*,)  dat- 
ing all  night,  make  a  pleasant  iM>i««,  and  the  Jowmejr  paflM 
away  aelightfully."  —  Put'0  AccouM  of  the  Mahiwetsaa, 

'■  The  camel  driver  CjIIow*  Um  csomIs  siaslaf,  ud  •■«• 
Uae*  playing  upon  hia  pipe ;  dw  lM4tr  to  tkm  -»*  m^ 
Of  feMM  the  caiMis  ft.  Nay,  tkf  wiO  mad  MtU  mkm 
togiveaover  biea«M&."  — 7>n«re  *r 


(90 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


Kinging  of  arms,  and  flapping  in  the  breeze 
Of  streamers  from  ten  thousand  canopies  ;  — 
War  music,  bursting  out  from  time  to  time, 
With  gong  and  tymbalon's  tremendous  chime ;  — 
Or,  in  the  pause,  when  harsher  sounds  are  mute, 
The  mellow  breathings  of  some  horn  or  flute, 
That  far  oif,  broken  by  the  eagle  note 
Ol  th'  Abyssinian  trumpet,'  swell  and  float 

Who    leads    this    mighty   army  ?  —  ask    ye 

"  who  ? " 
And  mark  ye  not  those  banners  of  dark  hue, 
The  Night  and  Shadow,*  over  yonder  tent  ?  — 
It  is  the  Caliph's  glorious  armament. 
Rous'd  in  his  Palace  by  the  dread  alarms, 
That  hourly  came,  of  the  false  Prophet's  arms. 
And  of  his  host  of  infidels,  who  hjirl'd 
Defiance  fierce  at  Islam'  and  the  world,  — 
Though  worn  with  Grecian  warfare,  and  behind 
The  veils  of  his  bright  Palace  calm  reclin'd, 
Yet  brook'd   he    not  such  blasphemy    should 

stain. 
Thus  unreveng'd,  the  evening  of  his  reign  ; 
But,  having  sworn  upon  the  Holy  Grave  * 
To  conquer  or  to  perish,  once  more  gave 
Ris  shadowy  banners  proudly  to  the  breeze, 
And  with  an  army,  nurs'd  in  victories, 
Here  stands  to  crush  the  rebels  that  o'errun 
His  blest  and  beauteous  Province  of  the  Sun. 

Ne'er  did  the  march  of  Mahadi  display 
Such  pomp  before  ;  —  not  ev'n  when  on  his  way 
I'o  Mecca's  Temple,  when  both  land  and  sea 
Were  spoil'd  to  feed  the  Pilgrim's  luxury  ;  * 
VVhen  round  him,  'mid  the  burning  sands,  he  saw 
e'ruits  of  the  North  in  icy  freshness  thaw. 
And  cool'd  his  thirsty  lip,  beneath  the  glow 
Of  Mecca's  sun,  with  urns  of  Persian  snow  : '  — 


1  "  This  trumpet  is  often  called,  in  Abyssinia,  nts^er  cano, 
*  ijich  signifies  the  Note  of  the  Eagle."  —  JVote  0/  Brucc^a 
h  Uor. 

s  Tlie  two  black  standards  borne  before  the  Caliphs  of  tnn 
House  of  Abbas  were  called,  allegorically,  The  Night  and 
Vne  Shadow.  —  Sea  Oibbon. 

^  The  Mahometan  religion. 

*  "  The  Persians  swear  by  the  Tomb  of  Shah  Besade, 
<vho  is  buried  at  Casbin  ;  and  when  one  desires  another  to 
isseverate  a  matter,  he  will  ask  him,  if  he  dare  3wear  by 
Jie  Holy  Grave." —  Strut/. 

»  Mahadi,  in  a  single  pilgrimage  to  Mecca,  expended  six 
luillimis  o,"  dinars  of  gold. 

6  Nivem  Mecratn  apportavit,  rem  ibi  aut  nunquam  aut 
raro  visain.  —  9bulfedn. 

1  The  inhabitants  of  Hejaz  or  Arabia  Petraa,  called  by  an 
E  u~!tern  writer  "  The  People  of  tlie  Kock."  —  Ebn  Haukal. 

e  "  Those  horses,  called  by  the  Arabians  Kcchlani,  of 
«bom  a  written  genealogy  lia.--  bt-en  kept  for  2000  years. 


Nor  e'er  did  armament  more  grand  than  I  lat 
Pour  from  the  kingdoms,  of  the  Caliphat. 
First,  in  the  van,  the  People  cf  the  Rock,' 
On  their  light  mountain  steeds,  of  royal  stock ; 
Then,  chieftains  of  Damascus,  proud  to  see 
The  flashing  of  their  swords'  rich  marquetry  ,'— 
Men  from  the  regions  near  the  Volga's  mouth, 
Mix'd  with  the  rude,  black  archers  of  the  South 
And  Indian  lancers,  in  white  turbun'd  ranks, 
From  the  far  Sixde,  or  Attock's  sacred  bank^, 
With  dusky  legions  from  the  Laud  of  Myrrh,"^ 
And   many  a  mace-arm'd   Moor   and   Mid-sea 
islander. 

Nor  less  m  number,  though  more  new  and 

rude 
In  warfare's  school,  was  the  vast  multitude 
That,  fir'd  by  zeal,  or  by  oppression  wrong' d, 
Round    the   white    standard    of    th'   imposto* 

throng' d. 
Beside  his  thousands  of  Believers  —  blind. 
Burning  and  headlong  as  the  Samiel  wind  - 
Many  who  felt,  and  more  who  fear'd  to  feel 
The  bloody  Islamite's  converting  steel. 
Flock' d  to  his  banner ;  —  Chiefs  of  th'  Uzbek 

race. 
Waving  their  heron  crests  with  martial  grace  ;" 
Turkomans,  countless  as  their  flocks,  led  forth 
From  th'  aromatic  pastures  of  the  North ; 
Wild  warriors  of  the  turkois  hills,'*  —  and  those 
Who  dwell  beyond  the  everlasting  snows 
Of  Hindoo  Kosh,'-'  in  stormy  freedom  bred. 
Their  fort  the  rock,  their  camp  the  torrent's  bed. 
But  none,  of  all  who  own'd  the  Chiefs  command, 
Rush'd  to  that  battle  field  with  bolder  hand 
Or  sterner  hate,  than  Ihan's  outlaw'd  men. 
Her  Worshippers  of  Fiie  '*  - —  all  panting  then 
For  vengeance  on  th'  accursed  Saracen  ; 


They  are  said  to  derive  their  origin  from  King  Solomon's 
steeds."  —  J\riebulir. 

»  "  Many  of  the  figures  on  the  blades  of  their  s<vorda  aif 
wrought  in  gold  or  silver,  or  in  marquetry  with  small  gems.*' 
—  Asiat.  Misc.  v.  i. 

10  Azab  or  Saba. 

U  "  The  chiefs  of  the  Uzbek  Tartars  wear  a  r'umt  ol 
white  heron's  feathers  in  their  turbans."  —  Jlccunnt  of  IruU 
pendent  Tartary. 

13  [n  the  mountains  of  Nishapour  and  Tons  (in  Khota» 
san)  they  find  turkoises.  —  Eba  Haukal. 

1*  For  a  description  of  these  stupendous  range.'  ol  mouo. 
tains,  see  Eli-hinntone's  Caubal. 

1*  The  Ghebers  or  Giiebres,  those  original  natives  of  Per 
sia,  who  adhered  to  their  ancient  faith,  the  religion  of  Zoro 
aster,  and  who,  after  the  conquest  of  their  country  by  th« 
Arabs,  were  either  persecuted  at  home,  or  forced  to  brcoKct 
wanderers  abroad 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


iti 


\'eMgeaiicc  at  last  for  their  dear  country  spum'd, 
Her  throne  usurp'd,  and  her  bright  shrines  o'er- 

tum'd. 
From  Yi:zu'8  '  eternal  Mansion  of  the  Fire, 
Where  aged  saints  in  dreams  of  Ileav'n  expire ; 
From  Badku,  and  those  fountains  of  blue  flame 
rhat  t)um  into  the  Caspian,*  fierce  they  came, 
CaiAcss  for  what  or  whom  the  blow  was  sped, 
k)    vengeance    triumph'd,    and  their    tyrants 

bled. 

Such  was  the  wild  and  miscellaneous  host. 
Chat  high  in  air  their  motley  banners  toss'd 
Around  tlie  Prophet  Chief  —  all  eyes  still  bent 
Upon  that  glittering  Veil,  where'er  it  went, 
That  beacon  through  the  battle's  stormy  flood, 
rhat  rainbow  of  the  field,  whose  showers  were 
blood  ! 

Twice  hath  the  sun  upon  their  conflict  set, 
A.nd  risen  again,  and  found  them  grappling  yet ; 
While  streams  of  carnage  in  his  noontide  blaze, 
Smoke  up  to  Ileav'n  —  hot  as  that  crimson  haze, 
By  which  the  prostrate  Caravan  is  aw'd,' 
In  the  red  Desert,  when  the  wind's  abroad. 
"  On,  Swords  of  God ! "   the  panting  Caupu 

calls,  — 
*«  Thrones  for  the  living  —  Heav'n  for  him  who 

falls  !"  — 
■•  On,  brave  avengers,  on,"  Mokanna  cries, 
♦*  And  Eblis  blast  the  recreant  slave  that  flies  !  " 
Now  comes  the  brunt,  the  crisis  of  the  day  — 
They  clash  —  they  strive  —  the  Qauph's  troops 

give  way  ! 
Mokanna's  self  plucks  the  black  Banner  down, 
And  now  the  Orient  World's  Imperial  crown 
Is  j  ust  within  hLs  grasp  — when,  hark,  that  shout ! 
Borne  hand  hath  check' d  the  flying  Moslem's 

rout ; 
And  now  they  turn,  they  rally  —  at  their  head 
A  wafiicr,  (like  those  angel  youths  who  led, 
tn  glorious  panoply  of  Heav'n's  own  mail, 
rhe  Champions  of  the  Faith  through  Bedbu's 

vale,*) 

'  Vrz-.  (he  chief  residence  of  those  ancient  natives, 
wbfi  Ww•s^Jp  tlie  Sun  and  tJie  Fire,  ivhicn  latter  they  have 
evefully  kept  liglited,  without  being  once  extinguished  fut 
S  moment,  nlxM-.t  3fl0n  years,  on  a  mountain  near  Yezd, 
called  Ater  Quedah,  tiiRiiifying  the  House  or  Mansion  of  the 
Firr  He  is  reckoned  very  unfortunate  wbo  dies  off  that 
mountain.  -  Stphen's  Persia. 

*  '■  When  the  weather  is  hazy,  the  sprinp  of  Naptitiia 
(on  an  island  ne.ir  Brku)  lioil  up  the  higher,  and  the  Napb- 
tha  often  takes  fire  on  tlie  surface  of  tbe  earth,  and  runs  ia 
a  flanto  into  the  sea  (u  a  disunce  almost  incredible."  —  Uam- 
rat  <">  (^  Katrlaiting  fir*  at  BJt» 


Bold  as  if  gifted  with  ten  tiouMnd  liTes, 
Turns  on  the  fierce  ptirsuers'  blodm,  and  dhvai 
At  once  the  mu.titudinoua  torrent  beck  — 
"While  hope  and  courage  kindle  in  hia  track  ; 
And,  at  each  step,  his  bloody  falcliicn  makea 
Terrible  vistas  through  which  nctorr  breaka  I 
In  vain  Moka-vna,  'midst  the  general  flight. 
Stands,  like   the   red  moon,  on  some  ttaray 

night, 
Among  the  fugitive  clouds  that,  hurrring  hy. 
Leave  only  her  unshaken  in  the  bky  — 
In  vain  ho  yells  his  desperate  curses  out, 
Deals  death  promiscuously  to  all  about. 
To  foes  that  charge  and  coward  frt«nda  tha 

fly. 

And  seems  of  cM  the  Great  Arch  enemy. 

The  panic  spreads  —  "A  miracle  !  "  through- 

out 
The  Moslem  ranks,  »  a  miracle  ! "  they  shout. 
All  gazing  on  that  youth,  whose  coming  seems 
A  light,  a  glory,  such  as  breaks  in  dreams ; 
And  every  sword,  true  as  o'er  billows  dim 
The  needle  tracks  the  loadstar,  following  him  i 

Right  towards  Mokanna  now  he  dcarea  hif 

path. 
Impatient  cleaves,  as  though  the  bolt  of  wrath 
He  bears  from  Ileav'n  withheld  its  awful  burst 
From   weaker  heads,  and  souls  but  half  way 

curs'd. 
To  break  o'er  Him,  the  mightiest  and  the  worst ! 
But  vain  his  speed  —  though,  in  that  hotu  o 

blood. 
Had  all  God's  seraphs  round  Mukaj(.«(a  stood. 
With  swords  of  fire,  ready  like  late  to  fall, 
Mokanna's  soul  would  have  defied  them  all ; 
Yet  now,  the  rush  of  fugitives,  too  strong 
For  human  force,  hurries  ev'n  him  aUmg ; 
In  vain  he  struggles  'mid  the  wedg'd  array 
Of  flying  thousands  —  he  is  borne  away  ; 
And  the  sole  joy  his  baffled  spirit  knows. 
In  this  forc'd  flight,  is  —  murdering  as  he  godS  I 
As  a  grim  tiger,  whom  the  torreut's  might 
Surprises  in  some  parch'd  ravine  at  night, 


•  Savory  says  of  the  south  wind,  whkb  bk>«'s  ta  Icf  ^ 
Onm  February  to  Uay,  *•  Sonctimes  it  (•-van  only  to  Iki 
shape  of  an  impstuaas  wtairiwind,  wbkii  ^mmm  i^^Mf 
and  If  taul  to  ilw  traveller,  suiprieed  to  the  n,  *yU»  ot  iht 
deserts.  Turrpnis  of  bumini  sand  loU  bUm  V  'ka  inaa- 
ment  is  enveloped  in  a  thick  veil,  aad  Um  SHa  ai^Mts  <^ 
the  culur  of  bU>od.  SouMCinMs  wboto  csiava^s  an  taiM 
in  IL" 

«  In  the  great  victoijr  galiistf  kjr  Mslwaisd  ai  Bstfar.  U 
WM  awtotwi,  say  Uw  Mawuiisas,  ky  Umw  ilMniaMd  aa 
gels,  led  by  Gabriel,  mouaied  oa  his  bone  Uiaraas.— «e« 
Th*  Kmnm  aad  lt$  CtmmmlMm. 


rurns,  ev'n  in  drowning,  on  the  wretched  flocks, 
Swept  with  him  in  that  snow  flood  from  the 

rocks, 
And,  to  the  last,  devouring  on  his  way, 
Bloodies  the  stream  he  hath  not  power  to  stay. 

"  Alia  ilia  Alia  !  "  —  the  glad  shout  renew  — 
■  Alia  Akbar  !  ' '  —the  Caliph's  in  Merou. 
Uang  out  your  gilded  tapestry  in  the  streets, 
Unc  ^ight  your  shrines  and  chant  your  zira- 

Icets.' 
llie  *S words  of  God  have  triumph'd  —  on  his 

throne 
Your  Caliph  sits,  and  the  veil'd  Chief  hath  flown. 
Who  does  not  envy  that  young  warrior  now. 
To  whom  the  Lord  of  Islam  bends  liis  brow, 
In  all  the  graceful  gratitude  of  power, 
For  his  throne's  safety  in  that  perilous  hour  ? 
Who  doth  not  wonder,  when,  amidst  th'  acclaim 
Of  thousands,  heralding  to  heaven  his  name  — 
Mid  all  those  holier  harmonies  of  fame. 
Which  sound  along  the  path  of  virtuous  souls. 
Like  music  round  a  planet  as  it  rolls,  — 
He  turns  away  —  coldly,  as  if  some  gloom 
Hung  o'er  his  heart  no  triumphs  can  illume ;  — 
Some  sightless  grief,  upon  whose  blasted  gaze 
Through  glory's  light  may  play,  in  vain  it  plays. 
Yes,  wretched  Azisi !  thine  is  such  a  grief, 
Beyond  all  hope,  all  terror,  all  relief ; 
A  dark,  cold  calm,  which  nothing  now  can  break, 
Or  warm  or  brighten,  —  like  that  Syrian  Lake,^ 
Upon  whose  surface  morn  and  summer  shed 
Tlieir  smiles  in  vain,  for  all  beneath  is  dead  .  — 
Hearts  there  have  been,  o'er  which  this  weight 

of  woe 
Came  by  long  use  of  suff'ering,  tame  and  slow  > 
But  thine,  lost  youth  !  was  sudden  —  over  thee 
It  broke  at  once,  when  all  seem'd  ecstasy ; 
When   Hope  look'd  up,  and  saw  the  gloomy 

Past 
Melt  into  splendor,  and  Bliss  dawn  at  last  — 
'Twas  then,  ev'n  then,  o'er  joys  so  freshly  blown, 
This  mortal  blight  of  misery  came  down ; 
Ev'n  then,  the  full,  warm  gushings  of  thy  heart 
Wero  check'd  —  like  fount  drops,  frozen  as  they 

start  — 
And  there,  like  them,  cold,  sunless  relics  hang. 
Each  fix'd  and  chill'd  into  a  lasting  pang. 


1  The  Tecbir,  or  cry  of  the  Arabs.  "  Alia  Acbar ! "  says 
Ockley,  means,  '♦  God  is  most  mighty." 

-  I'iie  ziraleet  is  a  kind  of  chorus,  which  the  women  of 
aw  East  sing  upon  joyful  occasions.  —  Russel. 

1  The  Dead  Sea,  which  contains  neitiier  animal  nor  vege- 
ab!e  life. 

♦  The  ancient  Ox"* 


One  sole  desire,  one  passion  now  remains 
To  keep  life's  fever  still  within  his  veins, 
Vengeance  !  —  dire  vengeance  on   the  wretdi 

who  cast 
O'ci  him  and  all  he  lov'd  that  ruinous  blast. 
For  this,  when  rumors  reach' d  him  in  his  flight 
Far,  far  away,  after  that  fatal  nigh'.,  — 
Rumors  of  armies,  thronging  to  th'  attack 
Of  the  Veil'd  Chief,  —  for  this  he  wing'd  hin> 

back. 
Fleet  as  the  vulture  speeds  to  flags  unfurl' d. 
And,  when  all  hope  seem'd  desp'rate,  wildly 

hurl'd 
Himself  into  the  scale,  and  sav'd  a  world. 
For  this  he  still  lives  on,  careless  of  all 
The  wreaths  that  Glory  on  his  path  lets  fall ; 
For  this  alone  exists  —  like  lightning  fire. 
To  speed  one  bolt  of  vengeance,  and  expire  I 

But  safe  as  yet  that  Spirit  of  Evil  lives  ; 
With  a  small  band  of  desperate  fugitives. 
The  last  sole  stubborn  fragment,  left  unri-vcn, 
Of    the   proud   host    that   late   stood  fronting 

Heaven, 
He  gain'd  Meeou  —  breath' d  a  short  curse  of 

blood 
O'er  his  lost  throne  —  then  pass'd  the  Jihon'i 

flood,* 
And  gathering  all,  whose  madness  of  belief 
Still  saw  a  Savior  in  their  down-fall'n  Chief, 
Rais'd    the    white    banner  within  Neksheb  s 

gates,* 
And  there,  untam'd,  th'  approaching  conqueror 

waits. 

Of  all  his  Harem,  all  that  busy  hive. 
With  music  and  with  sweets  sparkling  alive, 
He  took  but  one,  the  partner  of  his  flight. 
One  —  not    for    love  —  not    for    her    beauty's 

light  — 
No,  Zelica  stood  withering  'midst  the  gay, 
Wan  as  the  blossom  that  fell  yesterday 
From  th'  Alma  tree  and  dies,  while  overhead 
To-day's  young  flower  is  springing  in  its  stead,* 
O,  not  for  love  —  the  deepest  Damn'd  must  be 
Touch'd  with  Heaven's  glory,  ere  such  fiend* 

as  he 
Can  fee*  one  glimpse  of  Love's  divinity. 


6  A  city  of  Transoxiana. 

0  "  You  never  can  cast  your  eyes  in  this  tree,  out  you 
meet  tliere  either  blossoms  or  fruit ;  and  as  tlie  blossom 
drops  underneath  on  the  ground  (which  is  frequently  cov- 
ered with  those  purplc-colored  flowers),  others  come  forth  • 
their  stead,"  &c.  Scc—J^ieuJioff. 


T.AT.T.A   ROOKII. 


sn 


But  no,  she  is  his  victim ;  —  tftere  lie  all 

Her  charms  fo>  him  —  charms  that  can  nerer 

pall. 
As  long  as  hell  within  his  heart  can  stir, 
Or  one  faint  trace  of  lleaven  is  left  in  her. 
To  work  an  angel's  ruin,  —  to  behold 
As  whi'e  a  page  as  Virtue  e'er  unroU'd 
IJlHckrti,  bencaih  liis  touch,  into  a  scroll 
Of  da-.-ning  sius,  seal'd  with  a  burning  soul  — 
lias  IS  his  triumph  ;  this  the  joy  accurs'd, 
riiat  ranks  him  among  demons  all  but  first : 
This  gives  the  victim,  that  before  him  lies 
Blighted  and  lost,  a  glory  in  his  eyes, 
A  light  like  that  with  which  hell  tire  illumes 
The  ghastly,  writhing  wretch  whom  it  consumes ! 

But  other  tasks  now  wait  him  —  tasks  that 

need 
All  the  deep  daringness  of  thought  and  deed 
With  which  the  Dives '  have  gifted  him  —  for 

mark, 
Over  yon  plams,  which  night  had  else  made  dark, 
Those  lanterns,  countless  as  the  winged  lights 
That  spangle  India's  fields  on  showery  nightj," 
Far  as  their  formidable  gleams  they  shed, 
The  mighty  tents  of  the  beleaguerer  spread. 
Glimmering  along  th'  horizon's  dusky  line, 
And  thence  in  nearer  circles,  till  they  shine 
Among  the  founts  end  groves,  o'er  which  the 

town 
In  all  its  arm'd  magnificence  looks  down. 
Yet  fearless,  from  his  lofty  battlements 
MoKANNA  views  that  multitude  of  tents ; 
Nay,  smiles  to  think  that,  though  entoil'd,  beset. 
Not  less  than  myriads  dare  to  front  him  yet ;  — 
That  friendless,  thronelcss,  he  thus  stands  at  bay, 
Ev'n  thus  a  match  for  myriads  such  as  they. 
•'  O,  for  a  sweep  of  that  dark  Angel's  wing, 
"Who  brush'd  the  thoiisands  of  th'  Assyrian 
,      King' 

1   The  Demons  of  the  Persian  mythology 
C'arreri  mentions  the  fireflies  in  India  during  the  rainy 
N'l'^n.  —See  his  Travels. 

>  Sennacherib,  cailoU  by  the  Onentab  King  of  Mo«um1. 
-  IVHtrbeloL 

*  Chocir^s.  For  the  desenpoon  of  bia  Throne  or  Palace, 
Me  CHihon  and  D^HerbtloL 

I'here  were  said  to  be  under  this  Throne  or  Palace  of 
Khosrou  Parviz  a  hundred  vaults  filled  with  "  treastirea  ao 
immense  tJiat  some  Mahometan  writers  tall  us,  their  Prophet, 
to  enr/xirage  his  disciple!>,  carried  them  to  •  rock,  which  at 
ki'^  command  opened,  and  itave  them  a  prospect  through  it 
»f  the  treasures  of  Khosmii."  —  Dn.vertai  Hitterf. 

<  "  The  crown  of  Genuhid  is  clo«idy  and  tarnished  befora 

the  heron  tuft  of  thy  turban."—  From  one  of  the  elegiei  or 

longs  in  praise  of  All,  wi  tten  in  characters  of  gM 

«egallei7  of  AUas's  toir.j.  — See  durdim. 

M 


"  To  darkness  in  a  moment,  that  I  might 

"  People  Hell's  chambers  with  yon  host  t»-nlghtl 

"  But,  come  what  may,  lot  who  will  gnsp  tha 

throne, 
"  Caliph  or  Prophet,  Man  alike  shall  groan ; 
"  Let  who  will  torture  him,  Priaat  —  Caliph  - 

King  — 
"  Alike  this  loathsome  world  of  his  shall  ring 
"  With  victims'  shrieks  and  howlingt  of  the  sUt^ 
"  Souuds,  that  shall  glad  me  ev'n  within  m) 

grave ! " 
Thus,  to  himself —  but  to  the  scanty  train 
Still  left  around  him,  a  far  different  strain  :  — 
'*  Glorious  Defenders  of  the  sacn.d  Crown 
"  I  bear  from  Ueav'u,  whose  light  nor  blood  shall 

drown 
"  Nor  shadow  of  earth  cdipso ;  —  before  whoM 

gems 
*'  The  paly  pomp  of  this  world's  diadems, 
"  The  crown  of  GEaAsiiio,  the  pillar'd  thronr 
"  Of  Fabviz,*  and  the  heron  crest  that  shone,* 
"  Magnificent,  o'er  Au's  beauteous  tiyca,* 
"  Fade  like  the  stars  when  morn  it  iu  the  skies : 
«  Warriors,  rejoice  —  the  port  to  vhich  we're 

pass'd 
"  O'er  Destiny's  dark  wave,  beams  out  at  last  t 
•*  Victory's  our  own  —  'tis  wrutjn  in  that  Book 
"  Upon  whose  leaves  none  but  the  angeis  lock« 
*'  That  Islam's  sceptre  shall  'ounealn  the  power 
'*  Of  her  great  foe  fall  broken  in  that  hour. 
•'  When  the  boon's  mighty  oib,  before  all  eyes, 
"  From  Neksueb's  Holy  Well  portentously  shaL 

rise  ! 

"  Now  turn  and  see  !  " 

They  tum'd,  and,  as  he  spoki^ 
A  sudden  splendor  all  around  them  broke, 
And  they  beheld  an  orb,  ample  and  bright, 
liise  from  the  Iloly  Wcll,^  and  cast  itsjight 
Kound  the  rich  city  and  the  plain  for  miles,* 
Flinging  such  radiance  o'er  the  gilded  tiles 

•  The  beauty  of  Ali'a  eye*  waa  ao  remarkable,  tlwt  wbea 
ever  the  Peniiana  would  describe  any  thing  as  veiy  lovsls 
they  say  it  is  Ayn  Hall,  or  the  Eye*  of  All.  —  CTerrfie. 

T  We  are  not  told  more  of  this  trick  of  the  Impoaior,  dMa 
that  it  was  *'  une  machine,  qu'il  dirjic  Xra  la  Lune.**  Ae> 
cording  to  Bicbardaon,  the  miracle  U  peipetaai«d  hi  NafeS 
cheb  —  "Naksliab,  Uie  name  of  a  city  ia  Twaariianla 
where  they  say  there  is  a  well,  in  whick  the  S||»MMi>ii  «l 
the  moon  Is  to  be  seen  nic'it  and  Jay." 

•  "  II  anraaa  pendant  dio:.  i.MiB  la  pe«pto  da  la  vtaa  *• 
Nekhacheb,  ea  iU«int  autlr  lout**  lea  aaiie  da  tad  fam 
piiita  un  eoipa  lumineu;  ounbUMe  L  Zju»,  4h|  partall  M 
luroiire  Jiiaqu*i  la distarro  J;  pludrira  miUea.  *— I^Ar 
itUL    Uaaca  be  waa  o-.iad  itAmtit  iwah  nr  A*  Mam 


594 


LALLA  E.OOKH. 


Df  many  a  dome  and  fair-roofd  imaret, 
As  autunm  suns  shed  round  them  when  they  set. 
Instint  from  all  who  saw  th'  illusive  sign 
A  murmur  broke  —  *'  Miraculous  !  divine  !  " 
riie  Gheber  Low'd,  thinking  his  idol  star 
Harf  wak'd,  and  burst  impatient  through  the  bar 
Of   nidnight,  to  inflame  him  to  the  war  ; 
Wliile  he  of  Moussa's  creed  saw,  in  that  ray, 
The  glorious  Light  which,  in  his  freedom's  day, 
Had  rested  on  the  Ark,'  and  now  again 
•'ihone  out  to  bless  the  breaking  of  his  chain. 

"  To  victory  ! "  is  at  once  the  cry  of  all  — 
Nor  stands  Mokaxna  loitering  at  that  call ; 
Dat  instant  the  huge  gates  are  flung  aside. 
And  forth,  like  a  diminutive  mountain  tide 
Into  the  boundless  sea,  they  speed  their  course 
Right  on  into  the  Moslem's  mighty  force. 
The   watchmen  of  the  camp,  —  who,  in  their 

rounds. 
Had  paus'd,  and  ev'n  forgot  the  punctual  sounds 
Of  the  small  drum  with  which  they  count  the 

night,* 
To  gaze  upon  that  supernatural  light,  — 
Xow  sink  beneath  an  unexpected  arm. 
And  in  a  death  groan  give  their  last  alarm. 
"  On  for  the  lamps,  that  light  yon  lofty  screen,' 
"  Nor  blunt  your  blades  with  massacre  so  mean; 
"  There  rests  the  Caliph  —  speed  —  one  lucky 

lance 
"  May  now  achieve  mankind's  deliverance." 
Desperate  the  die  —  such  as  they  only  cast, 
Who  venture  for  a  world,  and  stake  their  last. 
But  Fate's  no  longer  with  him  —  blade  for  blade 
Springs  up  to  meet  them  through  the  glimmer- 
ing shade. 
And,  as  the  clash  is  heard,  new  legions  soon 
Pour  to  the  spot,  like  bees  of  Kauzeroon  * 
To  the  shrill  tiiibrel's  summons,  —  till,  at  length, 
The  mighty  camp  swarms  out  in  all  its  strength, 
And  back  to  Neksheb's  gates,  covering  the  plain 
With  random  slaughter,  drives  th'  adventurous 

train  ; 
A.mong  the  last  of  whom  the  Silver  Veil 
[s  seen  glittering  at  times,  like  the  white  sail 
Of  some  toss'd  vessel,  on  a  stormy  nighty 
Catching  the  tempest  s  momentary  light! 

1  The  Shechinah.  called  Sakinat  in  the  Konui.  — See 
SiUe'jf  ^ote,  cliap.  ii. 

s  The  parts  of  the  night  are  made  known  as  well  by  in- 
utrunients  of  music,  as  by  the  rounds  of  the  watchmen  with 
tries  and  small  drums.  —  See  Burdcr's  Oriental  Custoins, 
»o    i  p.  119. 

>  The  Berrapuidi,  high  screens  of  red  clctb,  stiffened  with 


And  hath  not  this  brought  the  pro.id  wpiri 

low  ? 
Nor  dash'd  his  brow,  nor  check'd  his  dariii^     No 
Though  half  the  wretches,  whom  at  night  he  lee 
To  thrones  and  victory,  lie  disgrac'd  and  dead, 
Yet  morning  hears  him  with  unshrinking  crest 
StiU  vaunt  of  thrones,  and  victory  to  the  rest ;  — 
And  they  believe  him  !  —  0,  the  lover  may 
Distrust  that  look  which  steals  his  soul  away ;  — 
The  babe  may  cease  to  think  that  it  can  play 
With.    Heaven's    rainbow  ;  —  alchemists    may 

doubt 
The  shining  gold  their  crucible  gives  out ; 
But  Faith,  fanatic  Faith,  once  wedded  fast 
To  some  dear  falsehood,  hugs  it  to  the  last. 

And  well  th'  Impostor  knew  all  lures  and  arts, 
That  Lucifer  e'er  taught  to  tangle  hearts ; 
Nor,  'mid  these  last  bold  workings  of  his  plot 
Against  men's  souls,  is  Zelica  forgot. 
Ill-fated  Zelica  !  had  reason  been 
Awake,  through  half  the  horrors  thou  hast  seen, 
Thou  never  couldst  have  borne  it  —  Death  had 

come 
At  once,  and  taken  thy  wrung  spirit  home. 
But  'twas  not  so  —  a  torpor,  a  suspense 
Of  thought,  almost  of  life,  came  o'er  the  intense 
And  passionate  struggles  of  that  fearful  night, 
When  her  last  hope  of  peace  and  heav'n  took 

flight : 
And  though,  at  times,  a  gleam  of  frenzy  broke,  — 
As  through  some  dull  volcano's  veil  of  smoke 
Ominous  flashings  now  and  then  will  start, 
Which  show  the  fire's  still  busy  at  its  heart ; 
Yet  was  she  mostly  wrapp'd  in  solemn  gloom,    - 
Not  such  as  Azim's  brooding  o'er  its  doom, 
And  calm  without,  as  is  the  brow  of  death. 
While  busy  worms  are  gnawing  underneath 
But  in  a  blank  and  pulseless  torpor,  free 
From  thought  or  pain,  a  seal'd-up  apathy,     '-, 
Which  left  her  oft,  with  scarce  one  living  thiili 
The  cold,  pale  victim  of  her  torturer's  will. 

Again,  as  in  Merou,  he  had  her  deck'd 
Gorgeously  out,  the  Priestess  of  the  sect ; 
And  led  her  glittering  forth  before  the  eyes 
Of  his  rude  train,  as  to  a  sacrifice,  — 


cane,  used  to  enclose  a  considerable  space  round  the  roya 
tents.  —  JVbtM  on  the  Bahardanush. 

The  tents  of  Princes  were  general'y  illuminated.  Not 
den  tells  us  that  the  tent  of  the  Bey  of  GIrge  was  distin 
guished  from  the  other  tents  by  forty  lanterns  being  sua 
pended  before  it.  —  See  Harmer's  Observations  on  Job. 

*  "  From  the  groves  of  orange  trees  at  Kauzero  im  tbt 
bees  cull  a  celebrated  boney. "—JUorier't  TVaeetg 


Pallid  iia  slie,  the  young,  devoted  Bride 

Of  the  fierce  Nile,  when,  dcck'd  in  all  the  pride 

Of  nnptiai  pomj).  she  sinks  into  his  tide.' 

And  wliile  the  vvretched  maid  hung  down  her 

head, 
And  stood,  as  one  just  risen  from  the  dead, 
Amid  that  gazing  crowd,  the  fiend  w  luld  tell 
His  c.eJa'ous  slaves  it  was  some  charm  or  spell 
i'3sse8s'd  her  now,  —  and  from  that  darkcn'd 

tr«nce 
Jhould  dawn  ere  long  their  Faith's  deliverance. 
Or  :f,  hi  times,  goaded  by  guilty  shame, 
B*>r  soul   was  rous'd,  and  words  of  wildness 

came, 
Instant  tlic  bold  blas]>hemcr  would  translate 
Iler  ravings  into  oracles  of  fate. 
Would  hail  Heav'n's   signals   in  her  flashing 

eyes. 
And  call  her  shrieks  the  language  of  the  skies  ! 

But  vain  at  length  his  arts  —  despair  is  seen 
Gathering  around  ;  and  famine  comes  to  glean 
All  that  the  sword  had  left  unreap'd  :  —  in  vain 
At  morn  and  eve  across  the  northern  plain 
He  looks  impatient  for  the  promis'd  spears 
Of  the  >\  ild  Hordes  and  Tabtab  mountaineers ; 


1  "  A  ciutom  atill  gubsisting  at  Ibis  dny,  8«eins  to  me  to 
IMVve  thai  tlie  Eto'ptians  funnerly  sacrificed  a  young  virgin 
U  the  God  (if  the  Nile ;  for  they  now  make  a  fctaiue  of  earth 
in  "hape  of  a  ifirl,  to  which  they  eive  the  name  of  the  Be- 
trothed Itriile,  and  throw  it  iiilo  tlio  river."  —  Savory. 

*  Thai  they  knew  ihe  secret  of  tlie  Greek  fire  among  the 
MiiKHuhnanii  early  in  tlie  eleventh  century,  npiieam  fnnn 
Dow't  Account  of  Mamood  I.  "  When  ho  arrived  at  Moul- 
tan,  finding  thai  the  country  of  the  Jits  was  defended  by 
(teat  rivers,  he  ordered  fifteen  hundred  boats  to  be  built, 
each  of  which  he  anned  witli  six  iron  spikes,  projecting 
froui  their  |>row:j  and  sides,  to  prevent  tlieir  being  boarded 
Dythe  enoiny,  who  were  very  expert  in  that  kind  of  war. 
When  he  had  launched  this  fleet,  he  ordered  twenty  archers 
nio  each  Uial,  and  five  others  ivilh  fire-balls,  to  burn  the 
craft  of  the  Jits,  and  naphtha  ui  set  the  whole  river  on  fire." 

The  agnee  <l■^(  r,  loo,  in  Indian  poems  the  IiiNtrument  of 
Fire,  whoxe  flame  cannot  be  extingui^bed,  is  supposed  to 
•ignify  the  Greek  Fire.  —  See  If'ilk.-'t  South  of  India,  vol.  I. 
I  471  —  And  in  the  curious  Javan  poem,  tiio  Brata  Yudka 
(i»en  by  Sir  Stamford  Raffles  in  his  History  of  Java,  we  find, 

Ut  aimed  at  Ihe  heart  of  So^ta  with  the  sharp-pointed 
(•^eapcu  of  Firo." 

The  mention  of  gunpowder  as  in  use  among  the  Arabians, 
l3Bg  brforo  its  supposed  discovery  in  EUirope,  is  introduced 
by  F.bn  Fadhl,  the  Eejptian  geograpJier,  who  livM  in  the 
Ibirtcentli  centur)-.  "  Bodies."  he  says,  "  in  the  fonn  of 
Korpions,  bound  round  and  filled  with  nitrous  powder,  glide 
•long,  making  a  gentle  noise  ;  then,  exploding,  they  lighten, 
■s  it  were,  and  burn.  But  there  are  nlhers  wiiirh,  cast  into 
the  air,  stretch  along  like  a  cloud,  roaring  horribly,  as  thun- 
uer  niars,  and  t  n  all  sides  vomiting  out  flames,  burst,  bum, 
and  reduce  to  cinders  whatever  comes  in  their  way."  Th« 
!.i<i"<rian  Bi^  MiaUa,  in  ipeaking  of  the  sieges  at  AbuliuOid 


They  come  not  — while  hia  fieice  bdaagvanH* 

pour 
Engines  of  havoc  in,  unknown  before,* 
And  horrible  as  newj* — javelins,  that  fly 
Inwreath'd  with  smoky  flames  through  the  daik 

sky. 
And  rod-hot  globes,  that,  opening  as  they  mour^ 
Discharge,  as  from  a  kindled  Naphtha  fount,* 
Showers  of  consuming  firo  o'er  all  below ; 
Looking,  as  through  th'  illumin'd  night  they  gtj, 
Like  those  wild  birds  *  that  by  the  Ma^acj 

oft. 
At  festivals  of  fire,  were  sent  aloft 
Into  the  air,  with  blazing  fagou  tied 
To  their  huge  wmgs,  scattering  combustion  wida 
All  night  the  groans  of  wretches  who  expire, 
In  agony,  beneath  these  darts  of  fire, 
Ring  through  the  city  —  while,  descending  o'ct 
Its  shrines  and  domes  and  streets  of  sycamore,  — 
Its  lone  bazaars,    ^th  their  bright  cloths  cf 

gold. 
Since  the  last  peaceful  pageant  left  unroU'd,  - 
I(s  beauteous  marble  baths,  wliose  idle  jets 
Now  gush  with  blood,  —  and  its  tall  minarets, 
That  late  have  stood  up  in  the  evening  glare 
Of  the  red  sun,  unhallow'd  by  a  prayer :  — 


in  tbeyeajortb«Hegiim713,tays,"AAeiy  globe,  bjri 
of  combustible  matter,  with  a  mighty  noiae  MuUenly  aaii^ 
ted,  strikes  with  the  liirce  of  ligbiuing,  and  sbakw  Ilia  cil» 
del."— See  the  extracts  fmin  Ca*iri^t  I'iblioth.  AraK  Ills- 
pan,  in  the  Appendix  to  BtringtonU  Literary  llistmy  of  lbs 
Middle  Ages. 

*  The  Greek  fire,  which  was  occasionally  lent  by  ihe  em- 
peron  to  their  allies.  "It  was,"  says  Gibbon,  **eitltet 
launched  in  red-hot  balls  of  stone  and  inn,  or  darted  in  a^ 
rows  and  Javelins,  twisted  round  with  flax  and  low,  wbidl 
had  deeply  imbibed  the  inflammable  oil" 

*  See  /faaiMiy's  Account  of  tlie  Springs  of  Naphtlu  at 
Baku  (which  is  called  by  Urutenant  PtUinf^r  JoaU  MookM, 
or,  the  Flaming  Mouth,)  Uking  Art  and  Auurfaf  Into  dM 
sea.  Dr.  Cookt,  in  his  Journal,  memiaas  snna  waHs  U 
Cirrajsia,  strongly  impregnated  with  ibis  laflaaMMMs  oil, 
ftvm  which  iaiiics  boiling  water.  *'  TiK-ugh  Ibt  wasth*?." 
he  adds,  "  was  now  very  cold,  llie  waniilh  of  Ihew  welli 
of  IkiI  water  produced  near  tlieni  tlie  verdure  and  0ow«B 
of  spring." 

Major  SeaU  tVarng  nya,  that  naphtha  is  used  tj  Ha  H^ 
•iaiw,  as  wa  are  told  it  was  in  bell,  l^>r  lamps. 
........    many  a  tow 

or  starry  lampa  and  blazing  cisssstt,  M 
With  naphtha  and  asphaltus,  yielding  light 
As  from  a  sky. 
»  "At  the  gr»»tf«rtival  of  fire,  called  the  8be!>e«rt,tfc/ 
used  to  set  fire  to  Uff*  bonclMS  of  dry  tuuiUiKiMss,  ft» 
tened  mund  wild  bMsH  and  blrd^  wMcli  Wn<  Ifcsii  l> 
loose,  Uie  air  and  wfth  ayfaaiad  on*  V*U  ilhiianUln 
and  as  these  leniflad  ciwnim  nstuiany  fled  to  Ika  waaft 
for  stielier,  ii  is  mmjt  to  eoncciv*  lb*  confUipaiiatM  Ihsf  |» 
diuwd."— JtktS'^dsM'*  Dteeftatior. 


J96 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


0  er  each,  in  turn,  the  dreadful  flame-bolts  fall, 
And  death  and  conflagration  throughout  all 
The  desolate  city  hold  high  festival ! 

MoKANNA  sees  the  -world  is  his  no  more ;  — 
One  sting  at  parting,  and  his  grasp  is  o'er. 
"  What !    droop'ng    now  i"  —  thus,   with  un- 

bl  ashing  cheek, 
H.(f  hails  the  few,  who  yet  can  hear  him  speak, 
Of  ail  those  famish' d  slaves  around  him  lying. 
And  by  the  light  of  blazing  temples  dying  ;  — 
"  What !  —  drooping    now  ?  —  now,   when    at 

length  we  press 
"  Home  o'er  the  very  threshold  of  success  ; 
■*  When  Alla  from  our  ranks  hath  thinn'd  aw<*y 
"  Those  grosser  branches,  that  kept  out  his  ray 
"  Of  favor  from  us,  and  we  stand  at  length 
'♦  Heirs  of  his  light  and  children  of  his  strength, 
"  The  chosen  few,  who  shall  survive  the  fall 
"  Of  Kings  and  Thrones,  triumphant  over  <J1 ! 
"  Have  you  then  lost,  weak  murmurers  as  you 

are, 
"  All  faith  in  him,  who  was  your  Light    /our 

Star  f 
"  Have  you  forgot  the  eye  of  glory,  hid 
'  Beneath  this  Veil,  the  flashing  of  wh"  j  lid 
•*  Could,  like  a  sunstroke  of  the  dese-^,  --vither 
••  Millions  of  such  as  yonder  Chief  b7""'^s  hither  ? 
"  Long  have  its  lightnings  slept  —  t  '••  long  —  but 

now 
"  All  earth  shall  feel  th'  unvcib'TT  of  this  brow  ! 
"  To-night  —  yes,  sainted  mer  '  this  very  night, 
"  I  bid  you  all  to  a  fair  festj*)  rite, 
"  Where  —  having  deep     ♦»fresh'd  each  weary 

limb 
••  With  viands,  such  >»6  f'^st  Heav'n's  cherubim, 
•'  And  kindled  up  your  souls,  now  sunk  and  dim, 
'•  With  that   Dui-e  wine  the  Dark-ey'd  Maids 

abo-"e  . 
"  Keep,  seal  d  with  precious  musk,  for  those 

they  love,'  — 
'•  I  will  myself  uncurtain  in  your  sight 
'*  The  wonders  of  this  brow's  ineff'able  light ; 
"  Then  lead  you  forth,  and  with  a  wink  disperse 
••  Yon  myriads,  howling  through  the  universe  ! " 

Eager  thev  lister.  —  while  each  accent  darts 
New  life  inU  their  chill'd  and  hope-sick  hearts  ; 
Such  treacherous  life  as  the  cool  draught  sup- 

pKes 
To  mm  upon  the  stake,  who  drinks  and  dies ! 


1  "  The  riglitecus  shall  be  given  to  drink  of  pure  wine, 
lealed  :  tlie  siil  whereof  shall  be  musk."  —  Koran,  chap. 
Iiiiiii 


Wildly  they  point  their  lances  to  the  light 
Of   the    fast-sinking    sun,    and    shout     "To- 
night ! "  — 
"  To-night,"  their  Chief  reechoes  in  a  voice 
Of  fiendlike  mockery  that  bids  hell  rejoice. 
Deluded  victims  !  —  never  hath  this  earth 
Seen  mourning  half  so  mournful  as  their  mirth 
Here,  to  the  few,  whose  iron  frames  had  stood 
This  racking  waste  of  famine  and  of  blood, 
Faint,  dying  wretches  clung,  from  whom  tha 

shout 
Of  triumph  like  a  maniac's  laugh  broke  out :  — 
There,  others,  lighted  by  the  smouldering  fire, 
Danc'd,  like  wan  ghosts  about  a  funeral  ^yte, 
Among  the  dead  and  dying,  strew'd  around  ;  — 
While  some  pale  wretch  look'd  on,  and  ftom  hifl 

wound 
Plucking  the  fiery  dart  by  which  he  bled. 
In  ghastly  transport  wav'd  it  o'er  his  head ! 

'Twas  more  than  midnight  now  —  a  fearful 

pause 
Had  follow'd  the  long  shouts,  tlie  wild  applause. 
That  lately  from  those  Royal  Gardens  burst. 
Where  the  Veil'd  demon  held  his  feast  accurst, 
When  Zelica  —  alas,  poor  ruin'd  heart, 
In  every  horror  doom'd  to  bear  its  part !  - 
Was  bidden  to  the  banquet  by  a  slave, 
Who,  while    his  quivering  lip    the  summoiui 

gave. 
Grew  black,  as  though  the  shadows  of  the  grave 
Compass'd  him  round,  and,  ere  he  could  repeat 
His  message  through,  fell  lifeless  at  her  feet ! 
Shuddering  she  went  —  a  soul-felt  pang  of  fear, 
A  presage  that  her  own  dark  doom  was  near, 
Rous' d  every  feeHng,  and  brought  Reason  back 
Once  more,  to  writhe  her  last  upon  the  rack. 
All  round  seem'd  tranquil  —  even  the  foe  had 

ceas'd, 
As  if  aware  of  that  demoniac  feast, 
His  fiery  bolts ;  and  though  the  heavens  look'd 

red, 
'Twas  but  some  distant  conflagration's  spread* 
But  hark  —  she  stops  —  she  listens  —  dreadful 

tone ! 
'Tis  her  Tormentor's  laugh  —  and  now,  a  groan, 
A  long  death  groan  comes  with  it :  —  can  thio  be 
The  place  of  mirth,  the  bower  of  revelry  i 
She  enters  —  Holy  Alla,  what  a  sight 
Was  there  before  her  !    By  the  glimmering  light 
Of  the  pale  dawn,  mix'd  with  the  flare  of  brands 
That  round  lay  burning,  dropp'd  from  lifeless 

hands. 
She  saw  the  board,  in  splendid  mocltery  spread, 
Rich  censers  breathing  —  garlands  overhfad.— 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


Fhe  urns,  the  cups,  from  which  they  late  had 

quaff  d 
All  gold  and  gems,  but  —  what  had  been  the 

draught  ? 
O,  who  need  ask,  that  saw  those  livid  guests, 
With  their  swoU'n  hoads  sunk  blackening  on 

their  breasts. 
Or  Jccking  pale  to  Ileav'n  with  glassy  fjlare, 
A  •  If  they  sought  but  saw  no  mercy  fhere  ; 
A«   li  they  felt,   though   p'-son  rs'.K'd  them 

through 
Remorse,  the  deadlier  torment  of  the  two  ! 
While  some,  the  bravest,  hardiest  in  the  train 
Of  their  false  Chief,  who  on  the  batde  plain 
Would  have  met  death  with  tranjport  by  his 

side. 
Here  mute  and  helpless  gasp'd ;  —  but,  as  they 

died, 
Look'd  horrible  vengeance  with  their  eyes'  last 

strain, 
And  clinci  'd  the  slackening  band  at  him  in 


Dreadful  it  was  to  see  the  ghastly  stare. 
The  stony  look  of  horror  and  despair, 
Which  some  of  these  expiring  victims  cast 
Upon  tlieir  souls'  tormentor  to  the  last ;  — 
Upon  that  mocking   Fiend,   whose  Veil,  now 

rais'd, 
Show'd  them,  as  in  death's  agony  they  gaz'd. 
Not  the  long  promis'd  light,  the  brow,  whose 

beaming 
Was  to  come  forth,  all  conquering,  all  redeeming. 
But  features  horribler  than  Hell  e'er  trac'd 
On  its  own  brood  ;  —  no  Demon  of  the  Waste,' 
No  churchyard  Ghole,  caught  lingering  in  the 

light 
Of  the  bless'd  sun,  e'er  blasted  human  sight 
With  lineaments  so  foul,  so  fierce  as  those 
rh'  Impostor  now,  in  grinning  mockery,  shows : 
•*  There,  ye  wise  Saints,  behold  your  Light,  your 

Star  — 
•*  Ye  would  be  dupes  and  victims,  and  ye  are. 
*•  Is  it  enough  ?  or  must  I,  while  a  thrill 
•*  Lives   in   your    sapient    bosoms,    cheat  you 

still? 
•*  Swear  that  the  burning  death  ye  feel  within 
Is  but  the   trance  with  which  HeaVn's  joys 

begin; 


1  "  The  Afghauns  believe  each  of  the  numerous  iolitudea 
imd  deserts  of  their  country  tn  i>e  inhubited  by  a  lonely  de- 
mon, whom  they  call  the  Ghoolee  Recabaii,  or  Spirit  of  the 
Waste.  They  often  illustrate  the  wildneM  of  any  aetjuea- 
kered  tribe,  by  saying,  they  are  wild  as  the  Demon  of  Um 


"  That  this  foul  visage,  foul  as  e'er  disgrac'd 
'<Ev'n  monstrous  man,  is  — after  God's  owi 

taste; 
"  And  that  —  but  see  !•  -  ere  I  have  half  wai 

said 
"  My  greetings  through,  th'  uncourteous  sou' 

are  fled. 
"  Farewell,  sweet  spirits  !  not  in  vain  ye  die, 
'*  If  Eblis  loves  you  half  so  well  as  I.  — 
"  Ha,  my  young  bride  !  —  'tis  well  —  take  tho» 

thy  seat ; 
"  Nay  come  —  no  shuddering  —  didst  thounevei 

meet 
"  The  Dead  before  ?  —  they  grac'd  our  wedding, 

sweet ; 
"  And  these,  my  guests  to-night,  have  brimm'd 

so  true 
"  Their  parting  cups,  that  tAou  shalt  pledge  one 

too. 
"But  —  how  is  this?  —  all  empty?  all  drunV 

up? 
••  Hot  lips  have  been  before  thee  in  the  cup, 
••  Young  bride  —  yet  stay  —  one  precious  drop 

remains, 
"  Enough  to  warm  a  gentle  Priestess'  veins  ;  — 
"Here,   drink  —  and  should  thy  lover's    con 

quering  arms 
'•  Speed  hither,  ere  thy  lip  lose  all  its  charms, 
"  Give  him  but  half  this  venom  in  thy  kiss, 
"  And  I'll  forgive  my  haughty  rival's  bliss  ! 

"For  me  —  I  too    must  die  —  but  not  like 

these 
"  Vile,  rankling  things,  to  fester  in  the  breeze; 
"  To  have  this  brow  in  ruffian  triumph  shown, 
"  With  all  death's  grimness  added  to  its  own, 
"  And  rot  to  dust  beneath  the  taunting  eyes 
"  Of   slaves,  exclaiming,  •  There  his  Godship 

lies  !' 
<«  No  —  cursed  race  —  since  first  my  so\il  drew 

breath, 
"  Thejr've  been  my  dupes,  and  shall  bo  cv'n  :r. 

death. 
•'  Thou  seest  yon  cistern    in  the  shade  -  ■    '^  i 

fill'd 
•<  With  burning  drugs,  for  this  last  hour   lis 

till'd;'  — 
"  There  will  I  plunge  me,  in  that  liquid  flame  • 
"  Fit  bath  to  lave  a  dj-ing  Prophet's  frame !  — 


*  "  II  donna  du  poison  dans  le  vfn  k  lous  set  few,  •*  W 
Jett*  lui-mSme  ensuite  dans  une  cuve  pWne  d*  diogfim  l«* 
lantes  et  consumantee,  afln  qti'il  ne  restlt  rien  d«  ttnis  •<• 
membres  de  son  coriw,  et  que  ceux  qui  restoient  <i«  M  MCS» 
puisMnt  croire  qu'il  itoH  monti  tu  ciel,  c«  qui  Dt  IMSVH 
pu  d'iJTiver."  —  ITHerbatt 


t98 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


*  There  perish,   all  —  ere  pulse  of   thine  shall 

fail  — 
"  Nor  leave  one  limb  to  tell  mankind  the  tale. 
'♦  So  shall  my  votaries,  wheresoe'er  they  rave, 

•  Proclaim  that  Heaven  took  back  the  Saint  it 

gave  •  — 
«  That  I've  but  vanish'd  from  this  earth  a  while, 
'  To  come  again,  with  bright,  unshrouded  smile  ! 

•  So  shall  they  build  me  altars  in  their  zeal, 

■    WTir-re  knaves  shall  minister,  and  fools  shall 

kneel ; 
'•  Wlierc  Faith  may  mutter  o'er  her  mystic  spell, 
"  Written  in  blood  —  and  Bigotry  may  swell 
'=l'he  sail  he  spreads  for  Heav'n  with  blasts 

from  hell ! 
'•  So  shall  my  banner,  through  long  ages,  be 
"  The  rallying  sign  of  fraud  and  anarchy  ;  — 
"  Kings  yet  unborn  shall  rue  Mokanna's  name, 
"  And,  though  I  die,  my  spirit,  still  the  same, 
"  Shall  walk  abroad  in  all  the  stormy  strife, 
"  And  guilt,  and  blood,  that  were  its  bliss  in  life. 
"Eut,  hark!  their  battering  engine  shakes  the 

wall  — 
"  Why,  kt  it  shake  —  thus  I  can  brave  them  all. 
"  No  trace  of  me  shall  greet  them,  when  they 

come, 
"And  I  can  trust  thy  faith,   for  —  thou'lt  be 

dumb. 
"  Now  mark  how  readily  a  wretch  like  me, 

♦  In  one  bold  plunge,  commences  Deity! " 

He  sprung  and  sunk,  as  the  last  words  were 

said  — 
Quick  clos'd  the  burning  waters  o'er  his  head, 
And  Zelica  was  left  —  within  the  ring 
Of  those  wide  walls  the  only  living  thing ; 
The  only  wretched  one,  still  curs'd  with  breath, 
In  all  that  frightful  wilderness  of  death  ! 
More  like  some  bloodless  ghost  —  such  as,  they 

tell. 
In  the  Lone  Cities  of  the  Silent  •  dwell, 
And  there,  unseen  of  all  but  Alla,  sit 
Hatli  by  Ms  own  pale  carcass,  watching  it. 

liut  morn  is  up,  and  a  fresh  warfare  stirs 
IhiO'ighout  the  camp  of  the  beleagucrers. 
\  hoii  globes  of  fire  (the  dread  artillery  lent 
By  GaEECE  to  conquering  Mahadi)  are  spent ; 
And  now  the  scorpion's  shaft,  the  quarry  sent 
From  high  balistas,  and  the  shielded  throng 
Of  soldiers  swinging  the  huge  ram  along, 


1  '  'Cliey  have  all  a  great  reverence  for  burial  grounds, 
ivhich  lliey  sometimes  call  by  the  poetical  name  of  Citiea  of 
ihe  Silent,  and  which  they  people  with  the  ghosts  of  the  de- 


All  speak  th'  impatient  Islamite's  intent 
To  try,  at  length,  if  tower  and  battlement 
And  bastion'd  wall  be  not  less  hard  to  win, 
Less   tough  to  break   down  than  tho    hean* 

within. 
First  in  impatience  and  in  toil  is  he, 
The  burning  Azim  —  O,  could  he  but  see 
Th'  Impostor  once  alive  within  his  grasp, 
Not  the  gaunt  lion's  hug,  nor  boa's  clasp, 
Could  match  that  gripe  of  vengeance,  oi  Weej 

pace 
With  the  fell  heartiness  of  Hate's  embxtuju  i 

Loud  rings  the  ponderous  ram  a^&lr*.  the 

walls ; 
Now  shake  the  ramparts,  now  a  buttres?  tills. 
But  still  no  breach  —  "  Once  more,  onb  mighty 

swing 
"  Of  all  your  beams,  together  thundering !  " 
There  —  the  wall  shakes  —  the  shouting  troopa 

exult, 
"  Quick,  quick  discharge  your  weightiest  cata- 
pult 
"  Right  on  that  spot,  and  Neksheb  is  our  own  ! ' 
'Tis  done —  the  battlements  come  crashing  down, 
And  the   huge  wall,   by   that  stroke  riv'n   iu 

two. 
Yawning,  like  some  old  crater,  rent  anew. 
Shows  the  dim,  desolate  city  smoking  through. 
But  strange  !  no  signs  of  life  —  nought  living 

seen 
Above,  below  —  what  can  this  stillness  mean  ? 
A  minute's  pause  suspends  all  hearts  and  eyes  , 
•'  111  through  the  breach,"  impetuous  Azim  cries ; 
But  the  cool  Caliph,  fearful  of  some  wile 
In  this  blank  stillness,  checks  the  troops  a  while. 
Just  then,  a  figure,  with  slow  step,  advanc'd 
Forth  from  the   ruin'd  walls,   and,    as    there 

glanc'd 
A  sunbeam  over  it,  all  eyes  could  see 
The  well-known  Silver  Veil !  —  "  'Tis  He,  'tis 

He, 
"  MoKANNA,  and  alone  !  "  they  shout  around  ; 
Young   Azim   from   his   steed    springs   tc    the 

ground  — 
••  Mine,  Holy  Caliph  !  mine,"  he  cries,  '•  the  taek 
*'  To  crush  yon  daring  wretch  —  'tis  all  I  ask." 
Eager  he  darts  to  meet  the  demon  foe. 
Who  still  across  wide  heaps  of  ruin  slow 
And  falteringly  comes,  till  they  are  near  ; 
Then,  with  a  bound,  rushes  on  Aziu's  spear, 


parted,  who  sit  each  at  the  head  of  nis  owu  grave,  invisibk 
to  mortal  eyes."  —  KlphimUmt. 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


S9I 


And,  casting  off  the  Veil  in  falling,  shows  — 
0,  —  'tis  tiis  Zelica'8  lifeblood  that  flows  ! 

■  I  meant  not,  Azim,"  soothingly  she  said, 
As  on  his  trembling  arm  she  lean'd  her  head. 
And,  looking  in  his  face,  saw  anguish  there 
Beyond  all  wounds  the  quivering  flesh  can  bear, 
« I  meant  not  thou  shouldst  have  the  pain  of 
this :  — 

•  Though  death,  with  thee  thus  tasted,  is  a  bliss 
"  Iliou  wouldst  not  rob  me  of,  didst  thou  but 

know, 
"  How  oft  I've  pray'd  to  God  I  might  die  so  ! 
"  But  the  Fiend's  venom  was  too  scant  and  slow ; 
"  To  linger  on  were  maddening  —  and  I  thought 
*'  If  once   that  Veil  —  nay,   look  not   on   it  — 

caught 
'*  The  eyes  of  your  fierce  soldiery,  I  should  be 
"  Struck  by  a  thousand  death  diurts  instantly. 
"  But  thLi  is  sweeter  —  O,  believe  me,  yes  — 
"  I  would  not  change  this  sad,  but  dear  caress, 
•'  Tlus   death   within    thy    arms    I   would   not 

give  ^ 

"  For  the  most  smiling  life  the  happiest  live  ! 
"  AH,  tliat  stood  dark  and  drear  before  the  eye 
'•  Of  my  stray'd  soul,  is  passing  swiftly  by  j 
'  A  light  comes  o'er  me  from  those  looks  of  love, 

•  Like  the  iirst  dawn  of  mercy  from  above  ; 

•  And  if  thy  lips  but  tell  me  I'm  forgiven, 

"  Angels  will  echo  the  blest  words  in  Heaven  ! 
"  But  live,  my  Azim;  —  O,  to  call  thee  mine 

•  Thus  once  again  !  my  Azm —  dream  divine  ! 

•  Live,  if  thou  ever  lov'dst  me,  if  to  meet 
"  Thy  Zelica  hereafter  would  be  sweet, 

"  O,  live  to  pray  for  her —  to  bend  the  knee 
"  Morning  and  night  before  that  Deity, 
"  To  whom  pure  lips  and  hearts  without  a  stain, 
"  A.^  thine  are,  Azim,  never  brcath'd  in  vain,  — 
"  And  i)ray  that  He  may  pardon  her,  —  may 

take 
'*  Compassion  on  her  soul  for  thy  dear  sake, 
"  And,  noijght  remembering  but  her  love  to  thee, 
"  Make  her  all  thine,  all  His,  eternally  ! 
'•  Uo  to  those  happy  fields  where  first  we  twin'd 

•  Out  youthful  hearts  together  —  every  wind 

•'  T^  »t  meets  thee  there,  fresh  from  the  well- 

ki.own  flowers, 
"  Will  bring  the  sweetness  of  those  innocent 

hours 
"  Back  to  thy  soul,  and  thou  mayst  feel  again 

•  For  thy  poor  Zelica  as  thou  didst  then. 

•  .So  shall  thy  orisons,  'ike  dew  that  flies 


*  Th^  celebrity  «t  Mrzar^ng  \k  owing  to  it*  nungoea, 
roick  are  ceriniiii^  tiie  best  fruit  I  ever  tasted.    The  par- 


••  To  Hcav'n  upon  the  morning's  sunshine,  hm 
"  With  all  love's  earliest  ardor  to  the  tkiaa  J 
"  And  should  they  —but.  alas,  my  senaat  fail  i 
"  O  for  one  minute !  —  should  thy  prmyen  pr» 

vail  — 
"  If  pardon'd  souls  may,  from  that  World  ol 

Bliss, 
"  Reveal  their  joy  to  those  they  U  ve  in  this  — 

•'  I'll  come  to  thee  —  in  some  sweet  dream and 

teU  — 
"  O  Heav'n  —  I  die  —  dear  love  !  farewell,  fiat- 
well." 

Time    fleeted— years  on    years  had  pass' J 

away, 
And  few  of  those  who,  on  that  mournful  dav. 
Had  stood,  with  pity  in  their  eyes,  to  see 
The  maiden's  death,  and  the  youth's  agony, 
Were  living  still  —  when,  by  a  rustic  grave, 
Beside  the  swift  Amoo's  transparent  wave. 
And  aged  man,  who  had  grown  aged  there 
By  that  lone  grave,  morning  and  night  in  praj'ei. 
For  the  last  time  knelt  down  —  and,  though  the 

shade 
Of  death  hung  darkening  over  him,  there  playV. 
A  gleam  of  rapture  on  his  eye  and  check. 
That    brighten'd  even   Death — like  the    las 

streak 
Of  intense  glory  on  the  horizon's  brim. 
When  night  o'er  all  the  rest  hangs  chill  and  diir 
His  soul  had  seen  a  Vision,  while  he  slept ; 
She,  for  whose  spirit  he  had  pray'd  and  wept 
So  many  years,  had  come  to  him,  all  dress'd 
In  angel  smiles,  and  told  him  she  was  blest ! 
For  this  the  old  man  brcath'd  his  thanks,  and 

died. 
And  there,  upon  the  banks  of  that  lov'd  tide. 
He  and  his  Zeuca  sleep  side  by  side. 


The  story  of  the  Veiled  Prophet  of  KhoTf 
san  being  ended,  they  were  nrw  doomed   'r 
hear  Faui-adeen's  criticisms  up<":  it.     A  *r-r'- 
of  disappointments  and  accidents  hoa  o<^r  ii. 
to  this  learned  Chamberlain  during  the  join..  . 
In  the  first  place,  those  couriers  stationed,  n-  n. 
the  reign  of  Shah  Jehai ,  between   Delhi  *»id 
the  Western  coast  of  India  to  secure  a  co:irt.iiil 
supply  of  mangoes  for  the  Royal  Table,  had,  by 
some  cruel   irregularity,  faued  in  their  duty ; 
and  to  eat  any  mangoes  but  Lhose  of  Mazagong 
was,  of  course,  impossible.'     In  the  next  plare. 


ent  tree,  fyom  which  all  ihow  of  tiii*  tperita  bc^  b«a» 
gnUled,  in  booured  during  the  fruit  leanoa  b)  a  guaid  t/ 


400 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


the  elephant,  l^dp^  with  his  fine  antique  porce- 
lain,* had,  in  in.  unusual  fit  of  liveliness,  shat- 
tered the -whole  set  to  pieces:  —  an  irreparable 
loss,  a?  manv  of  the  vessels  -were  so  exquisitely 
old,  as  to  have  been  used  under  the  Emperors 
Yan  ard  Chun,  who  reigned  many  ages  beibre 
>he  dj"ia5ty  of  Tang.  His  Koran,  too,  supposed 
to  be  the  identical  copy  between  the  leaves  of 
which  Mahomet's  favorite  pigeon  used  to  nes- 
tle, had  been  mislaid  by  his  Koran  bearer  three 
whole  days  ;  not  without  much  spiritual  alarm 
to  Fadladeen,  who,  though  professing  to  hold 
with  other  loyal  and  orthodox  Mussulmans,  that 
salvation  could  only  be  found  in  the  Koran,  was 
strongly  suspected  of  believing  in  his  heart,  that 
it  could  only  be  found  in  his  own  particular  copy 
of  it.  When  to  all  these  grievances  is  added  the 
obstinacy  of  the  cooks,  in  putting  the  pepper  of 
Canara  into  his  dishes  instead  of  the  cinnamon 
of  Serendib,  we  may  easily  suppose  that  he  came 
to  the  task  of  criticism  with,  at  least,  a  suflicient 
degree  of  i/ritability  for  the  purpose. 

"In  order,"  said  ho,  importantly  swinging 
about  his  chaplet  of  pearls,  "  to  convey  with 
clearness  my  opinion  of  the  story  this  young 
man  has  related,  it  is  necessary  to  take  a  review 

of  all  the  stories  that  have  ever "  —  "My 

good  Fadladeen  !  "  exclaimed  the  Princess, 
interrupting  him,  "  we  really  do  not  deserve 
that  you  shoxild  give  yourself  so  much  trouble. 
Your  opinion  of  the  poem  we  have  just  heard, 
will,  I  have  no  doubt,  be  abundantly  edifying, 
without  any  further  waste  of  your  valuable  eru- 
dition." —  "If  that  bo  all,"  replied  the  critic, — 
evidently  mortified  at  not  being  allowed  to  show 
how  much  he  knew  about  every  thing,  but  the 
subject  immediately  before  him  —  "if  that  be 
all  that  is  required,  the  matter  is  easily  de- 
spatched." He  then  proceeded  to  analyze  the 
poem,  in  that  strain  (so  well  known  to  the  \in- 
fortunate  bards  of  Delhi),  whose  censures  were 
»n  infliction  from  which  few  recovered,  and 
whose  very  praises  were  like  the  honey  extracted 

•rpoys ;  and,  in  the  reign  of  Shah  Jehan,  couriers  were  sta- 
tioned between  Delhi  and  the  Mahratta  coast,  to  secure  an 
abundant  and  fresli  supply  of  mangoes  for  the  royal  table." 
t-Mrs.  OraAam's  Journal  of  a  Residence  in  India. 

1  This  old  porcelain  is  found  in  digging,  and  "  if  it  is  es- 
teemed, it  is  not  because  it  has  acquired  any  new  degree 
of  beauty  in  the  earth,  but  because  it  has  retained  its  ancient 
Oeauty;  and  this  alone  is  of  great  importance  in  China, 
where  they  give  large  sums  for  the  smallest  vessels  which 
were  used  under  thn  Emperois  Yan  and  Chun,  who  reigned 
many  ages  before  tbt  dynasty  of  Tang,  at  which  time  porce- 
kin  began  to  be  uaud  by  the  Emperors "  (about  the  year 


from  the  bitter  flowers  of  the  aloe.  The  chiel 
personages  of  the  story  were,  if  he  rightly  un- 
derstood them,  an  ill-favored  gentleman,  with  « 
veil  over  his  face  ;  —  a  young  lady,  whose  rea- 
son went  and  came,  according  as  it  suited  tha 
poet's  convenience  to  be  sensible  or  otherwise  . 
—  and  a  youth  in  one  of  those  hideous  Bucha- 
nan bonnets,  who  took  the  aforesaid  gentleman 
in  a  veil  for  a  Divinity.  "From  such  materi- 
als," said  he,  "what  can  be  expected?  —  sStb: 
rivalling  each  other  in  long  speeches  and  ab- 
surdities, through  some  thousands  of  lines  as 
indigestible  as  the  filberts  of  Berdaa,  our  friend 
in  the  veil  jumps  into  a  tub  of  aquafortis  ;  the 
young  lady  dies  in  a  set  speech,  whose  only 
recommendation  is  that  it  is  her  last ;  and  the 
lover  lives  on  to  a  good  old  age,  for  the  lauda- 
ble purpose  of  seeing  her  ghost,  which  he  at 
last  happilj'  accomplishes,  and  expires.  This, 
you  will  allow,  is  a  fair  summary  of  the  story ; 
and  if  Nasser,  the  Arabian  merchant,  told  no 
better,  our  Holy  Prophet  (to  whom  be  all  honor 
and  glory !)  had  no  need  to  be  jealous  of  his 
abilities  for  story  telling."  ' 

With  respect  to  the  style,  it  was  worthy  of 
the  matter ;  —  it  had  not  even  those  politic  con- 
trivances of  structure,  which  make  up  for  the 
commonness  of  the  thoughts  by  the  peculiarity 
of  the  manner,  nor  that  stately  poetical  phrase- 
ology by  which  sentiments  mean  in  themselves 
like  the  blacksmith's'  apron  converted  into  a 
banner,  are  so  easily  gilt  and  embroidered  iato 
consequence.  Then,  as  to  the  versification,  it 
was,  to  say  no  worse  of  it,  execrable  :  it  had 
neither  the  copious  flow  of  Ferdosi,  the  sweet- 
ness of  Hafez,  nor  the  sententious  march  of 
Sadi ;  but  appeared  to  him,  in  the  uneasy  heav- 
iness of  its  movements,  to  have  been  modelled 
upon  the  gait  of  a  very  tired  dromedary.  1'he 
licenses,  too,  in  which  it  indulged,  were  unpar- 
donable ;  —  for  instance  this  line,  an4  the  poem 
abounded  with  such  ;  — 

Like  tlie  faint,  exquisite  music  of  a  dicam. 

442).  —  />«n»4'«  Collection  of  curious  Observations.  &c. , — 
a  bad  translation  of  some  parts  of  the  LettrcH  Edifiantes  et 
Curieuses  of  the  Missionary  Jesuits. 

*  "  La  lecture  de  ces  Fables  plnisrit  si  fort  aux  Arabes, 
que,  quand  Mahomet  les  entretenoit  de  I'Histoire  de  I'An- 
cien  Testament,  ils  les  ni6prisoient,  lui  disant  que  cellea 
que  Nasser  leur  racontoient  ^toient  beaucoup  plus  belles 
Cette  preference  attira  i  Nasser  la  malediction  de  Mahomcv 
et  de  tous  ses  disciples."  —  D'Herbelot. 

*  The  blacksmith  Gao,  who  successfully  resisted  the  ty- 
rant Zohak,  and  whose  apron  became  the  Royal  Standani 
of  Persia. 


LALLA  ROOKH 


"  What  critic  that  can  count,"  said  Fadlaoeev, 
•*  and  has  his  full  complement  of  fingers  to  count 
withal,  would  tolerate  for  an  instant  such  syllab- 
ic superfluities  ? "  —  lie  hore  looked  round,  and 
discovered  that  most  of  his  audience  were  asleep ; 
while  the  glimmering  lamps  seemed  inclined  to 
follow  their  example.  It  became  necessary, 
therefore,  however  painful  to  himself^  to  put  an 
fend  to  his  valuable  animadversions  for  the  pres- 
ent, and  he  accordingly  concluded,  with  an  air 
of  dignified  candor,  thus  :  —  "Notwithstanding 
the  observations  which  I  have  thought  it  my 
duty  to  make,  it  is  by  no  means  my  wish  to 
discourage  the  young  man  :  —  so  far  from  it, 
indeed,  that  if  he  -will  but  totally  alter  his  style 
of  writing  and  thinking,  I  have  very  little  doubt 
that  I  shall  be  vastly  pleased  with  him." 

Some  days  elapsed,  after  this  harangue  of  the' 
Great  Chamberlain,  before  Lalla  Rookh  could 
venture  to  ask  for  another  story.  The"  j'outh 
was  still  a  welcome  guest  in  the  pavilion  —  to 
one  heart,  perhaps,  too  dangerously  welcome ; 
—  but  all  mention  of  poetry  was,  as  if  by  com- 
taon  consent,  avoided.  Though  none  of  the 
party  had  much  respect  for  Fadladeen,  yet  his 
censures,  thus  magisterially  delivered,  evidently 
made  an  impression  on  them  all.  The  Poet, 
himself,  to  whom  criticism  was  quite  a  new  op- 
eration, (being  wholly  unknown  in  that  Paradise 
of  the  Indies,  Cashmere,)  felt  the  shock  as  it  is 
generally  felt  at  first,  till  use  has  made  it  more 
tolerable  to  the  patient ;  —  the  Ladies  began  to 
Kospect  that  they  ought  not  to  be  pleased,  and 
seemed  to  conclude  that  there  must  have  been 
much  good  sense  in  what  Fadladeen  said,  from 
its  having  set  them  all  so  soundly  to  sleep  ;  — 
while  the  self-complacent  Chamberlain  was  left 
to  triumph  in  the  idea  of  having,  for  the  hun- 
dred and  fiftieth  time  in  his  life,  extinguished  a 
Poet.  Lalla  Rooku  alone  —  and  Love  knew 
why  —  persisted  in  being  delighted  with  all  she 

'  «'  The  Hiima,  a  bird  peculiar  to  the  Ea«t  It  is  mipposed 
to  Hy  amstantly  in  tlie  air,  and  never  touch  the  gmund  ;  it 
U  looked  upon  as  a  liird  of  happy  omen  ;  and  iliat  every 
bead  it  overthadea  will  in  time  wear  a  crown." — Rich- 
ardittn. 

In  the  terms  of  alliance  m.nde  hy  Fuzzel  Oola  Khan  with 
Hyder  in  17C0,  one  of  the  stipulatitins  was,  "  that  he  should 
bnve  the  distinction  of  two  honorary  atlcndant.s  standing 
behind  liim,  holding  fans  c  imposed  of  the  feathers  of  the 
bumma,  according  to  the  practice  of  his  family."  — ffi7Ju'< 
South  of  India.  He  adds  in  a  note  ;  —  "  The  (lumma  is  a 
fabulous  bird.  The  head  over  which  its  shadow  once  passes 
nrill  assuredly  be  circled  with  a  crown.  The  splendid  linle 
t^iri  sus(ieuded  over  the  tlirone  of  Tippoo  Suluun,  found  at 

SI 


had  heard,  and  in  resolring  to  hetir  more  lu 
speedily  as  possible.  Her  manner,  however,  of 
first  returning  to  the  subject  was  unlucky.  Il 
was  while  they  rested  during  the  heat  of  noon 
near  a  fountain,  on  which  some  hand  had  rudel* 
traced  those  well-known  words  from  the  Garden 
of  Sadi,  —  "  Many,  like  me,  have  viewed  this 
fountain,  but  they  are  gone,  and  their  eyes  arc 
closed  forever  !  "  —  that  she  took  occasion,  froio 
the  melancholy  beauty  of  this  passage,  to  dwnb 
upon  the  charms  of  poetry  in  generaL  "  It  i« 
true,"  she  said,  "  few  poets  can  imitate  that 
sublime  bird,  which  flies  always  in  the  air,  and 
never  touches  the  earth : '  —  it  is  only  once  in 
many  ages  a  Genius  appears,  whose  words,  like 
those  on  the  Written  Mountain,  last  forever  :  * 
—  but  stiU  there  are  some,  as  delightful,  ])er- 
haps,  though  not  so  wonderful,  who,  if  not  stars 
over  our  head,  are  at  least  flowers  along  our  path, 
and  whoso  sweetness  of  the  moment  we  ought 
gratefully  to  inhale,  without  calling  upon  them 
for  a  brightness  and  a  durability  beyond  their 
nature.  In  short,"  continued  she,  blushing,  as 
if  conscious  of  being  caught  in  an  oration,  "  it  is 
quite  cruel  that  a  poet  cannot  wander  thiough 
his  regions  of  enchantment,  without  having  a 
critic  forever,  like  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  upon 
his  back  !  "  '  —  Fadladeen,  it  was  plain,  took 
this  last  luckless  allusion  to  himself,  and  would 
treasure  it  up  in  his  miiid  as  a  whetstone  for  hib 
next  criticism.  A  sudden  silence  ensued  ;  and 
the  Princess,  glancing  a  look  at  Feramouz,  baw 
plainly  she  must  wait  for  a  more  couragcou* 
moment. 

But  the  glories  of  Nature,  and  her  wild,  fra- 
grant airs,  playing  freshly  over  the  current  of 
youthful  spirits,  will  soon  heal  even  depi>cr 
wounds  than  the  dull  Fadladetins  of  this  world 
can  inflict.  In  an  evening  or  two  after,  they 
came  to  the  small  Valley  of  Gardens,  which 
had  been  planted  by  order   of   the   Empon.r, 

Serlngapatam  in  1799,  was  interded  to  repremnt  tbk  poet, 
cal  fancy." 

*  "  To  tbe  pilgrims  to  Mount  Sinai  we  must  attribute  tht 
inscriptions,  flgiirex,  &.C  on  thooe  n>ck«,  which  have  fmm 
thence  acquired  the  name  of  the  Written  Mountain."—  Ke* 
ncy.  M  Gebelin  and  otlierx  have  been  at  murli  (uiinn  In  at 
tach  some  mj'iitcrious  and  imiMirtnnt  niranini;  to  ihn^e  lu 
fcriptlons  J  but  .Niebuhr,  as  well  as  Volney,  think"  tlwl  the, 
muat  have  been  executed  at  idle  bourn  by  tl-e  travellen  w 
Mount  Sinai,  "  who  were  satisfied  with  cutting  the  unp(4- 
bbed  rock  with  any  pointed  instniment  ;  adding  to  ibeii 
names  and  the  date  of  their  Journeys  some  rude  AipirM 
which  bespeak  the  hand  of  a  peojUe  but  llule  «klilsU  mO» 
arts."  —  Mitbuhr. 

i  The  Stoiy  of  Sinbad. 


(02 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


for  his  favorite  sister  Rochinara,  during  their 
progress  to  Cashmere,  some  years  before ;  and 
never  was  there  a  more  sparkling  assemblage 
of  sweets,  since  the  Gulzar-e-Irem,  or  Rose 
bower  of  Ivem.  Every  precious  flower  was 
there  to  be  found,  that  poetry,  or  love,  or  reli- 
gion, has  ever  consecrated  ;  from  the  dark  hya- 
cinth, to  which  Hafez  compares  his  mistress's 
hair,'  to  the  Cdmalatd,  by  whose  rosy  blossoms 
the  heaven  of  Indra  is  scented.^  As  they  sat 
in  the  cool  fragrance  of  this  delicious  spot,  and 
.  Lalla  Rookh  remarked  that  she  could  fancy  it 
the  abode  of  that  Flower-loving  Nymph  whom 
they  worship  in  the  temples  of  Kathay,*  or  of 
one  of  those  Peris,  those  beautiful  creatures  of 
the  air,  who  live  upon  perfumes,  and  to  whom  a 
place  like  this  might  make  some  amends  for  the 
Paradise"  they  have  lost,  —  the  young  Poet,  in 
whose  eyes  she  appeared,  while  she  spoke,  to 
bo  one  of  the  bright  spiritual  creatures  she  was 
describing,  said  hesitatingly  that  he  remembered 
a  Story  of  a  Peri,  which,  if  the  Princess  had  no 
objection,  he  would  venture  to  relate.  "  It  is," 
said  he,  with  an  appealing  look  to  Fadladeex, 
"  in  a  lighter  and  humbler  strain  than  the 
other  :  "  then,  striking  a  few  careless  but  mel- 
ancholy chords  on  bis  kitar,  he  thus  began  :  — 


PARADISE  AND  THE  PERI. 

OxE  morn  a  Peri  at  the  gate 
Of  Eden  stood,  disconsolate  ; 
And  as  she  listen'd  to  the  Springs 

Of  Life  within,  like  music  flowing, 
And  caught  the  light  upon  her  wings 

Through  the  half- open  portal  glowing, 
She  wept  to  think  her  recreant  race 
Should  e'er  have  lost  that  glorious  place  ! 


1  See  JVoWs  Hafez,  Ode  v. 

*  "  The  Cdinalnta.  (called  by  Linnsus,  Ipomsa)  is  the 
iiyist  beautiful  of  its  order,  both  in  the  color  and  form  of  its 
Je.iyes  and  flowers ;  its  elegant  blossoms  are  '•  celestial  rosy 
ted,  Love's  proper  h\ie,'  and  have  justly  procured  it  tlie 
aamo  of  Cimalat4,  or  Love's  Creeper."  —  Sir  W.  Jones. 
■  "  Camalat&  may  also  mean  a  mythological  plant,  by 
which  all  desires  are  granted  to  such  as  inhabit  the  heaven 
of  Indra ;  and  if  ever  flower  was  wortliy  of  paradise,  it  is 
our  charming  Ipomwa."  —  /b. 

»  "  According  to  Father  Premare,  in  his  tract  on  Chinese 
Mythology,  the  mother  of  Fo-lii  was  the  daughter  of  heaven, 
Burnamed  Flov/er-Ioviiig ;  and  as  the  nymph  was  walking 
»!one  on  the  bank  of  a  ri'er,  she  found  herself  encircled  by 
a  rainbow,  after  which  she  became  pregnant,  and,  at  the 
»nd  of  twelve  years,  was  delivered  of  a  son  radiant  as  ber- 
•eU    —  jlaiat.  lies. 


*'  How  happy,"  exdaim'd  this  child  of  air, 
"  Are  the  holy  Spirits  who  wander  there, 

"  'Mid  flowers  that  never  shall  fade  or  faL : 
"  Though  mine  are  the  gardens  of  earth  and  sea 
"  Ani  the  stars  themselves  have  flowers  for  me 

"  One  blossom  of  Heaven  outblooms  them  all 

"  Though  sunny  the  Lake  of  cool  CASUMEUi!, 
"  With  its  plane-tree  Isle  reflected  cleai,* 

"And   sweetly   the    founts    of    that  Vallrj 
fall; 
"  Though  bright  are  the  waters  of  Sinq-su-hat 
"  And  the  golden  floods  that  thitherward  stray, 
"  Yet  —  O,  'tis  only  the  Blest  can  say 

'« How  the  waters  of  Heaven  outshine  them  all 

"  Go,  wing  thy  flight  from  star  to  star, 
"  From  world  to  luminous  world,  as  far 

"  As  the  universe  spreads  its  flaming  wall ; 
"  Take  all  the  pleasures  of  all  the  spheres, 
'•  And  multiply  each  through  endless  years, 

'•  One  minute  of  Heaven  is  worth  them  ail  I 

The  glorious  Angel,  who  was  keeping 
The  gates  of  Light,  beheld  her  weeping ; 
And,  as  he  nearer  drew  and  listen'd 
To  her  sad  song,  a  teardrop  glisten'd 
Within  his  eyelids,  like  the  spray 

From  Eden's  fountain,  when  it  lies 
On  the  blue  flow'r,  which  —  Brahmins  say— 

Blooms  nowhere  but  in  Paradise.^ 

"  Nymph  of  a  fair  but  erring  line  !  " 
Gently  he  said  —  "  One  hope  is  thine 
"  'Tis  written  in  the  Book  of  Fate, 

"  The  Peri  yet  marj  he  forgiven 
"  Who  brings  to  this  Eternal  gate 

"  The  Gift  that  is  most  dear  to  btaven  I 
"  Go,  seek  it,  and  redeem  thy  sin  — 
"  'Tis  sweet  to  let  the  Pardon'd  in. ' 


*  "  Numerous  small  islands  emerge  from  the  I^ake  or 
Cashmere.  One  is  called  Char  Chenaur,  from  the  plaas 
trees  upon  it."  —  Foster. 

6  «'  The  Allan  Kol  or  Golden  River  of  Tibet,  which  runi 
into  the  Lakes  of  Sing-su-liay,  has  abundance  of  gold  it  \'J 
s'aiidri,  which  employs  the  inhabitants  all  the  summer  in 
gathering  it."' —  Description  of  Tibet  in  Pinkerton. 

0  "  The  Bralimins  of  this  province  ir.sist  that  the  blue 
campac  flowers  only  in  Paradise." — Sir  TV.  Jones.  It  ap^ 
pears,  however,  from  a  curious  letter  of  the  Sultan  of  iMe« 
nangcabow,  given  by  Marsden,  that  one  place  on  earth  maj 
lay  tlaim  to  the  possession  of  it.  "  This  is  the  Sultan,  wlic 
keeps  the  flower  champaka  that  is  bice,  and  to  be  ^lund  in 
no  other  countrj'  but  li%  beir.3  yellon  elsewhere.'  '  Man 
den's  Sumatra 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


401 


Rapidly  as  comets  run 

To  th'  embraces  of  the  Sun  ;  — 

Fleeter  than  the  starry  brands 

Flung  at  night  from  tngel  hands  * 

At  those  dark  and  daring  sprites 

Who  would  climb  th'  empyreal  heighta, 

Down  the  blue  vault  the  Peri  flies, 

And,  lighted  earthward  by  a  glance 
rhut  just  then  broke  from  morning's  eyes, 

Bang  hovering  o'er  our  world's  expanse. 

But  whither  shall  the  Spirit  go 

Tr  find  this  gift  for  Heav'n  ?  —  "I  know 

'•  The  wealth,"  she  cries,  «'  of  every  urn, 

"  In  which  unnumbcr'd  rubies  bum, 

"  Beneath  the  pillars  of  Chilminau  ;  * 

"  I  know  where  the  Isles  of  Perfume  are  ' 

"  Many  a  fathom  down  in  the  sea, 

•'  To  the  south  of  sun-bright  Arabt  ;  * 

"  I  know,  too,  where  the  Genii  hid 

The  jewell'd  cup  of  their  King  Jamshid,' 
"  With  Life's  elixir  sparkling  high  — 
'•  But  gifts  like  these  arc  not  for  the  sky. 
*•  Where  was  there  ever  a  gem  that  shone 
"  Like  the  steps  of  Alla's  wonderful  Throne  ? 
••  And   the   Drops   of    Life  —  O,   what  would 

they  be 
"  In  the  boundless  Deep  of  Eternity  ?" 

While  thus  she  mus'd,  her  pinions  fann'd 
The  air  of  that  sweet  Indian  land, 
Whose  air  is  balm  ;  whose  ocean  spreads 
O'er  coral  rocks,  and  amber  beds  ;  ' 
Whose  mountains,  pregnant  by  the  beam 
Of  the  warm  sun,  with  diamonds  teem ; 


1  "  The  Mahoroetani  suppose  tiiat  falling  stars  are  the 
Jrebrarids  wherewith  the  good  angels  drive  away  the  bad, 
when  they  approach  too  near  the  empyrean  or  verge  ot  the 
heavens."  —  Fryer. 

*  The  Forty  Pillars  ;  so  the  Peraiant  call  the  ruins  of  Per- 
sepolis.  It  U  imagined  by  them  that  this  palace  and  the 
edifices  at  Balbcc  were  built  by  Genii,  for  the  purpose  of 
biding  in  their  subterraneous  caverns  Immense  treasures, 
which  still  remain  there.  —  D'llerbelot,  Volnty. 

*  Di  >doruM  mentions  the  Ule  of  Pnnchaia,  to  the  south  of 
Ambia  Felix,  where  there  was  a  temple  of  Jupiter.  This 
ibiand,  or  rat.  sr  cluster  of  bles,  has  disappeared,  "sunk 
(says  Orandpri)  in  the  abyss  made  by  tiie  fire  beneath  their 
&>undattnns."  —  Voyage  to  lite  Indian  Ocean. 

*  The  Isles  of  Pancliaia. 

*  "  The  cup  of  Jamshid,  discovered,  they  say,  when  dlg- 
|ing  for  the  foundations  of  Persepolis."  —  Richardson. 

*  "  It  is  not  like  the  Sea  of  India,  whose  bottom  is  rich 
with  |>carls  and  ambergris,  whose  mountains  of  the  coast 
tre  stored  withhold  and  precious  stones,  whose  gulfs  breed 
lioatures  tliat  yield  Ivor}',  and  among  the  plants  of  whose 
imirps  ai)  euony  rod  wood,  and  (lie  wood  of  Hainun,  aloes, 
•ampbor  cloves,  sMidal  wood  and  all  other  spices  and  aro- 


Whose  rivulets  are  like  rich  brides, 
Lovely,  with  gold  beneath  their  tide* ; 
Whose  sandal  groves  and  bowers  of  ipiM 
Might  be  a  Peri's  Paradise  ! 
But  crimson  now  her  rivers  ran 

With  hum^n  blood  —  the  smell  of  death 
Came  reeking  from  those  spicy  bowers, 
And  man,  the  sacrifice  of  man, 

Mingled  his  taint  with  every    reath 
Upwaftcd  from  the  innocent  flowers. 
Land  of  the  Sun  !  what  foot  invades 
Thy  Pagods  and  thy  pillar' d  shades  '  — 
Thy  cavern  shrines,  and  Idol  stones, 
Thy  Monarchs  and  their  thoiuand  Thrones }  • 
Tis  He  of  Gazna  •  —  fierce  in  wrath 

He  comes,  and  India's  diadems 
Lie  scatter' d  in  his  ruinous  path.  — 

His  bloodhounds  he  adorns  with  gems, 
Torn  from  the  violated  necks 

Of  many  a  young  and  lov'd  Sultana ; ' 

Maidens,  within  their  pure  Zenana, 

Priests  in  the  very  fane  he  slaughters. 
And  chokes  up  with  the  glittering  wrecks 

Of  golden  shrines  the  sacred  waters  1 

Downward  the  Peri  turns  her  gaze. 
And,  through  the  war  field's  bloody  haae 
Beholds  a  youthful  warrior  stand, 

Alone  beside  his  native  river,  — 
The  red  blade  broken  in  his  hand. 

And  the  last  arrow  in  his  quiver. 
"  Live,"  said  the  Conqueror,  *«  live  to  share 
"  The  trophies  and  the  crowns  I  bear  ! 
Silent  that  youthful  warrior  stood  • 
Silent  he  pointed  to  the  flood 


matics ;  where  parrots  and  peacocks  are  birds  of  the  lowiit 
and  musk  and  civet  are  collected  upon  the  lands." — 7>«« 
eU  oftieo  Mohummedans. 

T .    .    in  the  ground 

The  bended  twigs  take  root,  and  daughter*  grow 

About  the  mother  tree,  a  piUmr'd  tkadt. 

High  overarch'd,  and  ecnoiDg  walks  between. 

MlLTOH 

For  a  particular  description  and  plate  of  the  Banyan  tree 
see  Cordiner's  Ceylon. 

•  "  With  this  immense  treasure  Mamond  returned  t» 
Ghizni,  and  in  tJie  year  400  prepared  a  magnificent  festival, 
where  he  displayed  to  tlie  people  his  wpsllh  in  golden 
thrones  and  in  other  ornaments,  in  a  great  plain  without  ih« 
city  of  GhiznL"  —  FerithtM. 

»  "  Mahm<K)d  of  Gazna,  or  Ghizni,  who  conqnerwl  Iii4i« 
in  the  beginning  of  the  11th  centuo-"  —  8«»  •>'■  HIaloiT  »" 
Dow  and  Sir  J.  Malcolm. 

10  "  It  is  reported  that  the  hunting  equipage  of  the  Saltaa 
Blahmood  was  so  magnificent,  that  be  kept  400  (rajrhoandi 
and  bloodhounds,  each  of  which  wore  a  collar  mt  with  jew 
els,  and  a  covering  edged  with  gold  ar.d 
sol  History,  voL  iii. 


A.11  crimson  with  his  country's  blood, 
Then  sent  his  last  remaining  dart, 
For  answer,  to  th'  Invader's  heart. 

False  flew  the  shaft,  though  pointed  weL  ; 
Die  Tyrant  liv'd,  the  Hero  fell!—* 
Yet  mark'd  the  Peri  where  he  lay. 

And,  when  the  rush  of  war  was  past, 
S  Kiftly  descending  on  a  ray 

Uf  morning  light,  she  caught  the  last- 
Last  glorious  drop  his  heart  had  shed. 
Before  its  6ee-born  si>irit  fled ! 

"Be  this,"  she  cried,  as  she  wing'd  her  flight, 
•'  My  welcome  gift  at  the  Gates  of  Light. 
"  Thnugh  foul  are  the  drops  that  oft  distil 
"  On  the  field  of  warfare,  blood  like  this, 

"  For  Liberty  shed,  so  holy  is,' 
••*  It  would  not  stain  the  purest  rill, 

♦'  That  sparkles  among  the  Bowers  of  Bliss  ! 
"  O,  if  there  be,  on  this  earthly  sphere, 
"  A  boon,  an  off'ering  Heaven  holds  dear, 
"  'Tis  the  last  libation  Liberty  draws 
"  From  the  heart  that  bleeds  and  breaks  in  her 
cause ! " 

"  Sweet,"  said  the  Angel,  as  she  gave 

The  gift  into  his  radiant  hand, 
••  Sweet  is  our  welcome  of  the  Brave 

•'  Who  die  thus  for  their  native  Land.  — 
••  But  see  —  alas  !  —  the  crystal  bar 
"  Of  Eden  moves  not  —  holier  far 
••  Than  ev'n  this  drop  the  boon  must  be, 
"  That  opes  the  Gates  of  Heav'n  for  thee  !  " 

Her  first  fond  hope  of  Eden  blighted. 
Now  among  Afric's  lunar  Mountains,* 


1  Objections  may  be  made  to  my  use  of  the  word  Liberty 
in  this,  and  more  especially  in  tlie  story  tliat  follows  it,  as 
totally  inapplicable  to  any  state  of  things  that  has  ever  ex- 
isted ill  the  East;  but  though  I  cannot,  of  course,  mean  to 
employ  it  in  that  enlarged  and  noble  sense  which  is  so  well 
understood  at  tiie  present  day,  and,  [  grieve  to  say,  bo  little 
•Oied  upon,  yet  it  is  no  disparagement  to  the  word  to  apply 
t  Jo  that  national  independence,  that  freedom  from  the 
Interference  and  dictation  of  foreigners,  without  which, 
indeed,  no  liberty  of  any  liind  can  exist ;  and  for  which  both 
Hindoos  and  Persians  fought  against  their  Mussulman  inva- 
ders with,  in  many  cases,  a  bravery  that  deserved  much 
ketter  success. 

2  "  The  Mountains  of  the  Moon,  or  the  Montes  Lunse  of 
intiquity,  at  the  foot  of  which  the  Nile  is  supposed  to  arise.'* 
•—  Bruce. 

"  Sometimes  called,"  says  Jackson,  "  Jibbel  Kumrie,  or 
he  white  or  lunar-colored  mountains  ;  so  a  white  liorse  is 
tailed  by  the  Arabians  a  moon-colored  horse." 


Far  to  the  South,  the  Peri  lighttd; 

And  sleek'd  her  plumage  at  the  fountain! 
Of  that  Egyptian  tide —  whose  birth 
Is  hidden  from  the  sons  of  earth 
Deep  in  those  solitary  woods. 
Where  oft  the  Genii  of  the  Floods 
Dance  round  the  cradle  of  their  Nile, 
And  hail  the  new-born  Giant's  smile.' 
Thence  over  Egypt's  palmy  groves. 

Her  grots,  and  sepulchres  of  Kings,* 
The  exil'd  Spirit  sighing  roves  ; 
And  now  hangs  listening  to  the  doves 
In  warm  Rosetta's  vale,*  —  now  loves 

To  watch  the  moonlight  on  the  wings 
Of  the  white  pelicans  that  break 
The  d/ure  calm  of  Mceuis'  Lake.' 
'Twas  a  fair  scene  —  a  Land  more  bright 

Never  did  mortal  eye  behold  ! 
Who  could  have  thought,  that  saw  this  night 

Those  valleys  and  their  fruits  of  gold 
Basking  in  Heaven's  serenest  light ;  — 
Those  groups  of  lovely  date  trees  bending 
Languidly  their  leaf-crown'd  heads. 
Like  youthful  maids,  when  sleep  descending 

Warns  them  to  their  silken  beds  ;  ^  — 
Those  virgin  lilies,  all  the  night 

Bathing  their  beauties  in  the  lake. 
That  they  may  rise  more  fresh  and  brighi, 

When  their  beloved  Sun's  awake;  — 
Those  ruin'd  shrines  and  towers  that  seem 
The  relics  of  a  splendid  dream ; 

Amid  whose  fairy  loneliness 
Nought  but  the  lapwing's  cry  is  heard. 
Nought  seen  but  (when  the  shadows,  flitting 
Fast  from  the  moon,  unsheathe  its  gleam,) 
Some  purple- wing'd  Sultana  *  sitting 

Upon  a  column,  motionless 
And  glittering  like  an  Idol  bird  !  — 


»  "  The  Nile,  which  the  Abyssinians  know  by  the  n  imet 
of  Abey  and  Alawy,  or  the  Giant." — isiaU  Research.  voL  i. 
p.  387. 

*  See  Perry's  View  of  the  Levant  for  an  account  of  th* 
sepulchres  in  Upper  Thebes,  and  the  numberless  grots,  cov- 
ered all  over  with  hieroglyphics,  in  the  mountains  of  Uppei 
Egypt 

*  '  The  orchards  of  Rosetta  are  filled  with  turtle  Joveat'' 
—  Sonnini, 

«  Savary  mentions  the  pelicans  upon  Lake  MfBris. 

1  "The  superb  date  tree,  whose  head  languidly  reclinei, 
iiite  that  of  a  handsome  woman  overcome  with  sleep."— 
Dafard  el  Hadad. 

8  "  That  beautiful  bird,  with  plumage  of  the  finest  shin- 
ing blue,  with  purple  beak  and  legs,  the  natural  and  living 
ornament  of  the  temples  and  palaces  of  the  Greeks  and  Ro- 
mans, which,  from  the  statelincss  of  its  port,  as  well  as  tli( 
brilliancy  of  its  colors,  has  obtained  the  title  of  Sultana. '- 
Sonnini 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


iM 


Who   would  have  thought,  that   there,   er'n 

there, 
Amid  those  scenes  so  still  and  fair, 
rhe  Demon  of  the  Plague  hath  cast 
From  his  hot  wing  a  deadlier  blast. 
More  mortal  far  than  ever  came 
From  the  red  Desert's  sands  of  flame  ! 
So  quick,  that  every  living  thing 
Of  human  shape,  touch'd  by  his  wing, 
Like  plants,  where  the  Simoom  hath  pass'd. 
At  once  falls  black  and  withering ! 
The  sun  went  down  on  many  a  brow, 

Which,  full  of  bloom  and  freshness  then, 
Is  rankling  in  the  pcsthouse  now, 

And  ne'er  will  feci  that  sun  again. 
And,  O,  to  see  th'  unburied  heaps 
On  which  ihe  lonely  moonlight  sleeps  — 
The  very  vultures  turn  away, 
And  sicken  at  so  foul  a  prey  ! 
Only  the  fierce  hyena  stalks ' 
Throughout  the  city's  desolate  walks  * 
At  midnight,  and  his  carnage  pUcs :  — 

Woe  to  the  half-dead  wretch,  who  meets 
The  glaring  of  those  large  blue  eyes' 

Amid  the  darkness  of  the  streets ! 

•  Poor  race  of  men  !  "  said  the  pitying  Spirit, 

"  Dearly  ye  pay  for  your  primal  Fall  — 
'  Some  flow'rets  of  Eden  ye  still  inherit, 

"  But  the  trail  of  the  Serpent  is  over  them 
aU!" 
ihe  wept  —  the  air  grew  pure  and  clear 

Around  her,  as  the  bright  drops  ran  ; 
For  there's  a  magic  in  each  tear, 

Such  kindly  Spirits  weep  for  man ! 

Just  then  beneath  some  orange  trees. 
Whose  iruit  and  blossoms  in  the  breeze 
Were  wantoning  together,  free, 
lake  ago  at  play  with  infancy  — 
Beneath  that  fresh  and  springing  bower, 

Close  by  the  Lake,  she  heard  the  moan 
Of  one  who,  at  this  silent  hour, 

Had  thither  stol'n  to  die  alone. 
One  w  ho  in  life  where'er  he  mov'd. 

Drew  after  him  the  hearts  of  many ; 
fet  now,  as  though  he  ne'er  were  lov'd. 

Dies  here  unseen,  unwept  by  any  1 

1  Jackson,  speaking  of  the  plague  that  occuired  in  Weit 
fartwry,  when  he  was  tliere,  saya,  "  The  birds  of  the  air 
led  away  (torn  tlie  abode*  o(  men.  The  hyenas,  on  the 
contrary,  visited  the  cemeteries,"  tee, 

*  "  Uuiidar  wax  rull  of  hyenas  from  the  time  it  turned 
(ark,  till  (he  dawn  uf  day,  seeking  the  diflerent  piece*  of 
•laughteird  carcasses,  which  this  cruel  and  unclean  people 
ijpuw  in  iie  bxeeu  wiiliuut  ■>urial,  and  vb'  firmly  b«Iiev« 


None  to  watch  near  him  —  none  to  sUk* 

llie  fire  that  in  his  bosom  Ues, 
With  ev'n  a  sprinkle  from  that  lake. 

Which  shines  so  cool  before  his  eye*. 
No  voice,  well  known  through  many  a  daj* 

To  speak  the  last,  the  parting  word. 
Which,  when  all  other  sounds  decay, 

Is  still  like  distant  music  heard ;  — 
That  tender  farewell  on  the  shore 
Of  this  rude  world,  when  all  is  o'er. 
Which  cheers  the  spirit,  ere  its  bark 
Puts  o£f  into  the  unknown  Dark. 

Deserted  youth  !  one  thought  alone 

Shed  joy  around  his  soul  in  death  — 
That  she,  whom  he  for  years  had  known. 
And  lov'd,  and  might  have  call'd  his  own. 

Was  safe  from  this  foul  midnight's  breatli ,  - 
Safe  in  her  father's  princely  halls, 
Where  the  cool  airs  from  fountain  falls, 
Freshly  perfum'd  by  many  a  brand 
Of  the  sweet  wood  from  India's  land. 
Were  pure  as  she  whoso  brow  they  fann'd. 

But  see  —  who  yonder  comes  by  stealth.* 

This  melancholy  bower  to  seek. 
Like  a  young  envoy,  sent  by  Health, 

With  rosy  gifts  upon  her  check  ? 
'Tis  she  —  far  off,  through  moonlight  dim. 

He  knew  his  own  betrothed  bride. 
She,  who  would  rather  die  with  him. 

Than  live  to  gain  the  world  beside  ! 
Her  arms  are  round  her  lover  now. 

His  livid  cheek  to  hers  she  presses. 
And  dips,  to  bind  his  burning  brow. 

In  the  cool  lake  her  loosen'd  tresses. 
Ah  !  once,  how  little  did  he  think 
An  hour  would  come,  when  he  should  shiink 
With  horror  from  that  dear  embrace, 

lliose  gentle  arms,  that  were  to  him 
Holy  as  is  the  cradlmg  place 

Of  Eden's  infant  cherubim  ! 
And  now  he  yields  —  now  turns  awaj; 
Shuddering  as  if  the  venom  lay 
All  in  those  profl'er'd  hps  alone  — 
Those  lips  that,  then  so  fearless  grown* 
Never  until  that  instant  came 
Near  his  unask'd  or  without  shame. 


that  these  sniroals  are  Falashta  ftom  the  neightoring  i 
Uins,  transformed  by  magic,  and  come  down  to  eat  liUBSl 
flesh  in  tlie  dark  in  safely."  —  Brwe*. 

*  Bruu. 

*  This  cirrumsUnce  has  been  often  intrrduced  into  ftm 
try  ;  —  by  Vincentiua  Fabricius,  by  Darwlo,  and  lataty,  witt 
very  powerful  effect,  by  Mr.  WUm>m 


•*  O,  let  nie  only  breathe  the  air, 

•«  The  blessed  air,  that's  breath'd  by  thee, 

"And,  whether  on  its  wings  it  bear 
"  Healing  or  death,  'tis  sweet  to  me  ! 

"  There  —  drink  my  tears,  while  yet  they  fall  - 
"  Would  that  my  bosom's  blood  were  balm, 
And,  well  thou  know'st,  I'd  shed  it  all, 
"  To  give  thy  brow  one  minute's  calm. 

■•Nay,  turn  not  from  me  that  dear  face  — 
"  Am  I  not  thine  —  thy  own  lov'd  bride  — 

•  The  one,  the  chosen  one,  whose  place 

"  In  life  or  death  is  by  thy  side  ? 
'  Think' st  thou  that  she,  whose  only  light, 
"  In  this  dim  world,  from  thee  hath  shone, 

•  Could  bear  the  long,  the  cheerless  night, 

'•  That  must  be  hers,  when  thou  art  gone  ? 
« That  I  can  live,  and  let  thee  go, 
'  Who  art  my  life  itself?  —  No,  no  — 

•  When  the  stem  dies,  the  leaf  that  grew 
•'  Out  of  its  heart  must  perish  too  ! 

"  Then  turn  to  me,  my  own  love,  turn, 
''  Before,  like  thee,  I  fade  and  burn  ; 
••  Cling  to  these  yet  cool  lips,  and  share 
••  The  last  pure  life  that  lingers  there  !  " 

She  fails  —  she  sinks  —  as  dies  the  lamp 
In  charnel  airs,  or  cavern  damp, 
So  quickly  do  his  baleful  sighs 
Quench  all  the  sweet  light  of  her  eyes. 
One  struggle  —  and  his  pain  is  past  — 

Her  lover  is  no  longer  living  ! 
One  kiss  the  maiden  gives,  one  last. 

Long  kiss,  whicb  she  expires  in  giving  ! 

••  Sleep,"  said  the  Peri,  as  softly  she  stole 
The  farewell  sigh  of  that  vanishing  soul, 
A.S  true  as  e'er  warm'd  a  woman's  breast  — 

•  Sleep  on,  in  visions  of  odor  rest, 

'  In  balmier  airs  than  ever  yet  stirr'd 
"  Th'  enchanted  pile  of  that  lonely  bird, 
"  Who  sings  at  the  last  his  own  death  lay,' 
«•  And  in  music  and  perfume  dies  aM'ay  !  " 
f  hus  saying,  from  her  lips  she  spread 

Unearthly  breathings  through  the  place 
And  shook  her  sparkling  wreath,  and  shea 

Such  lustre  o'er  each  paly  face. 
That  like  two  lovely  saints  they  seem'd 


1  "  In  the  East,  they  suppose  the  Plioenix  to  have  fifty 
•rifices  in  his  bill,  which  are  continued  to  his  tail ;  and  that, 
tfter  living  one  thousand  years,  he  builds  himself  a  funeral 
pile,  sings  a  melodious  air  of  different  harmonies  through 
nis  fifty  organ  pipes,  flaps  his  wing?  with  a  velocity  which 
sets  fire  to  the  wood,  and  consumes  himself." —  Ricliardson, 

i  "  On  the  shores  of  a  quadrangular  lake  stand  a  thou- 
taiiil  goblets,  made  uf  stars,  out  of  which  souls  predestined 


Upon  the  eve  of  doomsday  taken 
From  their  dim  graves,  in  odor  sleeping . 

While  that  benevolent  Peri  beam'd 
Like  their  good  angel,  calmly  keeping 

Watch  o'er  them  till  their  souls  would  wakes 

But  morn  is  blushing  in  the  sky  ; 

Again  the  Peri  soars  above. 
Bearing  to  Heav'n  that  precious  sigh. 

Of  pure,  self-sacrificing  love. 
High  throbb'd  her  heart,  with  hope  elate, 

Th'  Elysian  palm  she  soon  shall  win, 
For  the  bright  Spirit  at  the  gate 

Smil'd  as  she  gave  that  offering  in : 
And  she  already  hears  the  trees 

Of  Eden,  with  their  crj-stal  bells 
Ringing  in  that  ambrosial  breeze 

That  from  the  throne  of  Alla  swells ; 
And  she  can  see  the  starry  bowls 

That  lie  around  that  lucid  lake. 
Upon  whose  banks  admitted  Souls 

Their  first  sweet  draught  of  glory  take  !  • 

But,  ah  !  even  Peuis'  hopes  are  vain  — 

Again  the  Fates  forbade,  again 

Th'  immortal  barrier  clos'd  —  ♦'  Not  yet," 

The  Angel  said,  as,  with  regret. 

He  shut  from  her  that  glimpse  of  glory  — 

"  True  was  the  maiden,  and  her  story, 

"  Written  in  Hght  o'er  Alla's  head, 

"  By  seraph  eyes  shall  long  be  read. 

"  But,  Peri,  see  —  the  crystal  bar 

"  Of  Eden  moves  not  —  holier  far 

•'  Than  ev'n  this  sigh  the  boon  must  be 

"  That  opes  the  Gates  of  Heav'n  for  thee.' 

Now,  upon  Syria's  land  of  roses  ' 
Softly  the  light  of  Eve  reposes. 
And,  like  a  glory,  the  broad  sun 
Hangs  over  sainted  Lebanon  ; 
Whose  head  in  wintry  grandeur  towers, 

And  whitens  with  eternal  sleet, 
While  summer,  in  a  vale  of  flowers. 

Is  sleeping  rosy  at  his  feet. 

To  one,  who  look'd  from  upper  aij 
O'er  all  th'  enchanted  regions  the  e. 


to  enjoy  felici^  drink  the  crystal  wave."  —  From  Citatem* 
briand's  Description  of  tlie  Mahometan  Paradise,  in  b. 
Beauties  of  Christianity. 

3  Richardson  thinks  that  Syria  had  its  name  from  Suri,  i 
beautiful  and  delicate  species  of  rose,  for  which  that  country 
has  been  always  famous  —  hence.  Sun-tan,  the  Land  a/ 
£ose«. 


LALLA   ROOKH. 


«9) 


How  heauteous  must  have  been  the  glow, 

rhe  life,  the  sparkling  from  below  ! 

Fair  gardens,  shining  streams,  with  ranks 

Of  golden  melons  on  their  banks, 

More  golden  where  the  sunlight  falls  ;  — 

Gay  lizards,  glittering  on  the  walls  ' 

Of  ruin'd  shrines,  busy  and  bright 

Ajb  they  were  all  alive  with  light ; 

\nd,  yet  more  splendid,  numerous  flocks 

Of  pigeons,  settling  on  the  rocks, 

With  their  rich  restless  wings  that  gleam 

Vurio'isly  in  the  crimson  beam 

Of  the  warm  West,  —  as  if  inlaid 

With  brilliants  from  the  mine,  or  made 

Of  tearless  rainbows,  such  as  span 

Th'  unclouded  skies  of  Peristal. 

And  then  the  mingling  sounds  that  come, 

Of  shepherd's  ancient  reed,*  with  hum 

Of  the  wild  bees  of  Palestine,' 

Banqueting  through  the  flowery  vales  ; 
•  nd,  JoiiDAN,  those  sweet  banks  of  thine, 

And  woods  so  full  of  nightingales.* 

But  nought  can  charm  the  luckless  Peki  ; 
Her  soul  is  sad  —  her  wings  are  weary  — 
Joyless  she  sees  the  Sun  look  down 
On  that  great  Temple,  once  liis  own,' 
Whose  lonely  columns  stand  sublirne, 

Flinging  their  shadows  from  on  high. 
Like  dials,  which  the  wizard,  'J'irae, 

Had  rais'd  to  count  his  ages  by  ! 

Yet  haply  there  may  lie  conoal'd 
Beneath  those  Chambcn  of  the  Sun, 

Some  amulet  of  gems,  anneal' d 

In  upper  fires,  some  tftbl'^t  seal'd 
With  the  great  name  of  Solomox, 
Which,  spell' d  by  her  illumin'd  eyes. 

May  teach  her  where,  beneath  the  moon, 

In  earth  or  ocean,  lies  the  boon, 

Tha  charm,  that  can  restore  so  soon 
An  erring  Spirit  to  the  skies. 

Ulxeer'd  by  this  hope  she  bends  her  thither ;  — 
Still  laughs  the  radiant  eye  of  Heaven, 

1  "  The  number  of  lizards  I  saw  one  day  in  the  great 
<oart  cf  th*  Temple  of  the  Sun  at  Balbec  amounted  to  many 
Uiousa^ds  ;  the  ground,  the  walls,  and  stones  of  the  ruined 
•uildings,  werccovcred  with  tliem."  —  Bmcr, 

*  "  The  Syrinx  or  Pali's  pipe  is  still  a  pastoral  instrument 
■I  Syria."  —  RiliscL 

•  "  Wild  bees,  frcqiiort  '.d  Palestine,  in  hollow  tninks  or 
kranches  of  tree.<,  and  the  clefts  ef  rocks.  Thus  it  is  said 
(Psalm  lixxi.),  '  Aor^j  out  of  the  ttonij  reek.* "  —  Btwder's 
Onental  Custom* 

«  "The  riv»r  Jo»(»ir  h  on  both  sides  beset  with  little, 


Nor  have  the  golden  bo  wen  of  Ertn 
In  the  rich  West  begun  to  wither  ;  — 
When,  o'er  the  vale  of  Balbec  winging 

Slowly,  she  sees  a  child  at  pUy, 
Among  the  rosy  wild  flowers  singing 

As  rosy  and  as  wild  as  they  ; 
Chasing,  with  eager  hands  and  eyea, 
The  beautiful  blue  damsel  flies,* 
That  flutter'd  round  the  ja.smino  stems. 
Like  winged  flowers  or  flying  gems  :  — 
And,  near  the  boy,  who  tir'd  with  play 
Now  nestling  'mid  the  roses  lay. 
She  saw  a  wearied  man  dismount 

From  his  hot  steed,  and  on  the  brink 
Of  a  small  imaret's  rustic  fount  ^ 

Impatient  fling  him  down  to  drink 
Then  swift  his  haggard  brow  he  tum'd 

To  the  fair  child,  who  fearless  sat, 
Though  never  yet  hath  daybeam  bum'd 

Upon  a  brow  more  fierce  than  that,  - 
Sullenly  fierce  —  a  mixture  dire, 
Like  thunder  clouds,  of  gloom  and  fire ; 
In  which  the  Peui's  eye  could  read 
Dark  talcs  of  many  a  ruthless  deed  ; 
The  ruin'd  maid  —  the  shrine  profan'd  — 
Oaths  broken  —  and  the  threshold  stain'd 
With    blood    of    guests  !  —  there    >vritt«a 

all. 
Black  as  the  damning  drops  that  fiall 
From  the  denouncing  Angel's  pen. 
Ere  Mercy  weeps  them  out  again. 

Yet  tranquil  now  that  man  of  crime 
(As  if  the  balmy  evening  time 
Soften' d  his  spirit)  look'd  and  lat', 
Watching  the  rosy  infant's  play :  — 
Though  still,  whene'er  his  eye  b)  chanue 
Fell  on  the  boy's,  its  lurid  glance 

Met  that  unclouded,  joyous  gaze,  . 
As  torches,  that  have  burnt  all  night 
Through  some  impure  and  godless  rite. 

Encounter  morning's  glorious  rays. 

But,  hark  !  the  vesper  call  to  prayer, 
As  slow  the  orb  of  daylight  sets, 


thick,  and  pleasant  woods,  among  whieli 
nightingales  warble  all  together."— T^UmmC 

»  The  Temple  of  the  Sun  at  Balbec 

•  "  You  behold  there  a  considerable  number  of  a  rsmirti 
able  species  of  beautiful  ipsecis,  the  defaBc*  of  wbrae  ay 
pearance  and  their  attire  procuiwl  fcr  ttMB  th*  Bsme  ct 
Damsels." —  SonninL 

T  Imaret,  "  hospice  ou  on  loge  et  nonrril,  gratis,  les  pile 
rins  pendant  trois  Jours  "  —  Toderini,  tranJutid  hf  l*«  .*»*« 
de  Oounutnd,  —  Ht«  alK  Cbj(«Um'«  Maun  d«i  OtikKBaoa 
torn.  T.  p.  145. 


ta 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


[a  rising  sweetly  on  the  air, 
From  Syria's  thousand  minarets  ! 

rhe  boy  has  started  from  the  bed 

9f  flowers,  where  he  had  laid  his  head, 

A.nd  do\^^l  upon  the  fragrant  sod 
Kneels,'  with  his  forehead  to  the  south, 

I  isping  th'  eternal  name  of  God 
Fron-  Purity's  own  cherub  mouth, 

\ud  locking,  while  his  hands  and  eyes 

A.ie  lifted  to  the  glowing  skies. 

Like  a  stray  babe  of  Paradise, 

Just  lighted  on  that  flowery  plain, 

And  seeking  for  its  home  again. 

0,  'twas  a  sight  —  that  Heav'n  —  that  child  — 

A  scene,  which  might  have  well  beguil'd 

Ev'n  haughty  Eblis  of  a  sigh 

For  glories  lost  and  peace  gone  by  ! 

And  how  felt  he,  the  wretched  Man 

Reclining  there  —  while  memory  ran 

O'er  many  a  year  of  guilt  and  strife, 

Flew  o'er  the  dark  flood  of  his  life, 

Nor  found  one  sunny  resting-place, 

yor  brought  him  back  one  branch  of  grace. 

"  There  was  a  time,"  he  said,  in  mild, 

Heirt-humbled  tones  —  "  thou  blessed  child  ! 

"  When,  young  and  haply  pure  as  thou, 

'  I  look'd  and  pray'd  like  thee  —  but  now — " 

HLe  hun«  his  head  —  each  nobler  aim, 

And  hope,  and  feeling,  Avhich  had  slept 
From  boyhood's  hour,  that  instant  came 

Fresh  o'er  him,  and  he  wept  —  he  wept ! 

Blest  tears  of  soul-felt  penitence  ! 

In  whose  benigcn,  r<^deeming  flow 
Is  felt  the  first,  the  only  sense 

Of  guiltless  joy  that  guilt  cap  know. 

'♦  There's  a  drop,"  said  the  Peei,  "  that  down 

from  the  moon 
"  Falls  through  the  withering  airs  of  June 
"  Upon  Egypt's  land,*  of  so  healing  a  power, 
"  So  balmy  a  virtue,  that  ev'n  in  the  hour 

>  '  Such  Turks  as  at  the  common  hours  of  prayer  are  on 
tlM  road,  or  so  employed  as  not  to  find  convenience  to  at- 
Ceiiil  tho  mosques,  are  still  obliged  to  execute  that  duty  ;  nor 
ire  they  ever  known  to  fail,  whatever  business  they  are 
then  about,  but  pray  immediately  when  the  hour  alarms 
them,  whatever  they  are  about,  in  that  very  place  they 
jhance  to  stand  on ;  insomuch  that  when  a  janizary,  whom 
you  havo  to  guard  you  up  and  down  tlie  city,  hears  the  no- 
tice which  is  given  him  from  the  steeples,  he  will  turn 
ibout,  stand  still,  and  beckon  with  his  hand,  to  tell  his 
tharge  he  must  have  patience  for  a  while  ;  when,  taking  out 
bis  handkerchief,  he  spreads  it  on  the  ground,  sits  cross- 
legged  thereupon,  and  says  his  prayers,  though  in  the  open 
narket,  wiiich  having  ended,  he  leaps  Viskly  up,  salutes 


"  That  drop  descends,  contagion  dies, 

"  And  health  reanimates  earth  and  skies !  — 

"  O,  is  it  not  thus,  thou  man  of  sin, 

"  The  precious  tears  of  repentance  fall  ? 
"  Though  foul  thy  fiery  plagues  within, 

"  One    heavenly  drop  hath    iiupell'd  than 
all!" 

And  now  —  behold  him  kneeling  there 
By  the  child's  side,  in  humble  prayer. 
While  the  same  sunbeam  shines  upon 
The  guilty  and  the  guiltless  one. 
And  hymns  of  joy  proclaim  through  tlerven 
The  triumph  of  a  Soul  Forgiven  ! 

'Twas  when  the  golden  orb  had  set. 
While  on  their  knees  they  linger'd  yet, 
There  fell  a  light  more  lovely  far 
Than  ever  came  from  sun  or  star. 
Upon  the  tear  that,  warm  and  meek, 
Dew'd  that  repentant  sinner's  cheek. 
To  mortal  eye  this  light  might  seem 
A  northern  flash  or  meteor  beam 
But  well  th'  enraptur'd  Peri  knew 
'Twas  a  bright  smile  the  Angel  threw 
From  Heaven's  gate,  to  hail  that  teai 
Her  harbinger  of  glory  near  ! 

«•  Joy,  joy  forever  !  my  task  is  Jonc 

"  The  Gates  are  pass'd,  and  Heaven  is  won  i 

"  O,  am  I  not  happy  ?    I  am,  I  am  — 

"  To    thee,   sweet    Eden  !     how    dark    ana 
sad 
"  Are  the  diamond  turrets  of  3hadukiam,^ 

"  And  the  fragrant  bowers  of  Ambebabad  I 

f 
♦'  Farewell,  ye  odors  of  Earth,  that  dio 

•'  Passing  away  like  a  lover's  sigh  ;  — 

•'  My  feast  is  now  of  the  Tooba  Tree,* 

*'  Whose  scent  is  the  breath  of  Eternity  > 

"  Farewell,  ye  vanishing  flowers,  that  shoin, 
•'  In  my  fairy  wreath,  so  bright  and  brief;-  • 

the  person  whom  he  undertook  to  convey,  and  .t/iitw  hi 
journey  with  the  mild  expression  of  Ohell  golinnum  ffheU, 
or  Come,  dear,  follow  me."  —  ^arcii  IliWs  Travels. 

8  The  Nucta,  or  Miraculous  Drop,  which  falls  in  Epyp) 
precisely  on  St.  John's  day,  in  June,  and  is  supposed  to  hava 
the  effect  of  stopping  the  plague. 

3  The  Country  of  Delight  —  the  name  of  a  province  in  lY.i 
kingdom  of  Jinnistan,  or  Fairy  Land,  the  capital  of  which 
is  called  the  City  of  Jewels.  Amberabad  is  anotlier  of  tli« 
cities  of  Jinnistan. 

*  The  tree  Tooba,  that  stands  in  Paradise,  in  the  palai« 
of  Mahomet.  See  Sale's  Prelim.  Disc.  —  Tooba,  sayg  VHir 
belot,  signifies  beatitude,  or  eternal  happiaew 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


401 


•  O,  what  are  the  brightest  that  e'er  have  blown, 
•*  To  the  lote  tree,  springing  by  Alla's  throne,' 

"  Whose  flowers  have  a  soul  in  every  leaS. 
'*  Joy,  joy  forever !  —  ray  task  is  done  — 
"  The  Gates  are  pass'd,  and  Heav'n  is  won ! " 


"  And  this,"  said  the  Great  Chamberlain,  "  is 
poetry  !  this  flimsy  manufacture  of  the  brain, 
which,  in  comparison  with  the  lofty  and  durable 
monuments  of  genius,  is  as  the  gold  filigree 
work  of  Zamara  beside  the  eternal  architecture 
of  EgJTJt !  "  After  this  gorgeous  sentence, 
which,  vnih.  a  few  more  of  the  same  kind,  Fad- 
LADfeEX  kept  by  him  for  rare  and  important 
occations,  he  proceeded  to  the  anatomy  of  the 
short  poem  just  recited.  The  lax  and  easy  kind 
of  metre  in  which  it  was  written  ought  to  be 
denounced,  he  said,  as  one  of  the  leading  causes 
of  the  alarming  growth  of  poetry  in  our  times. 
If  some  checlf  were  not  given  to  this  lawless  fa- 
cility, we  sh(  uld  soon  bo  overrun  by  a  race  of 
bards  as  numerous  and  as  shallow  as  the  hun- 
dred and  twenty  thousand  Streams  of  Basra.' 
They  wlio  succeeded  in  this  style  deserved  chas- 
tisement for  their  very  success  ;  —  as  warriors 
have  been  punished,  even  after  gaining  a  vic- 
tory, because  they  had  taken  the  liberty  of 
gaining  it  in  an  irregular  or  xinestablished  man- 
ner. What,  then,  was  to  bo  said  to  those  who 
fiiiled  ?  to  those  who  presumed,  as  in  the  pres- 
ent lamentable  instance,  to  imitate  the  license 
and  ease  of  the  bolder  sons  of  Qong,  without 
•ny  of  that  grace  or  vigor  which  gave  a  dignity 
even  to  negligence ;  —  who,  like  them,  flung  the 
jereed'  carelessly,  but  not,  like  them,  to  the 
mark;  —  "and  who,"  said  he,  raising  his  voice 
to  excite  a  proper  degree  of  wakefulness  in  his 
hearers,  «'  contrived  to  appear  heavy  and  con- 
strained in  the  midst  of  all  the  latitude  they 

1  Mahomet  is  described,  in  the  53d  chapter  of  the  Koran, 
«■  having  seen  the  angel  Gabriel  "  by  the  lote  tree,  beyond 
which  tliere  is  no  passing:  near  it  is  the  Garden  o(  Eternal 
Abode."  'i'his  tree,  say  the  commentators,  stands  in  the 
•  fr«ni.h  Heaven,  on  the  riglit  hand  of  the  Tlirone  of  God. 

'  t  •  3ai<l  that  tlie  rivers  or  streams  of  Basra  were 
ncconeu  ih  the  time  of  Pelal  ben  Abi  Burdeti,  and  amount- 
ed to  the  niMiiber  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  tbooaand 
•tieam.s."'  ~Ebn  HaukaL 

»  The  n.vT.e  of  the  Javelin  with  which  the  Ea<tems  exer- 
ciao.  — See  CatUUcs  Mat^rt  (Us  OtJumatu,  torn.  iii.  p.  101. 

♦  "  This  account  excited  a  desire  of  visiting  the  Banyan 
Hoxpital,  as  I  had  heard  much  of  their  benevolence  to  all 
kinds  of  animals  that  were  either  sick,  lame,  or  inOrin, 
ttaroii;li  age  or  accident  On  my  arrival,  there  were  pre- 
•M'^ed  to  ny  vien  many  horses,  cows,  and  oxen,  in  one 
62 


allow  themselves,  like  one  nf  those  young  pa- 
gans that  dance  before  the  Princess,  who  ia 
ingenious  enough  to  move  as  if  her  limbs  wer« 
fettered,  in  a  pair  of  the  lightest  and  looMtt 
drawers  of  Masulipatam  ! " 

It  was  but  little  suitable,  he  continued,  to  thi 
grave  march  of  criticism  to  follow  this  fkntasti* 
cal  Teri,  of  whom  they  had  just  heard,  thioiigh 
all  her  flights  and  adventures  between  earth  aiij 
heaven  ;  but  ho  could  not  help  adverting  to  tha 
puerile  conceitedness  of  the  Three  Gifw  which 
she  is  supposed  to  carry  to  the  skies,  —  a  drop 
of  blood,  forsooth,  a  sigh,  and  a  tear !  How 
the  first  of  these  articles  was  delivered  into  the 
Angel's  "  radiant  hand  "  he  professed  himself 
at  a  loss  to  discover  ;  and  as  to  the  safe  carriage 
of  the  sigh  and  the  tear,  such  Peris  and  such 
poets  were  beings  by  far  too  incomprchensibla 
for  him  even  to  guess  how  they  managed  such 
matters.  "But,  in  short,"  said  ho,  "it  is  a 
waste  of  time  and  patience  to  dwell  longer  upox 
a  thing  so  incurably  frivolous,  —  puny  even 
among  its  own  puny  race,  and  such  as  only  tha 
Banyan  Hospital  *  for  Sick  Insects  should  un- 
dertake." 

In  vain  did  Lalla  Kookh  try  to  soften  thia 
inexorable  critic ;  in  vain  did  she  resort  to  hci 
most  eloquent  commonplaces,  —  reminding  him 
that  poets  were  a  timid  and  sensitive  race,  whosa 
sweetness  was  not  to  be  dra^\-n  forth,  like  tha' 
of  the  fragrant  grass  near  the  Ganges,  by  crush- 
ing and  trampling  upon  them  ;  *  —  that  severity 
often  exthiguished  every  chance  of  the  perfection 
which  it  demanded  ;  and  that,  after  all,  perfec* 
tivnn  was  like  the  Mountain  of  the  Talisman,  — 
no  one  had  ever  yet  reached  its  summit.*  Nei- 
ther these  gentle  axioms,  nor  the  still  gentler 
looks  with  which  they  were  inculcated,  coul' 
lower  for  one  instant  the  elevation  of  Fadla- 


apartment;  in  another,  dogs,  sheep,  goats,  and  monkeyi, 
with  clean  straw  for  them  to  repoee  on  Above  stain  wen 
depositories  for  seeds  of  many  sorts,  and  flat,  btnad  disiMs 
for  water,  for  the  use  of  birds  and  insects."  —  Parmns't 
Travels. 

It  ia  said  that  all  animals  know  the  Banyans,  Chat  i1j« 
roojt  timid  approach  them,  and  tliat  birds  will  fly  nearer  U 
them  than  to  other  people.  —  See  Orandpri. 

*  "  A  very  fragrant  grass  from  the  banks  of  the  Gicgea 
near  Heridwar,  which  in  some  places  coven  whole  acrae, 
and  diffiiJ^cji,  when  crushed,  a  strung  odor."—  Si-  If.  J»nt» 
on  tlie  Spikenard  of  the  Ancients. 

«  "  Near  Uiis  is  a  curious  hill,  called  Koh  Tallsm,  tbe 
Mountain  of  the  Talisman,  because,  according  to  tbe  tradi- 
tions of  the  country,  no  person  ever  succeeded  in  gaiiOBt  tS 
■ununiL  " — Kimuir. 


no 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


desk's  eyebrows,  or  charm  him  into  any  thing 
like  encouragement,  or  even  toleration,  of  her 
poet.  Toleration,  indeed,  was  not  among  the 
weaknesses  of  Fadladeen  :  —  he  carried  the 
same  spirit  into  matters  of  poetry  and  of  re- 
iigion,  and  though  little  versed  in  the  beauties 
jr  sublimities  of  either,  was  a  perfect  master  of 
the  art  of  persecution  in  both.  His  zeal  was 
the  same,  too,  in  either  pursuit ;  whether  the 
jame  before  him  was  pagans  or  poetasters,  — 
m  orshippers  of  cows,  or  writers  of  epics. 

They  had  now  arrived  at  the  splendid  city  of 
Lahore,  whose  mausoleums  and  shrines,  mag- 
nificent and  numberless,  where  Death  appeared 
to  share  equal  honors  with  Heaven,  would  have 
powerfully  affected  the  heart  and  imagination 
of  Lalla  Rookh,  if  feelings  more  of  this  earth 
had  not  taken  entire  possession  of  her  already. 
She  was  here  met  by  messengers,  despatched 
from  Cashmere,  who  informed  her  that  the  King 
had  arrived  in  the  Valley,  and  was  himself  su- 
perintending the  sumptuous  preparations  that 
were  then  making  in  the  Saloons  of  the  Shali- 
mar  for  her  reception.  The  chill  she  felt  on 
receiving  this  intelligence,  —  which  to  a  bride 
whose  heart  was  free  and  light  would  have 
brought  only  images  of  affection  and  pleasure, 
—  convinced  her  that  her  peace  was  gone  for- 
ever, and  that  she  was  in  love,  irretrievably  in 
love,  with  young  Feramouz.-  The  veil  had  fallen 
off  in  which  this  passion  at  first  disguises  itself, 
and  to  know  that  she  loved  was  now  as  painful 
as  to  love  wilJwut  knowing  it  had  been  delicious. 
Feramoez,  too,  —  what  misery  would  be  his,  if 
the  SAveet  hours  of  intercourse  so  imprudently 
allowed  them  should  have  stolen  into  his  heart 
the  same  fatal  fascination  as  into  hers  ;  —  if,  not- 
withstanding her  rank,  and  the  modest  homage 
he  always  paid  to  it,  even  he  should  have  yielded 
to  the  influence  of  those  long  and  happy  inter- 
views, where  music,  poetry,  the  delightful  scenes 
of  nature,  —  all  had  tended  to  bring  their  hearts 
close  together,  and  to  waken  by  every  means  that 
too  ready  passion,  which  often,  like  the  young 
of  ♦he  desert  bird,  is  warmed  into  life  by  the 
eyes  alone  !  *  She  saw  but  one  way  to  preserve 
herself  from  being  culpable  as  well  as  unhappy, 
tnd  this,  however  painful,  she  was  resolved  to 


»  "  The  Arabians  believe  that  the  ostriches  hatch  their 
roung   by  only  looking  at  tliem."  — P.    VanaUbe,  ReUO. 

*  f<oo  Sale't  Koran,  note,  vol.  U.  p.  484. 

•  f«ia:.tal  Talea 


adopt.  FekIamorz  must  no  more  be  admitted 
to  her  presence.  To  have  strayed  so  far  into  the 
dangerous  labyrinth  was  wrong,  but  to  linger  in 
it,  while  the  clew  was  yet  in  her  hand,  would  ba 
criminal.  Though  the  heart  she  had  to  ofi'er  to 
the  King  of  Bucharia  might  be  cold  and  broken, 
it  should  at  least  be  pure  ;  and  she  must  Oxiiy 
endeavor  to  forget  the  short  dream  of  happini-M 
she  had  enjoyed,  — like  that  Arabian  shepheid, 
who,  in  wandering  into  the  wilderness,  uaught 
a  glimpse  of  the  Gardens  of  Irim,  and  ti-oti  lost 
them  again  forever  !  * 

The  arrival  of  the  young  Bride  at  Lahuie  was 
celebrated  in  the  most  enthusiastic  manner. 
The  Rajas  and  Omras  in  her  train,  who  had 
kept  at  a  certain  distance  during  the  journey, 
and  never  encamped  nearer  to  the  Princess  th?.a 
was  strictly  necessary  for  her  safeguard,  here 
rode  in  splendid  cavalcade  through  ths  city, 
and  distributed  the  most  costly  presents  to  the 
crowd.  Engines  were  erected  in  all  the  squares 
which  cast  forth  showers  of  confectionery  amon/ 
the  people ;  while  the  artisans,  in  chariots  * 
adorned  with  tinsel  and  flying  streamers,  ex- 
hibited the  badges  of  their  respective  trades 
through  the  streets.  Such  brilliant  displays  oi 
life  and  pageantry  among  the  palaces,  and  domes, 
and  gilded  minarets  of  Lahore,  made  the  citj 
altogether  like  a  place  of  enchantment ;  —  par- 
ticularly on  the  day  when  Lalla  Rooku  set  out 
again  upon  her  journey,  when  she  was  accom- 
panied to  the  gate  by  all  the  fairest  and  richest 
of  the  nobility,  and  rode  along  between  ranK.8 
of  beautiful  boys  and  girls,  who  kept  wavnig 
over  their  heads  plates  of  gold  and  silver  flow- 
ers,* and  then  threw  them  around  to  be  gathered 
by  the  populace. 

For  many  days  after  their  departure  from 
Lahore,  a  considerable  degree  of  gloom  hung 
over  the  whole  party.  Lalla  Rookh,  who  had 
intended  to  make  illness  her  excuse  for  not 
admitting  the  young  minstrel,  as  usual,  to  the 
pavilion,  soon  found  that  to  feign  indisposition 
was  unnecessary ;  —  Fadladeen  felt  the  loss  of 
the  good  road  they  had  hitherto  travelled,  and 
was  very  near  cursing  Jehan-Guire  (of  blessed 
memory  !)  for  not  having  continued  his  delecta- 


<  Ferishta,  "  Oi  rather,"  says  Scott,  upon  the  passage 
of  Ferishta,  from  which  this  is  taken, "  small  coins,  stnm})e<l 
with  the  figure  of  a  flower.  They  are  still  used  in  India  tc 
distribute  in  charity,  and,  on  occasion,  thrown  bv  the  pura* 
bearers  of  the  great  among  the  populace." 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


«: 


ble  alley  of  trees,'  at  least  as  far  as  the  moun- 
tains of  Cashmere  ;  —  while  tlie  Ladies,  who 
had  nothing  now  to  do  all  day  but  to  be  fanned 
by  peacocks'  feathers  and  listen  to  Fadladeen, 
seemed  heartily  weary  of  the  life  they  led,  and, 
in  spite  of  all  the  Great  Chamberlain's  criti- 
cisms, were  so  tasteless  as  to  wish  for  the  poet 
igain.  One  evening,  as  they  were  proceeding 
io  their  place  of  rest  for  the  night,  the  Princess, 
who,  for  the  freer  enjoyment  of  the  air,  had 
mounted  her  favorite  Arabian  palfrey,  in  pass- 
ing by  a  small  grove  heard  the  notes  of  a  lute 
from  within  its  leaves,  and  a  voice,  which  she  but 
too  well  knew,  singing  the  following  words:  — 

Tell  me  not  of  joys  above, 

If  that  world  can  give  no  bUss, 

Truer,  happier  than  the  Love 
Which  enslaves  our  souls  in  this. 

Tell  nje  not  of  Houris'  eyes ;  — 
Far  from  me  their  dangerous  glow, 

If  those  looks  that  light  the  skies 
Wound  like  some  that  bum  below. 

Who,  that  feels  what  Love  is  here, 
All  its  falsehood  —  all  its  pain  — 

Would,  for  ev'n  Elysium's  sphere. 
Bisk  the  fatal  dream  again  } 

Who,  that  'midst  a  desert's  heat 

Sees  the  waters  fade  away. 
Would  not  rather  die  than  meet 

Streams  again  as  false  as  they  ? 

The  tone  of  melancholy  defiance  in  which  these 
words  were  uttered,  went  to  Lalla  Rooku's 
heart ;  —  and,  as  she  rchictantly  rode  on,  she 
could  not  help  feeling  it  to  be  a  sad  but  still 
sweet  certainty,  that  Feramoqz  was  to  the  full 
as  enamoured  and  miserable  as  herself. 

The  place  where  they  encamped  that  evening 
was  the  first  delightful  spot  they  had  come  to 
since  thej  left  Lahore.  On  one  side  of  them 
was  a  gtOTO  full  of  small  Hindoo  temples,  and 

1  The  fine  road  made  by  the  Emperor  Jehan-Guire  from 
Agra  to  Lnhore,  planted  with  trees  on  each  side.  This  road 
\g  250  leagues  in  length.  It  has  '<  little  pyramids  or  tur- 
rets," says  Bemirr,  "  erected  every  half  league,  to  mark 
the  ways,  and  frequent  wells  to  aflbrd  drink  to  paasengen, 
«nd  to  water  the  young  trees." 

t  The  Baya,  or  Indian  Grossbeak Sir  W.  Jones. 

*  "  II  <re  is  a  large  pagnda  h'j  a  tank,  on  the  water  of 
which  &  at  multitudes  of  thi«  beautiful  red  lotus:  the  flower 


planted  with  the  most  graceful  trees  of  the  East 
where  the  tamarind,  the  cassia,  and  the  silkei 
plantains  of  Ceylon  were  mingled  in  rich  con- 
trast with  the  high  fan- like  foliage  of  the  Pal 
myra,  —  that  favorite  tree  of  the  luxurious  bin! 
that  lights  up  the  chambers  of  its  nest  witk 
fireflies.*  In  the  middle  of  the  lawn  where  'h* 
pavilion  stood  there  was  a  tank  suncunded  by 
small  mango  trees,  on  the  clear  cold  waters  of 
which  floated  multitudes  of  the  beaatiful  nd 
lotus ; »  while  at  a  distance  stood  the  ruins  tf  ■ 
strange  and  awful-looking  tower,  which  seemed 
old  enough  to  have  been  the  temple  of  some 
religion  no  longer  known,  and  which  spoke  the 
voice  of  desolation  in  the  midst  of  all  that  bloom 
aud  level' ness.  This  singular  ruin  excited  the 
wonder  and  conjectures  of  all.  Lali,a  Roukb 
guessed  in  vain,  and  the  all-pretending  Fadla- 
deen, who  had  never  till  this  journey  been 
beyond  the  precincts  of  Delhi,  was  proceeding 
most  learnedly  to  show  that  he  knew  nothing 
whatever  about  the  matter,  when  one  of  the 
Ladies  suggested  that  perhaps  Ferauouz  could 
satisfy  their  curiosity.  They  were  now  ap- 
proaching his  native  mountains,  and  this  towe* 
might  perhaps  be  a  relic  of  some  of  those  dark 
superstitions,  which  had  prevailed  in  that  couu 
try  before  the  light  of  Islam  dawned  upon  it 
The  Chamberlain,  who  usually  preferred  hii 
own  ignorance  to  the  best  knowledge  that  any 
one  else  could  give  him,  was  by  no  means 
pleased  with  this  officious  reference  ;  and  the 
Princess,  too,  was  about  to  interpose  a  faint 
word  of  objection,  but,  before  either  of  them 
could  speak,  a  slave  was  despatched  for  Feka- 
Houz,  who,  in  a  very  few  minutes,  made  his 
appearance  before  them  —  looking  so  pale  and 
unhappy  in  Lalla  Rookh's  eyes,  that  she  re- 
pented already  of  her  cruelty  in  having  so  long 
excluded  him. 

"That  venerable  tower,  ho  told  them,  waf  the 
remains  of  an  ancient  Fire  Temple,  built  by 
those  Ghebers  or  Persians  of  the  old  religion 
who,  many  hundrf  d  years  sinac,  had  fled  hitbex 
from  their  Arab  conquerors,*  prcfening  liberty 
and  their  altars  in  a  foreign  laud  to  tuo  altcm* 

is  larger  than  that  of  the  white  water  lily,  and  u  tht  tacm 
lovely  of  the  nymphsas  I  have  seen."  — .tfr«  OraMsm'i 
Journal  of  a  Residence  in  India. 

*  "  On  lee  voit  pers^cutis  par  lea  KhalifiHi  m  rtltier  dans 
lee  montagnea  du  Kerman :  plusieurs  chuitirvni  pour  retraile 
U  Tartarie  et  la  Chine  ;  d'autres  sarrftirenf  »«r  les  bordi 
du  Gange,  &  I'est  de  Delhi."— .XT  Jiniuetit,  iltmo'tm  4i 
I'Acadimie,  torn.  xxxi.  p.  34& 


112 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


tivc  of  apostasy  or  persecution  in  their  own. 
It  was  impossible,  he  added,  not  to  feel  inter- 
ested in  the  many  glorious  but  unsuccessful 
struggles,  which  had  been  made  by  these  origi- 
nal natives  of  Persia  to  cast  off  the  yoke  of  their 
bigoted  conquerors.  Like  their  o\\ti  Fire  in  the 
Burning  Field  at  Bakou,'  when  suppressed  in 
one  place,  they  had  but  broken  out  with  fresh 
flame  in  another  ;  and,  as  a  native  of  Cashmere, 
of  that  fair  and  Holy  Valley,  which  had  in  the 
same  manner  become  the  prey  of  strangers,* 
and  seen  her  ancient  shrines  and  native  princes 
swept  away  before  the  march  of  her  intolerant 
invaders,  he  felt  a  sympathy,  he  owned,  with 
tiie  suiferings  of  the  persecuted  Ghebers,  which 
every  monument  like  this  before  them  but 
tended  more  powerfully  to  awaken. 

ll  was  the  first  time  that  Feramokz  had  ever 
ventured  upon  so  much  prose  before  Fadladeen, 
and  it  may  easily  be  conceived  what  effect  such 
prose  as  this  must  have  produced  upon  that 
most  orthodox  and  most  pagan-hating  per- 
sonage. He  sat  for  some  minutes  aghast, 
ejaculating  only  at  intervals,  "Bigoted  con- 
querors ! — sympathy  with  Fire- worshippers  !  "  ^ 
—  while  Feramorz,  happy  to  take  advantage  of 
•^his  almost  speechless  horror  of  the  Chamber- 
lain, proceeded  to  say  that  he  knew  a  melan- 
choly story,  connected  with  the  events  of  one 
of  those  struggles  of  the  brave  Fire-worship- 
pers against  their  Arab  masters,  which,  if  the 
evening  was  not  too  far  advanced,  he  should 
have  much  pleasure  in  being  allowed  to  relate 
to  the  Princess.  It  was  impossible  for  Lalla 
EooKH  to  refuse  }  —  he  had  never  before  looked 
half  so  animated  ;  and  when  h*e  spoke  of  the 
Holy  Valley  his  eyes  had  sparkled,  she  thought, 
Like  the  talismanio  characters  on  the  cimeter 
of  Solomon.  Her  consent  was  therefore  most 
readily  granted ;  and  while  Fadladeen  sat  in 
unspeakable  dismay,  expecting  treason  and 
abomination  in  every  line,  the  poet  thus  began 
his  story  of  the  Fire- worshippers  :  — 

»  The  "  Ager  ardens "  described  by  Kempfer,  Amamitat. 
Cat 

a  "  Cashmere  (say  its  historians)  liad  its  own  princes 
4000  years  before  its  conquest  by  Alvbar  in  1585.  Akbar 
would  liave  found  some  ditiiculty  to  reduce  this  paradise  of 
the  Indies,  situated  as  it  is  within  such  a  fortress  of  moun- 
tains, but  its  monarch,  Yusef-Khan,  was  basely  betrayed  by 
bis  Omrahs  "  —  Pennant. 

*  Voltaire  tells  us  that  in  his  Tragedy,  "  Les  Guebres," 
tie  was  generally  supposed  to  have  alluded  to  the  Jansen 
Ists.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  this  story  of  the  Fire-wor- 
Khippers  weii)  found  capable  of  a  similar  doubleness  of  appli- 
wtiun 


THE  FIIIE.WORSHIPPEII& 

'Tis  moonlight  over  Oman's  Sea  ;  * 

Her  banks  of  pearl  and  palmy  isles 
Bask  in  the  night  beam  beauteously, 

And  her  blue  waters  sleep  in  smiles. 
'Tis  moonlight  in  Harmozia's  *  walls. 
And  through  her  Emir's  porphyry  halls, 
Where,  some  hours  since,  was  heard  the  swell 
Of  trumpet  and  the  clash  of  zel,' 
Bidding  the  bright-eyed  sun  farewell;  — 
The  peaceful  sun,  whom  better  suits 

The  music  of  the  bulbul's  nest, 
Or  the  light  touch  of  lovers'  lutes. 

To  sing  him  to  his  golden  rest. 
All  hush'd — there's  not  a  breeze  in  motion; 
The  shore  is  silent  as  the  ocean. 
If  zephyrs  come,  so  light  they  come, 

Nor  leaf  is  stirr'd  nor  wave  is  driven;  — 
The  wind  tower  on  the  Emir's  dome  ' 

Can  hardly  win  a  breath  from  heaven. 


Ev'n  he,  that  tyrant  Arab,  sleeps 

Calm,  while  a  nation  round  him  weeps ; 

While  curses  load  the  air  he  breathes, 

And  falchions  from  unnumber'd  sheaths 

Are  starting  to  avenge  the  shame  ' 

His  race  hath  brought  on  Iran's  *  namb. 

Hard,  heartless  Chief,  unmov'd  alike 

'Mid  eyes  that  weep,  and  swords  that  strike;  — 

One  of  that  saintly,  murderous  brood, 

To  carnage  and  the  Koran  given, 
Who  think  through  unbelievers'  blood 

Lies  their  directest  path  to  heaven ;  — 
One,  who  will  pause  and  kneel  unshod 

In  the  warm  blood  his  hand  hath  pour'a, 
To  mutter  o'er  some  text  of  God 

Engraven  on  his  reeking  sword ; '  — 
Nay,  who  can  cooUy  note  the  line, 
The  letter  of  those  words  divine. 
To  which  his  blade,  with  searching  art 
Had  sunk  into  its  victim's  heart ! 

*  The  Persian  Gulf,  sometimes  so  called,  which  sepsntn 
the  shores  of  Persia  and  Arabia. 

6  The  present  Gombaroon,  a  town  on  th»  Persian  side  of 
the  Gulf. 

*  A  Moorish  instrument  of  music 

I  "  At  Gombaroon  and  other  places  in  Persia,  they  r»Ti 
towers  for  the  purpose  of  catching  tlie  wind,  and  cooiir.g  t^s 
houses."  —  Le  Bruyn. 

«  "  Iran  is  the  true  general  name  for  the  empire  of  Pet 
sia."  —  Asiat.  Res.  Disc.  5. 

8  "  On  the  blades  of  their  cimeters  some  verso  fit'in  ttM 
Koran  is  usually  inscribed." — RusseL 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


411 


Just  Ai.LA  !  what  must  be  thy  look, 

When  such  a  wretch  before  thee  stands 
Unblushing,  Avith  thy  Sacred  Book,  — 

Turning  the  leaves  with  bloodstain'd  hands, 
And  wresting  from  its  page  sublime 
His  creed  of  lust,  and  hate,  and  crime ;  — 
Ev'n  as  those  bees  of  Trebizond, 

Which,  from  the  sunniest  flowers  that  glad 
With  their  pure  smile  the  gardens  round, 

Draw  venom  forth  that  drives  men  mad.* 

A  ever  did  fierce  Arabia  send 

A  satrap  forth  more  direly  great ; 
Never  was  Iran  doom'd  to  bend 

Beneath  a  yoke  of  deadlier  weight. 
Her  throne  had  fall'n  —  her  pride  was  crush' d, 
Her  sons  were  willing  slaves,  nor  blush'd, 
In  their  own  land,  —  no  more  their  own,  — 
To  crouch  beneath  a  stranger's  throne. 
Her  towers,  where  Mitura  once  had  burn'd. 
To  Moslem  shrines  —  O  shame  !  —  were  tum'd. 
Where  slaves,  converted  by  the  sword. 
Their  mean,  apostate  worship  pour'd. 
And  cursed  the  faith  their  sires  ador'd. 
Yet  has  she  hearts,  'mid  all  this  ill, 
O'er  all  this  wTetk  high  buoyant  still 
With  hope  and  vengeance ;  —  hearts  that  yet  — 

Like  gems,  in  darkness,  issuing  rays 
riiey'vo  treasur'd  from  the  sun  that's  set, — 

Beam,  all  the  light  of  long-lost  days  ! 
And  swords  she  hath,  nor  weak  nor  slow 

To  second  all  such  hearts  can  dare ; 
As  he  shall  know,  well,  dearly  know. 

Who  sleeps  in  moonlight  luxury  there, 
Tranquil  as  if  his  spirit  lay 
Becalm'd  in  Heav'n's  approving  ray. 
Bleep  on  —  for  purer  eyes  than  thine 
Those  waves  are  hush'd,  those  planets  shine ; 
Bleep  on,  and  be  thy  rest  unmov'd 

By  the  white  moonbeam's  dazzling  power ;  — 
None  but  the  loving  and  the  lov'd 

Should  be  awake  at  this  sweet  hour. 


1  "  TTiere  is  a  bind  of  Rhododendros  about  Trebizond, 
■rhiwe  flowers  (lie  bee  fcods  upon,  and  the  honey  thence 
drives  iieople  mad." — ToumrforU 

*  "  Their  Icings  wear  plumes  of  black  herons'  feathers 
opon  the  right  Hide,  as  a  badge  of  soverpif^nty."  —  Ilanvay. 

*  "  The  Foui'.tain  of  Youth,  by  a  Mahometan  tradition,  is 
situated  in  some  dark  region  of  tlie  Ea.«t." —  RUkardton. 

*  Arabia  Felix. 

*  "  In  the  midst  of  the  garden  is  the  chlosk,  that  Is,  a 
large  room,  commonly  beautified  with  a  fine  fountain  In  the 
midst  of  it.  It  is  raLsed  nine  or  ten  steps,  and  enclosed  with 
|ilded  lattices,  round  which  vines.  Jessamines,  and  honey- 
suckles, make  a  soil  of  green  wall ;  large  trees  are  planted 
round  'Jiis  place,  which  is  the  scene  of  their  greaiMt  pl«M- 
UM."  -  Udi  M.  fV.  MtnUig*. 


And  see— where,  high  above  those  rocki 
That  o'er  the  deep  their  shadows  fling, 
Yon  turret  stands  !  —where  ebon  locks. 
As  glossy  as  a  heron's  wing 
Upon  the  turban  of  a  king,* 
Hang  from  the  lattice,  long  and  wild,— 
'Tis  she,  that  Exiu's  blooming  cliild. 
All  truth  and  tenderness  and  grace. 
Though  bom  of  such  ungentle  race  ;  .— 
An  image  of  Youth's  radiant  Fountain 
Springing  in  a  desolate  mountain  1  > 

O,  what  a  ptire  and  sacrod  thing 

Is  Beauty,  curtain'd  from  the  sight 
Of  the  gross  world,  illumining 

One  only  mansion  with  her  light ! 
Unseen  by  man's  disturbing  eye,  — 

The  flower  that  blooms  beue.tth  the  mi^ 
Too  deep  for  sunbeams,  doth  not  lie 

Hid  in  more  chaste  obscurity. 
So,  IIiNDA,  have  thy  face  and  mind, 
Like  holy  mysteries,  lain  enshrin'd. 
And  O,  what  transport  for  a  lover 

To  lift  the  veil  that  shades  them  o  er  * 
Like  those  who,  all  at  once,  discover 

In  the  lone  deep  some  fairy  shore, 

Where  mortal  never  trod  before. 
And  sleep,  and  wake  in  scented  airs 
No  lip  had  ever  breath'd  but  theirs. 

Beautiful  are  the  maids  that  glide, 

On  summer  eves,  through  Yemen's  *  daleii 
And  bright  the  glancing  looks  they  hide 

Behind  their  litters'  roseate  veils  ;  — 
And  brides,  as  delicate  and  fair 
As  the  white  jasmine  flowers  they  wear. 
Hath  Yemen  in  her  blissful  clime, 

Wlio,  lull'd  in  cool  kiosk  or  bower,* 
Before  their  mirrors  count  the  time,* 

And  grow  still  loveliei  every  hour. 
But  never  yet  hath  bride  or  maid 

In  Arabt's  gay  Harem  smil'd, 

*  The  women  of  the  East  are  mttx  withcot  jMti  t4i>« 
ing  glasses.  "  in  Barbary,"  says  SAow,  "  they  art  w  tcz.* 
of  their  looking  glasses,  which  they  hang  upon  their  traisia, 
tliat  they  will  not  lay  them  aside,  even  when  after  the  HriJ 
gery  of  the  day  they  are  obliged  lo  go  tno  or  three  inil«i 
with  a  pitcher  or  a  goat's  nkin  to  fetch  water."  —  Trwrrfs 

In  other  parts  of  Asia  they  wear  little  Iraking  glissei  tt 
their  thumbs.    "  Hencu  (and  (n>m  the  l»tiis  Iwing  cuo>i'l 
ored  the  emblem  of  beauty)  is  the  meaning  of  tiie  fulluwirii 
mute  intercourse  of  two  lovers  before  tlicir  parent* :  — 
"  *  He,  with  salute  of  defer«bce  due, 
A  lotus  to  his  foreliead  pren'd  ; 
8he  tais'd  her  mirmr  to  bis  view, 
Then  tum'd  it  inward  to  her  breu*  » •• 

AtiUt  JVucsOmt .  roL  it 


114 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


WTiose  boasted  brightness  would  not  fade 
Before  Al  Hassan's  blooming  child. 

Light  as  the  angel  shapes  that  bless 
.Vji  infant's  dream,  yet  not  the  less 
Rich  in  all  woman's  loveliness ;  — 
With  eyes  so  pure,  that  from  their  ray 
Dark  Vice  Avould  turn  abash'd  away, 
Blinded  like  serpents,  when  they  gaze 
Jpon  the  emerald's  virgin  blaze  ;  *  — 
'ket  fill'd  with  all  youth's  sweet  desires. 
Mingling  the  meek  and  vestal  fires 
Of  other  worlds  with  all  the  bliss. 
The  fond,  weak  tenderness  of  this  : 
A  soul,  too,  more  than  half  divine. 

Where,  through  some  shades  of  earthly  feeling. 
Religion's  soften'd  glories  shine. 

Like  light  through  summer  foliage  stealing. 
Shedding  a  glow  of  such  mild  hue. 
So  warm,  and  yet  so  shadowy  too. 
As  makes  the  very  darkness  there 
More  beautiful  than  light  elsewhere. 

Such  is  the  maid  who,  at  this  hour, 

Hath  risen  from  her  restless  sleep, 
Ajvd  sits  alone  in  that  high  bower, 

Tatching  the  still  and  shining  deep. 
A.h  I  'twas  not  thus,  —  with  tearful  eyes 

And  bch  ting  heart,  —  she  us'd  to  gaze 
On  the  magnificent  earth  and  skies, 

In  her  own  land,  in  happier  days. 
Why  looks  she  now  so  anxious  down 
Among  those  rocks,  whose  rugged  frown 

Blackens  the  mirror  of  the  deep  ? 
Whom  waits  she  all  this  lonely  night  ? 

Too  rough  the  rocks,  too  bold  the  steep. 
For  man  to  scale  that  turret's  height !  — 

So  dcem'd  at  least  her  thoughtful  sire. 
When  high,  to  catch  the  cool  night  air. 

After  the  daybeam's  withering  fire,* 
He  built  hei  bower  of  freshness  there, 


<  "  They  siiy  that  if  a  snake  or  serpent  fix  his  eyes  on  the 
BPUe  -  lliose  stones  (emeralds),  he  immediately  becomes 
■ji\  id  "  -   Mined  bex  ^bdalaiii.  Treatise  on  Jewels, 

'•  Al  Goiiibatoon  and  the  Isle  of  Ormus  it  is  sometimes 
<o  lOt,  that  tlio  people  are  obliged  to  lie  all  day  in  the  wa- 
ter."—  .Marco  Polo. 

8  TJiis  mountain  is  generally  supjiosed  to  be  inaccessible. 
Strity  says,  "  I  can  well  assure  the  reader  that  their  opinion 
IS  not  true,  who  suppose  this  mount  to  be  inaccessible."  He 
adds,  t.'.at  "llie  lower  part  of  the  mountain  is  cloudy,  misty, 
iiid  dark,  the  middlemost  part  very  cold,  and  like  clouds 
of  snow,  but  the  upper  regions  perfectly  calm."  —  It  was  on 
thii  mountain  that  the  Ark  wa."  supposed  to  have  rested  af- 
■61  tlio  Deluso,  an^  pttrt  of  it,  they  say,  exists  there  still, 


And  had  it  deck'd  with  costliest  skiU, 

And  fondly  thought  it  safe.as  fair ;  — 
Think,  reverend  dreamer  !  think  so  still. 

Nor  wake  to  learn  what  Love  can  dare  ;  — 
Love,  all-defying  Love,  wno  sees 
No  charm  in  trophies  won  with  ease ;  — 
W'hose  rarest,  dearest  fruits  of  bliss 
Are  pluck'd  on  Dangtr's  piecipice  ! 
Bolder  than  they,  who  dare  not  fiive 

For  pearls,  but  when  the  sea's  at  rest, 
Love,  in  the  temf  eot  most  alive. 

Hath  ever  held  that  pearl  the  best 
He  finds  benearh  the  stormiest  water. 
Yes  —  AuABY  6  unrivall'd  daughter, 
Though  high  that  tower,  that  rock- way  rude 

There's  one  who,  but  to  kiss  thy  cheek, 
Wotild  climb  th'  untrodden  solitude 

Of  Ararat's  tremendous  pea^:,' 
And  think  its  steeps,  though  dark  and  dread, 
Heav'n's  pathways,  if  to  thee  they  led  ! 
Ev'n  now  thou  seost  the  flashing  spray, 
That  lights  his  oar's  impatient  way ;  - 
Ev'n  now  thou  hear'st  the  sudden  shock 
Of  his  swift  bark  against  the  rock. 
And  stretchest  down  thy  arms  of  snow, 
As  if  to  lift  him  from  below ! 
Like  her  to  whom,  at  dead  of  night, 
The  bridegroom,  with  his  locks  of  light,* 
Came,  in  the  flush  of  love  and  pride. 
And  scal'd  the  terrace  of  his  bride  ;  — 
"When,  as  she  saw  him  rashly  spring, 
And  midway  up  in  danger  cling. 
She  flung  him  down  her  long  black  hair. 
Exclaiming,  breathless,  "  There,  love,  there  I " 
And  scarce  did  manlier  nerve  uphold 

The  hero  Zal  in  that  fond  hour. 
Than  wings  the  youth  who,  fleet  and  bold. 

Now  climbs  the  rocks  to  Hi.n'Da's  bower 
See  —  light  as  up  their  granite  steeps 

The  rock  goats  of  Arabia  clamber,* 
Fearless  from  crag  to  crag  he  leaps, 

And  now  is  in  the  maiden's  chamber. 


which  Struy  thus  gravely  accounts  for :  —  "  Whereas  »:!M 
can  remember  that  the  air  on  the  top  of  the  hill  did  evsi 
change  or  was  sulyect  either  to  wind  or  rain,  which  is  pre- 
sumed to  be  the  reason  that  the  Ark  has  endured  so  long 
without  being  rotten." — See  Carrcri's  Travels  «iiere  th4 
Doctor  laughs  at  this  whole  account  of  Mount  Ararat. 

*  In  one  of  the  books  of  the  Shah  Nimch,  when  Zal  (A 
celebrated  hero  of  Persia,  remarkable  fur  his  white  hair,) 
comes  to  the  terrace  of  his  mistress  Rodahver  at  night,  she 
lets  down  her  long  tresses  to  assist  him  in  his  ascent;  —  ho 
however,  manages  it  in  a  less  romantic  way  by  fixing  liU 
crook  in  a  projecting  beam.  —  See  Champion's  Ferdosi. 

6  "  On  the  lofty  hills  of  Arabia  Petrsei"  are  rock  goals. " — 
Mieftahr. 


LAT.T.A.  ROOKH 


411 


Ote  loTSS  —  but  knows  not  whom  she  loves, 

Nor  what  his  race,  nor  whence  he  came  ;  — 
Like  one  who  meets,  in  Indian  groves. 

Some  beauteous  bird  without  a  name, 
Brought  by  the  last  ambrosial  breeze, 
From  isles  in  th'  undiscovered  seas. 
To  show  his  plumage  for  a  day 
To  wondering  eyes,  and  wing  away  ! 
Will  he  thus  fly  —  her  nameless  lover  ? 

Alla  forbid  !  'twas  by  a  a  moon 
Ab  fair  as  this,  while  singing  over 

Some  ditty  to  her  soft  Kanoon,' 
Alone,  at  this  same  witching  hour, 

She  first  beheld  his  radiant  eyes 
Gleam  through  the  lattice  of  the  bower. 

Where  nightly  now  they  mix  their  sighs  ; 
And  thought  some  spirit  of  the  air 
(For  what  could  waft  a  mortal  there  ?) 
Whs  pausing  on  his  moonlight  way 
To  listen  to  her  lonely  lay  ! 
This  fancy  ne'er  hath  left  her  mind  : 

And  —  though,    when    terror's    swoon    had 
past, 
She  saw  a  youth,  of  mortal  kind. 

Before  her  in  obeisance  cast,  — 
Yet  often  since,  when  he  hath  spoken 
,  Strange,  Rwful  words,  —  and  gleams  have  broken 
From  liis  dark  eyes,  too  bright  to  bear, 

O,  she  hath  fcar'd  her  soul  was  given 
To  some  unhallow'd  child  of  air, 

Somo  erring  Spirit  cast  (rom  heaven. 
Like  those  angelic  youths  of  old. 
Who  burn'd  for  maids  of  mortal  mould, 
Bewildcr'd  left  the  glorious  skies. 
And  lost  their  heaven  for  woman's  eyes. 
Fond  girl !  nor  fiend  nor  angel  hu 
Who  wooes  thy  young  simplicity  ; 
But  one  of  earth's  impassioned  sons. 

As  warm  in  love,  as  fierce  in  ire 
As  the  best  heart  whose  current  runs 

Full  of  the  Day  God's  living  ifire. 

But  qucnch'd  to-night  that  ardor  seems, 

And  pale  his  cheek,  and  sunk  his  brow ;  — 
Never  before,  but  in  her  dreams. 

Had  she  beheld  him  pale  as  now  : 
And  those  were  dreams  of  troubled  sleep. 
From  which  'twas  joy  to  wake  and  weep ; 
Visions,  that  will  not  be  forgot, 

But  sadden  every  waking  scene, 
tm.«3  -.varmng  ghosts,  that  leave  the  spot 

Ail  withcr'd  where  they  once  have  been. 


"  How  sweetly,"  said  the  trembling  wtiJ^ 
Of  her  own  gentle  voice  afraid, 
So  long  had  they  in  silence  stood. 

Looking  upon  that  tranquil  flood 

"  How  sweetly  does  the  moonbeam  tmiU 

"  To-night  upon  yon  Ical'y  isle  1 

"  Oft,  in  my  fancy's  wanderings, 

"  I've  wish'd  that  little  isle  had  wings, 

"  And  we,  within  its  fairy  bowers, 

"  Were  wafted  off  to  seas  unknown, 
"  Where  not  a  pulse  should  beat  but  ouis, 

"  And  we  might  live,  love,  die  alone ! 
"  Far  from  the  cruel  and  the  cold,  — 

••  Where  the  bright  eyes  of  angels  only 
••  Should  come  around  us,  to  behold 

'•  A  paradise  so  pure  and  lonely. 
"  Would  this  be  world  enough  for  thee  ?  " 
Playful  she  tum'd,  that  he  might  sec 

The  passing  smile  her  cheek  put  on  ; 
But  when  she  mark'd  how  mournfully 

His  eycfj  met  hers,  that  smile  was  gone ; 
And,  bursting  into  heartfelt  tears, 
"  Yes,  yes,"  she  cried,  "  my  hourly  fears, 
"  My  dreams  have  boded  all  too  right  - 
"  We  part — forever  part  —  to-night ! 
••  I  knew,  I  knew  it  could  not  last  — 
"  'Twas  bright,  'twas  heavenly,  but  'tis  past  I 
"  O,  ever  thus,  from  childhood's  hour, 
••  I've  seen  my  fondest  hopes  decay  | 
"  I  never  loved  a  tree  or  flower, 

"  But  'twas  the  first  to  fade  away. 
"  I  never  nurs'd  a  dear  gazelle, 

••To  glad  me  with  its  soft  black  eye, 
'•  But  when  it  came  to  know  mo  well, 

'•  And  love  me,  it  was  sure  to  die  1 
'•  Now  too  —  the  joy  most  like  divine 

"  Of  all  I  ever  dreamt  or  knew, 
«•  To  see  thee,  hear  thee,  call  thee  mine,  — 

••  O  misery  !  must  I  lose  tluxt  too  ? 
••  Yet  go  —  on  peril's  brink  we  meet ;  — 

••  Those    frightful    rocks  —  that    tr^acherOTM 
sea  — 
•'  No,  never  come  again  —  though  swtct, 

•'  Though  heaven,  it  may  be  death  to  the* 
••  FarwwcU —  and  blessings  on  thy  way, 

••  Where'er  thou  go'st,  belovotl  strangf  r  I 
•'  Better  to  sit  and  watch  that  ray, 
••  And  think  thee  safe,  though  far  away, 

••  Than  have  thee  near  mc,  and  in  danger  . ' 

"  Danger  !  —  O,  tempt  me  not  to  boast  —  " 
The  youvh  exclaim'd  —  •'  thou  little  kn  »wV 


Canun,  espcre  de    i>s-ilt>>rion,  avec  des   cordea   da 
tojvui  ^''^  dailies  «v  toudicut  dana  le  aerrail,  avec  das 


d^caiUes  armtes  de  pointes  d*  cnuc 
ty£)» 


-7VJi 


118 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


•*  What  he  can  brave,  who,  born  and  nurs'd 
•'  In  Danger's  paths,  has  dar'd  her  worst ; 

*  Upon  whose  car  the  signal  word 

"  O*"  strife  and  death  is  hourly  breaking  ; 
"  Who  sleeps  with  head  upon  the  sword 

"  EQs  fever'd  hand  must  grasp  in  waking. 
'*  Danger  1  — 

"  Say  on  —  thou  fear'st  not  then, 

And  we  may  meet    -  oft  meet  again  ? " 

*  O,  look  not  so  —  benerth  the  skies 
"  I  now  fear  nothing  but  those  eyes. 

'•  If  aught  on  earth  could  charm  or  force 
'  My  spirit  from  its  destin'd  course,  — 
"  K  aught  could  make  this  soul  forget 
••  Tlic  bond  to  which  its  seal  is  set, 
"  'Twould  be  those  eyes  ;  —  they,  only  they, 
"  Could  melt  that  sacred  seal  away  ! 
"  But  no  —  'tis  fix'd  —  my  awful  doom 
"  Is  fix'd  —  on  this  side  of  the  tomb 
"Wo  meet  no  more; — why,  why  did  Heav- 
en 
"  Mingle  two  souls  that  earth  has  riven, 
'*  Has  rent  asunder  wide  as  ours  ? 
•*  O,  Arab  maid,  as  soon  the  Powers 
••  Of  Light  and  Darkness  may  combine, 
•♦  As  I  be  link'd  with  thee  or  thine  ! 

•Thy  Father " 

"  Holy  Alla  save 

«•  His  gray  head  from  that  lightning  glance  ! 
■'  Thou  know'st  him  not  —  ho  loves  the  brave  ; 

"  Nor  lives  there  under  heaven's  expanse 
•'  One  who  would  prize,  would  worship  thee 
"  And  thy  bold  spirit,  more  than  he. 
♦Oft  when,  in  childhood,  I  have  play'd 

"  With  the  bright  falchion  by  his  side, 
••  I've  heard  him  swear  his  lisping  maid 

"  In  time  should  be  a  warrior's  bride. 
"  And  still,  whene'er  at  Harem  hours, 
••  I  take  him  cool  sherbets  and  flowers, 
"  He  tells  me,  when  in  playful  mood, 

••  A  hero  shall  my  bridegroom  be, 

1  "  They  (the  Ghebers)  lay  so  much  stress  on  their  cushee 
It  girdle,  as  not  to  dare  to  be  an  instant  witliout  it."  — 
Grose's  Voyage.  —  "  Le  jeune  homme  nia  d'abord  la  chose ; 
mais  ayant  6t6  depouillS  de  sa  robe,  et  la  large  ceintiire 
^u'il  portoit  comme  Gliebr,"  &c.  &c.  —  D^IIerbelot,  art  Ag- 
duani.  "  Pour  se  distinguer  des  Idolatres  de  I'Inde,  lea 
Guebres  se  ceignent  tous  d'un  cordon  de  laine,  ou  de  poll 
Je  chanieau."  —  Encyclopedic  Fran^oise. 

D'Herbelot  says  this  belt  was  generally  of  leather. 

a  "  They  supiKwo  the  Tlirono  of  the  Almighty  is  seated  in 
tlie  sun,  and  hcnco  their  worship  of  that  luminary."  —  Ilan- 
way,  "  As  to  fire,  the  Ghebers  place  the  spring  head  of  it  in 
that  globe  of  fire,  the  Sun,  by  them  called  Mythras,  or  Mi- 
hir,  to  which  they  pay  the  highest  reverence,  in  gratitude 
tir  the  manifold  benefits  flowing  from  its  ministerial  omnis- 


"  Since  maids  are  best  in  battle  woo'd, 

"  And  won  with  shouts  of  victory  1 
"  Nay,  turn  not  from  me  —  thou  alone 
•'  Art  form'd  to  make  both  hearts  thy  own. 
"  Go  — join  his  sacred  ranks  —  thou  know'st 

♦'  Th'  unholy  strife  these  Persians  wage :  — 
"  Good  Heav'n,  that  frown  !  —  even  now  thct 
glow'st 

"  With  more  than  mortal  warrior's  rage. 
"  Haste  to  the  camp  by  morning's  light, 
"And,  when  that  sword  is  rais'd  in  fight, 
"  O,  still  remember,  Love  and  I 
"  Beneath  its  shadow  trembling  lie  ! 
"  One  victory  o'er  those  Slaves  of  Fire, 
"  Those  impious  Ghebers,  whom  my  sire 

"  Abhors " 

"  Hold,  hold  —  thy  words  are  death  —  ' 

The  stranger  cried,  as  wild  he  flung 
His  mantle  back,  and  show'd  beneath 

The  Gheber  belt  that  round  him  clung.'  — 
"  Here,  maiden,  look  —  weep  —  blush,  to  see 
"  All  that  thy  sire  abhors  in  me  ! 
"  Yes  —  /  am  of  that  impious  race, 

"  Those  Slaves  of  Fire  who,  mom  and  even, 
"  Hail  their  Creator's  dwelling-place 

"  Among  the  living  lights  of  heaven  :  • 
"  Yes  —  /  am  of  that  outcast  few, 
"  To  Iran  and  to  vengeance  true, 
"  Who  curse  the  hour  your  Arabs  came 
"  To  desolate  our  shrines  of  flame, 
"  And  swear,  before  God's  burning  eye, 
"  To  break  our  country's  chains,  or  die  I 
"  Thy  bigot  sire,  —  nay,  tremble  not, — 

"  He,  who  gave  birth  to  those  dear  eyes, 
"  With  me  is  sacred  as  the  spot 

"  From  which  our  fires  of  worship  rise  ! 
"  But  know  —  'twas  he  I  sought  that  night, 

"When,  from  my  watch  boat  on  the  sea, 
"  I  caught  this  turret's  glimmering  light, 

"  And  up  the  rude  rocks  desperately 
"  Rush'd  to  my  prey  —  thou  know'st  the  rest  — 
"  I  climb'd  the  gory  vulture's  nest, 

cience.  But  thej'  are  so  far  from  confounding  the  subordi- 
nation of  the  Servant  with  the  majesty  of  its  Creator,  that 
they  not  only  attribute  no  sort  of  sense  or  reasrning  t»  th« 
sun  or  fire,  in  any  of  its  operations,  but  consider  it  as  a  pure- 
ly passive  blind  instrument,  directed  and  governed  by  th« 
immediate  impression  on  it  of  the  will  of  God  ;  but  they  d( 
not  even  give  that  luminary,  all-glorious  as  it  is,  more  thai 
the  second  rank  amongst  liis  works,  reserving  the  first  foi 
that  stupendous  production  of  divine  power,  the  mind  of 
man."  —  Orose.  The  false  charges  brought  against  the  re- 
ligion of  these  people  by  their  Mussulman  tyrants  is  hvt  ont 
proof  among  many  of  the  truth  of  this  writer's  remark,  that 
"  calumny  is  often  added  to  oppression,  if  but  for  the  tab 
of  justifvine  it " 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


iP 


"  And  found  a  tremhling  dove  within  ;  — 

'•  Thine,  thine  the  victory  —  thine  the  sin  — 

•«  If  Love  hath  ro  tde  one  thought  tia  own, 

•*  That  Vengeance  claims  first  —  last  —  alone ' 

"  O,  had  we  never,  never  met, 

••  Or  could  this  heart  ev'n  now  forget 

"  How    link'd,   how    bless'd   we    mii;ht   have 

been, 
•*  Had  fate  not  frown'd  so  dark  between  1 
"  Hadst  thou  been  bom  a  Persian  maid, 

"  In  neighboring  valleys  had  we  dwelt, 
'« Through  the  same  fields  in  childhood  play'd, 

«'  At  the  same  kindling  altar  knelt,  — 
"  Tlien,  then,  while  all  those  nameless  ties, 
'•  In  which  the  charm  of  Country  lies, 
M  Had  round  our  hearts  been  hourly  spun, 
•«  '1\11  Iran's  cause  and  thine  were  one  ; 
••  While  in  thy  lute's  awakening  sigh 
•  1  heard  the  voioe  of  days  gone  by, 
•And  saw,  in  every  smile  of  thine, 
••  Returning  hoars  of  glory  shine  ;  — 
**  While  the  ^rong'd  Spirit  of  our  Land 

"  Liv'd,  Ijok'd,  and  spoke  her  wrongs  through 
thee,  — 
••  God  !  who  could  then  this  sword  withstand  ? 

'•  Its  very  flash  were  victory  ! 
•♦  But  now  —  estrang'd,  divorc'd  forever, 
'•  Far  as  the  grasp  of  Fate  can  sever ; 
•*  Our  only  ties  what  love  has  wove, — 

"  In  faith,  friends,  country,  sunder'd  wide  ; 
••  And  then,  then  only,  true  to  love, 

••  When  false  to  all  that's  dear  beside  ! 
'•  Thy  father  Iran's  deadliest  foe  — 
«•  Thyself,  perhaps,  ev'n  now  —  but  no  — 
•♦  Hate  never  look'd  so  lovely  yet ! 

"  No  —  sacred  to  thy  soul  will  be 
"  The  land  of  him  who  could  forget 

"  All  but  that  bleeding  land  for  thee. 
"  When  other  eyes  shall  see,  unmov'd, 

"  Her  widows  mourn,  her  warriors  fall, 
•«  ITiou'lt  think  how  well  one  Gheber  lov'd, 

♦*  And  for  hia  sake  thou'lt  weep  for  all ! 

••  But  look " 

With  sudden  start  he  tum'd 
And  pointed  to  the  distant  wave, 
Where  lights,  like  chamel  meteors,  bum'd 

Blucly,  as  o'er  some  seaman's  grave  ; 
And  fiery  darts,  at  intervals,* 

Flew  up  all  sparkling  from  the  main. 


1  "  The  Mameluks  that  were  in  the  other  boat,  when  It 
wai  dark  twed  to  shoot  up  a  sort  of  fiery  arrows  into  the  air 
•rhirh  in  some  measure  resembled  lightning  or  falling 
■tan  "  —  BaumgarUn. 

*  "  Wilhin  iho  enclosure  whicli  surroundH  this  monument 
at  Gualior)  is  a  small  'omb  to  Ui"  metaoty  of  Tan-8eia,  a 
63 


As  if  each  star  that  nightly  f&lli, 
Were  shooting  back  to  heaven  again. 

«  My  signal  lights  !  —  I  must  away  — 

"  Both,  both  are  ruin'd,  if  I  stay. 

"  Farewell  —  sweet  life  !  thou  cling'rt  in  Tain 

"  Now,  Vengeance,  I  am  thine  again  !  ' 

Fiercely  he  broke  away,  nor  btopp'd. 

Nor  look'd  —  but  from  the  lattice  dropp  d 

Down  'mid  the  pointed  crags  beneath. 

As  if  he  fled  from  love  to  death. 

While  pale. and  mute  young  Hinda  stood. 

Nor  mov'd,  till  in  the  silent  flood 

A  momentary  plunge  below 

Startled  her  from  her  trance  of  woe  ;  — 

Shrieking  she  to  the  lattice  flew, 

"  I  come  —  I  come  —  if  in  that  tide 
"  Thou  sleep'st  to-night,  I'll  sleep  there  too, 

"  In  death's  cold  wedlock,  by  thy  side 
"  O,  I  would  ask  no  happier  bed 

"  Than  the  chill  wave  my  love  lies  under  • 
••  Sweeter  to  rest  together  dead. 

"  Far  sweeter,  than  to  live  asunder !  " 
But  no  —  their  hour  is  not  yet  come  — 

Again  she  sees  his  pinnace  fly, 
Wafting  him  fleetly  to  his  home. 

Where'er  that  ill-starr'd  home  may  lie ; 
And  calm  and  smooth  it  seem'd  to  win 

Its  moonlight  way  before  the  wind. 
As  if  it  bore  all  peace  within,  . 

Nor  left  one  breaking  heart  behind  I 


The  Princess,  whose  heart  was  sad  enough 
already,  could  have  wished  that  Febamorz  had 
chosen  a  less  melancholy  story  ;  as  it  is  only  to 
the  happy  that  tears  are  a  luxury.  Her  Ladies, 
however,  were  by  no  means  sorry  that  love  was 
once  more  the  Poet's  theme  ;  for,  whenever  he 
spoke  of  love,  they  said,  his  voice  was  as  sweet 
as  if  he  had  chewed  the  leaves  of  that  enchant- 
ed tree,  which  grows  over  the  tomb  of  the  mu- 
sician, Tan-Sein.* 

Their  road  all  the  morning  had  lain  through 
a  very  dreary  country ;  —  through  valleys,  cov- 
ered with  a  low  bushy  jungle,  where,  in  more 
than  one  place,  the  awful  signal  of  the  bamboo 


mtulefaui  of  incomparable  akin,  »ho  flonilsbfd  at  Ibe  eoon 
of  Akb«r.  The  tomb  Is  ovenbadoired  by  a  trr%  fooctn 
Ing  which  a  aaperstitious  DOtlon  preTtfla,  that  tit*  elMWtat 
of  its  learee  irill  gire  an  extraordinary  melody  to  tb«  »ol«.* 
—  Narratict  of  a  Jounugfrtm  Agfa  «•  Outte,  6f  W.  E>m 
ter,Eiq. 


staff,'  with  the  white  flag  at  its  top,  reminded 
the  traveller  that,  in  that  very  spot,  the  tiger 
had  made  some  human  creature  his  victim.  It 
was,  therefore,  with  much  pleasure  that  they 
arrived  at  sunset  in  a  safe  and  lovely  glen,  and 
encamped  under  one  of  those  holy  trees,  whose 
Bmooth  columns  and  spreading  roofs  seem  to 
destine  them  for  natural  temples  of  religion. 
Beneath  this  spacious  shade,  some  pious  hands 
nad  erected  a  row  of  pillars  ornamented  with 
the  most  beautiful  porcelain,*  which  now  sup- 
plied the  use  of  mirrors  to  the  young  maidens, 
as  they  adjusted  their  hair  in  descending  from 
the  palanquins.  Here,  while,  as  usual,  the  Prin- 
cess sat  listening  anxiously,  with  Fadladeen  in 
one  of  his  loftiest  moods  of  criticism  by  her  side, 
the  young  Poet,  leaning  against  a  branch  of  the 
tree,  thus  continued  his  story  :  — 


Thb  mom  hath  risen  clear  and  calm. 

And  o'er  the  Green  Sea  '  palely  shines, 
Revealing  Bahrein's  *  groves  of  palm, 

And  lighting  Kishma's  *  amber  vines, 
t'resh  smell  the  shores  of  Akaby,' 
While  breezes  from  the  Indian  Sea 
BloAV  round  Selama's  *  sainted  cape. 

And  curl  the  shining  flood  beneath,  — 
Whose  waves  are  rich  with  many  a  grape, 

And  cocoanut  and  flowery  \vreath, 
Which  pious  seamen,  as  they  pass'd, 
Had  toward  that  holy  headland  cast  — 
Oblations  to  the  Genii  there 
For  gentle  skies  and  breezes  fair ! 
Ihe  nightingale  now  bends  her  flight' 
From  the  high  trees,  where  all  the  night 

She  sung  so  sweet,  with  none  to  listen  ; 
And  hides  her  from  the  morning  star 


1  "  It  is  usual  to  place  a  small  white  triangular  flag,  fixed 
«  a  bamboo  staff  of  ten  or  twelve  feet  long,  at  the  place 
where  a  tiger  lias  destroyed  a  man.  It  is  common  for  the 
passengers  also  to  throw  each  a  stone  or  brict  near  the  spot, 
Ml  tiiat  in  the  course  of  a  little  time  a  pile  equal  to  a  good 
»TLg<;n  load  IS  collected.  The  sight  of  these  flags  and  piles 
f  St  ne*  imparts  a  certain  melancholy,  not  perhaps  altogeth- 
r  Tr.-if  of  apprehension.-'  —  Oriental  Field  Sports,  vol.  ii. 

t  "  Tiie  Ficus  Indica  is  called  the  Pagod  Tree  and  Tree 
hi  Oobiicils  ;  the  first,  fnun  the  idols  placed  under  its  shade : 
ll.e  second,  because  meetings  were  held  under  its  cool 
branches.  In  some  places  it  is  believed  to  be  the  haunt  of 
fpectres,  as  the  ancient  spreading  oaks  of  Wales  have  been 
of  fairies;  in  others  are  erected  beneath  the  shade  pillars 
of  stone,  or  posts,  elegantly  carved,  and  ornamented  with 
'he  most  beautiful  porcelain  to  supply  the  use  of  mirrors.' 
—  Pennant. 

»  The  Persian  Gulf  — "  To  dive  for  pearls  in  the  Green 
ft.  It  Persian  GulC"-   Sir  **■.  Joiut. 


Where  thickets  of  pomegranate  glisten 
In  the  clear  dawn,  —  bespangled  o'er 

With    dew,    whose    nightdrops    would    BO 
stain 
The  best  and  brightest  cimeter  ^ 
That  ever  youthful  Sultan  wore 

On  the  first  morning  of  his  reign. 

And  see  —  the  Sun  himself !  —  on  winga 
Of  glory  up  the  East  he  springs, 
Angel  of  Light !  who  from  the  time 
Those  heavens  began  their  march  sublime, 
Hath  first  of  all  the  starry  choir 
Trod  in  his  Maker's  steps  of  fire ! 

Where  are  the  days,  thou  wondrous  sphere, 
When  Iran,  like  a  sunflower,  turn'd 
To  meet  that  eye  where'er  it  burn'd  ?  — 

When,  from  the  banks  of  Bendemebb 
To  the  nut  groves  of  Samarcand, 
Thy  temples  flam'd  o'er  all  the  land! 
Where  are  they  ?  ask-the  shades  of  them 

Who,  on  Cadessia's  '  bloody  plains, 
Saw  fierce  invaders  pluck  the  gem 
From  Iran's  broken  diadem. 

And  bind  her  ancient  faith  in  chains 
Ask  the  poor  exile,  cast  alone 
On  foreign  shores,  unlov'd,  'inknown. 
Beyond  the  Caspian's  Iron  Gates,' 

Or  on  the  snowy  Mossian  mountains. 
Far  from  his  beauteous  land  of  dates. 

Her  jasmine  bowers  and  sunny  fountains  : 
Yet  happier  so  than  if  he  trod 
His  own  belov'd,  but  blighted,  sod. 
Beneath  a  despot  stranger's  nod  !  — 
O,  he  would  rather  houseless  roam 

Where  Freedom  and  his  God  may  lead, 
Than  be  the  sleekest  slave  at  home 

That  crouches  to  the  conqueror's  creed  I 


*  Islands  in  the  Gulf. 

s  Or  Selemeh,  the  genuine  name  of  the  headland  at  thi 
entrance  of  the  Gulf,  commonly  called  Cape  Musseldim 
"The  Indians,  when  they  pass  the  promt ntory,  throw 
cocoanuts,  fruits,  or  flowers  into  the  sea,  to  secure  a  pro 
pitious  voyage."  —  Morier. 

<  "The  nightingale  sings  ttin  the  poraegrsnate  groiet 
in  the  daytime,  and  from  the  loftiest  trees  at  nigiit"  —  huo 
sel's  Aleppo. 

1  In  speaking  of  the  climate  of  tihiraz,  Francklii  says, 
"  The  dew  is  of  such  a  pure  nature,  that  if  the  bright"8l 
cimeter  should  be  exposed  to  it  all  night,  it  would  not  re- 
ceive the  least  nist." 

8  The  place  where  the  Persians  were  nnally  defeated  b; 
the  Arabs,  and  their  ancient  monarchy  destroyed. 

»  Derbend.  — "  Les  Turcs   appel'.ent   cette  ville    Oemii 
Capi,  Porte  de  Fer ;  ce  sont  les  Cispite  Port*  des  acsiuw 
—  D'Herbelot 


LALLA  ROOKli. 


411 


fa  Iran's  pride  then  gone  forever, 

Qucnch'd  with  the  ilarae  in  Mixhba's  cares  ?  — 
No  —  she  has  sons,  that  never  —  never  — 

Will  stoop  to  be  the  Moslem's  slaves, 

While  heaven  has  light  or  earth  has  graves ;  — 
Spirits  of  fire,  that  brood  not  long. 
But  dash  resentment  back  for  wrong  ; 
And  hearts  where,  slow  but  deep,  the  seeds 
'Jf  vengeance  ripen  into  deeds, 
fill,  in  some  treacherous  hour  of  calm, 
4 hey  burst,  like  Zkilan's  giant  palm,' 
Whose  buds  fly  open  with  a  sound 
That  shakes  th«s  pigmy  forests  round  ! 
Yes,  Emih  !  he,  wno  iunl'd  thcit  tower, 

And,  had  he  reach  d  thy  slumbering  brtMBt, 
Had  taught  thee,  in  a  Uhober  s  power 

How  safe  ev'n  tyrant  heads  may  rest  — 
Is  one  of  many,  brave  as  he. 
Who  loathe  thy  haughty  race  und  thee  ; 
Who,  though  they  know  the  strife  is  rair, 
Who,  though  they  know-the  riven  chain 
Snaps  but  to  enter  in  the  heart 
Of  him  who  rends  its  links  apart. 
Yet  dare  the  issue^  —  blest  to  be 
Ev'n  for  one  bleeding  moment  free. 
And  die  in  pangs  of  liberty  ! 
Thou  know'st   them  well  —  'tis  some   m"axB 
since 

Thy  turban'd  troops  and  blood-red  flags, 
rhou  satrap  of  a  bigot  Prince, 

Have     swanu'd     among    these    Oreen    Sea 
crags; 
Yet  here,  ev'n  here,  a  sacred  band 
Ay,  in  the  portal  of  that  land 
Thou,  Arab,  dar'st  to  call  thy  own. 
Their  spears  across  thy  path  have  thrown  ; 
Here  —  ere  the  winds  half  wing'd  thee  o'er  — 
Kebellion  brav'd  thee  from  the  shore. 
Kebellion  !  foul,  dishonoring  \Vord,     • 

Whose  wrongful  blight  so  oft  has  stain'd 
ITie  holiest  cause  that  tongue  or  sword 

Of  mortal  ever  lost  or  gain'd. 
How  many  a  spirit,  bom  to  ^^less. 

Hath  sunk  beneath  that  withering  name. 
Whom  but  a  day's,  an  hour's  success 

Had  wafted  to  eternal  fame  ! 
As  exhalations,  when  they  burst 
From  the  warm  earth,  if  chill'd  at  first, 

<  Tlie  Talpct  or  TalipnC  tree.  "  Tbia  beautlAil  p«lin  tn' , 
which  grows  In  the  heart  of  the  foreaU,  may  be  c)asf«/' 
tmongtlM  loRiest  trees,  and  becomes  still  higher  whe^  '  j 
iM  point  of  bursting  forth  fnvn  its  Wf]  sue  mi'.  '.t>'. 
ibeatti  which  then  envelops  the  flowar  Isw'iy  'vr  «r.j, 
vben     ^rsts,  uirXes  an  eiplcr.«oD  l''e  tJ-*  rer  ,rt   .  r  jut- 


If  check 'd  in  soaring  from  the  plain, 

Detrken  to  fogs  and  sink  again  j 

But,  if  they  once  triumphant  spread 
Their  wings  above  the  mountain  head. 
Become  enthron'd  in  upper  air, 
And  turn  to  svm-bright  glories  then  I 

And  who  is  he,  that  wields  the  might 

Of  Freedom  on  the  Green  Sea  brink, 
Before  whose  sabre's  dazzling  light  • 

The  eyes  of  Yemen's  warriors  wink  i 
Who  comes,  embowcr'd  in  the  spears 
Of  Kebxan's  hardy  mountaineers?  — 
Those  mountaineers  that  truest,  last. 

Cling  to  their  country's  ancient  ritea. 
As  if  that  God,  whose  eyelids  cast 

'llieir  closing  gleam  on  Iran's  hcigbt% 
Among  her  snowy  mountains  threw 
The  last  light  of  his  worship  too  ! 

'Tis  Haped — name  of  fear,  whose  sound 

Chills  like  the  muttering  of  a  charm  !  ' 
Shout  but  that  awful  name  around. 

And  palsy  shakes  the  manliest  arm. 
'Tis  Hafbu,  most  accurs'd  and  dire 
(So  rank'd  by  Moslem  hate  and  ire^ 
Of  all  the  rebel  Sons  of  Fire  ; 
Of  whose  malign,  tremendous  power 
The  Arabs,  at  their  mid-watch  hour 
Such  tales  of  fearful  wonder  tell. 
That  each  affrighted  sentinel 
Pulls  down  his  cowl  upon  his  eyes. 
Lest  Hafed  in  the  midst  should  rise ! 
A  man,  they  say,  of  monstrous  birth, 
A  mingled  race  of  flame  and  earth. 
Sprung  from  those  old,  enchanted  kings. 

Who  in  their  fairy  helms,  of  yore 
A  feather  from  the  mystic  wings 

Of  the  Simoorgh  resistless  wore  ; 
Ajyd  i;ifted  by  the  Fiends  of  Fire, 
Who  groan'd  to  see  their  shrines  expire. 
With  chaiaos  that,  all  in  vain  withstood, 
Would  drown  the  Koran's  light  in  blood  i 

M  ich  were  the  tales,  that  won  belief. 
And  such  the  coloring  Fancy  gave 

.'  o  a  young,  warm,  and  dauntless  ChieC  - 
One  who,  no  more  than  mortal  brave, 

"  When  the  briirht  dmeten  make  tb«  eyea  of  oar  Hern* 
'/i'»k."—Thi  MoiMaluU,  Ptm  rf  Amr%. 

*  Tahniiiraa,  and  other  ancient  Kinp  of  Peivia  ;  whoa* 
adventures  in  Fair>-land  among  tba  PWia  and  I>ivH  om/ 
be  found  in  Richardson's  curious  DiaMltlrinn  The  nMi 
Simoorgh,  ihey  say,  took  some  feaihen  (hta  her  braw*  fm 
Tahmuroj),  witli  nhirh  he  ailorned  hi«  helmet.  tnA  iraa* 
Bitted  them  aftarwarda  to  bia  d««'«f)daai» 


»20 


:.ALI^   ROOKH. 


Ff'ught  for  the  land  his  soul  ador'd, 

For  happy  homes  and  altars  free,  — 
Hia  only  talisman,  the  sword, 

His  only  spell- word.  Liberty  ! 
One  of  that  ancient  hero  line. 
Along  whose  glorious  current  shine 
Names,  that  have  sanctified  their  blood  ; 
A  %  Lebanon's  small  mountain  flood 
L  render'd  holy  by  the  ranks 
a  sainted  cedars  on  its  banks.' 
Twas  not  for  him  to  crouch  the  knee 
Tamely  to  Moslem  tyranny  ; 
'Twas  not  for  him,  whose  soul  was  cast 
In  the  bright  mould  of  ages  past, 
Whose  melancholy  spirit,  fed 
"With  all  the  glories  of  the  dead. 
Though  fram'd  for  Iran's  happiest  years, 
"Was  born  among  her  chains  and  tears  !  — 
'Twas  not  for  him  to  swell  the  crowd 
Of  slavish  heads,  that  shrinking  bow'd 
Before  the  Moslem,  as  he  pass'd, 
Like  shrubs  beneath  the  poison  blast  — 
No  —  far  he  fled  —  indignant  fled 

The  pageant  of  his  country's  shame  ; 
While  every  tear  her  children  shed 

Fell  on  his  soul  like  drops  of  flame ; 
And,  as  a  lover  hails  the  dawn 

Cf  a  first  smile,  so  welcom'd  he 
The  sparkle  of  the  first  sword  drawn 

For  vengeance  and  for  liberty  ! 

But  vain  was  valor  —  vain  the  flower 
Of  Kehman,  in  that  deathful  hour, 
Against  Al  Hassan's  whelming  power.  — 
In  vain  they  met  him,  helm  to  helm, 
Upon  the  threshold  of  that  realm 
He  came  in  bigot  pomp  to  sway. 
And  with  their  corpses  block' d  his  way  — 
In  vain  —  for  every  lance  they  rais'd. 
Thousands  around  the  conqueror  blaz'd  ; 


J  This  rivulet,  says  Dandini,  is  called  the  Holy  River 
fcwn  the  "  cedar  saints  "  among  wliich  it  rises. 

In  the  Lettres  Edifiantes,  there  is  a  different  cause  as- 
•Igned  foi  its  name  of  Holy.  "  In  theso  are  deep  caverns, 
Whi-'-h  formerly  served  as  so  many  cells  for  a  great  nnmber 
•f  racluses,  who  had  chosen  these  retreats  as  the  only  wit- 
nesses upon  earth  of  the  severity  of  their  penance.  The 
tears  of  these  pious  penitents  gave  the  river  of  which  we 
bare  just  treated  the  name  of  tlie  Holy  River."  —  See  Cha- 
teaubriand^s  Beauties  of  Christianity. 

*  This  mountain  is  my  own  creation,  as  the  "  stupendous 
rha'n,"  of  which  I  suppose  it  a  link,  does  not  extend  quite 
10  C«r  as  the  shores  of  the  Persian  Gulf.  "  This  long  and 
lofty  range  of  mountains  formerly  divided  Media  from  As- 
iyna,  and  now  forms  the  boundary  of  the  Persian  and  Turk- 
ish emoires     It  runs  parallel  with  the  river  Tigris  and  P«r- 


For  every  arm  that  lin'd  their  shore, 
Myriads  of  slaves  were  wafted  o'er,  — 
A  bloody,  bold,  and  countless  crowd, 
Before  whose  swarm  as  fast  they  bow'd 
As  dates  beneath  the  locust  cloud. 
There  stood  —  but  one  short  league  avttij 
From  old  Harmozia's  sultry  bay  — 
A  rocky  mountain,  o'er  the  Sea 
Of  Oman  beetling  awfully  ; ' 
A  last  and  solitary  link 

Of  those  stupendous  chains  that  reach 
From  the  broad  Caspian's  reedy  brink 

Down  winding  to  the  Green  Sea  beach. 
Around  its  base  the  bare  rocks  stood. 
Like  naked  giants,  in  the  flood. 

As  if  to  guard  the  Gulf  across ; 
While,  on  its  peak,  that  brav'd  the  sky, 
A  ruin'd  Temjile  tower'd,  so  high 

That  oft  the  sleeping  albatross  ^ 
Struck  the  wild  ruins  with  her  wing. 
And  from  her  cloud-rock'd  slumbering 
Started  —  to  find  man's  dwelling  there 
In  her  own  silent  fields  of  air  ! 
Beneath,  terrific  caverns  gave 
Dark  welcome  to  each  stormy  wave 
That  dash'd,  like  midnight  revellers,  in  ;  — 
And  such  the  strange,  mysterious  din 
At  times  throughout  those  caverns  roll'd,— 
And  such  the  fearful  wonders  told 
Of  restless  sprites  imprison'd  there. 
That  bold  were  Moslem,  who  would  dare. 
At  twilight  hour,  to  steer  his  skiff 
Beneath  the  Gheber's  lonely  cliff.* 

On  the  land  side,  those  towers  sublime, 
That  seem'd  above  the  grasp  of  Time, 
Were  sever'd  from  the  haunts  of  raeii 
By  a  wide,  deep,  and  wizard  glen. 
So  fathomless,  so  full  of  gloom. 
No  eye  could  pierce  the  void  between  < 


iian  Gulf,  and  almost  disappearing  in  the  vicinity  of  G(  m 
beroon  (Harmozia)  seems  once  more  to  rise  in  tlie  soutbirt 
districts  of  Kerman,  and  following  an  easterly  coi  rsi 
through  the  centre  of  Meckraun  and  Baloiichistan,  is  eilire 
ly  lost  in  the  deserts  of  Sinde."  —  Kinnier's  Persian  Empire. 

8  These  birds  sleep  in  the  air.  They  are  most  comman 
about  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope. 

<  "  There  is  an  extraordinary  hill  in  this  neighborhood, 
called  Koh6  Gubr,  or  the  Giiebre's  mountain.  It  rises  in 
the  form  of  a  lofty  cupola,  and  on  the  summit  of  it,  they  siy^ 
are  the  remains  of  an  Atush  Kudu  or  Fire  Temple.  It  ii 
superstitiously  held  to  bo  the  residence  of  Deeves  or  Sprites, 
and  many  marvellous  utories  are  recounted  of  the  injurj 
and  witchcraft  suffered  liy  tliose  who  essayed  in  former  diy« 
to  ascend  or  explore  it."  -  Pottin^er's  Beloochistan 


(t  secm'd  a  place  where  Gholes  might  come 
With  their  foul  banquets  from  the  tomb, 

And  ia  its  caverns  feed  xinseen. 
Like  distant  thunder,  &om  below, 

The  sound  of  many  torrents  came, 
Too  deep  for  eye  or  ear  to  know 
If  'twere  the  sea's  imprison'd  flow, 

Or  floods  of  ever  restless  flame. 
For,  each  ravine,  each  rocky  spire 
Of  that  vast  mountain  stood  on  Are  ;  ^ 
And,  though  forever  past  the  days 
When  God  was  worshipp'd  m  the  blaze 
That  from  its  lofty  altar  shone,  — 
Though  fled  the  priests,  the  votaries  gone. 
Still  did  the  mighty  flame  burn  on," 
Through  chance  and  change,  through  good  and 

ill, 
Like  its  own  God's  eternal  will. 
Deep,  constant,  bright,  unquenchable  ! 

Thither  the  vanquish' d  Hafed  led 

His  little  army's  last  remains  ;  — 
•'  Welcome,  terrific  glen  !  "  he  said, 
"  Thy  gloom,  that  Eblis'  self  might  dread, 

"  Is  Heav'n  to  him  who  flics  from  chains  I " 
O'er  a  dark,  narrow  bridgeway,  known 
To  him  and  to  his  Chiefs  alone. 
They  cross'd  the  chasm  and  gain'd  the  tow- 
ers,— 
•«  This  home,"  he  cried,  "  at  least  is  ours ;  — 
"  Here  we  may  bleed,  unmock'd  by  hymns 

"  Of  Moslem  triumph  o'er  our  head ; 
**  Here  we  may  fall,  nor  leave  our  limbs 

"  To  quiver  to  the  Moslem's  tread, 
"  Stretcli'd  on  this  rock,  while  vultures'  beaks 
"  Are  whetted  on  our  yet  warm  cheeks, 
"  Here  —  happy  that  no  tyrant's  eye 
"  Gloats  on  our  torments  —  we  may  die  !  "  — 

Twas  night  when  to  those  towers  they  came, 

\.nd  gloomily  the  fitful  flame. 

That  from  the  ruin'd  altar  broke. 

Glared  on  his  features,  as  he  spoke :  — 

»   Tis  o'er —  what  men  could  do,  we've  done  — 

'  If  Ikan  tcill  look  tamely  on, 

1  The  Gbebers  generally  built  their  temple*  over  lubler- 
taneous  fires. 

*  ''  At  the  city  of  Tezd,  in  Penia,  which  it  diitingu'ib^ 
by  tlie  appellation  of  the  Oarfib  Abadut,  or  Seat  of  Religion, 
Uie  Guebres  are  permitted  to  have  an  Atuib  Ku''.u  or  Fire 
Temple  (which,  they  asierl,  has  had  the  sacred  fire  in  it 
■ioce  the  days  of  Zoroaster)  in  their  own  c<^mpartmeut  of 
i\e  cUy  ;  but  for  tliis  indulgence  Uiey  ar*  indebted  to  the 
ivarirs,  not  the  tolerance  of  tli*  Peraiai)  government,  which 
Aies  them  at  tweaty-Cve  rupees  each  man  —Pottingtr'a 
|ilMchi«tan 


"And  see  her  priests,  her  warriors  driTaa 

"  Before  a  sensual  bigot's  nod, 
"  A  wretch  who  shrines  his  lusts  in  hesTHU 

"  And  makes  a  pander  of  his  God  i 
"  If  her  proud  sons,  her  high-bom  souls, 

**  Men,  in  whose  veins  —  O  last  disgraet  t 
"  The  blood  of  Zal  and  Rustajc  »  rolls,  - 

"  If  they  wiU  court  this  upstart  race, 
"  And  ttim  from  Mitura's  ancient  ray, 
"  To  kneel  at  shrines  of  yesterday ; 
"  If  they  ioi7/  crouch  to  Iran's  foes, 

"  Why,  let  them  —  till  the  land's  despaii 
"  Cries  out  to  Heav'n,  and  bondage  grows 

"  Too  vile  for  ev'n  the  vile  to  bear  I 
"  Till  shtmie  at  last,  long  hidden,  bums 
"  Their  inmost  core,  and  conscience  turu 
"  Each  coward  tear  the  slave  lets  fall 
"  Back  OR  his  heart  in  drops  of  galL 
'*  But  here,  at  least,  are  arms  unchain'd, 
"  And  souls  that  thraldom  never  stain'd ; 

**  This  spot,  at  least,  no  foot  of  slave 
"  Or  satrap  ever  yet  profaned  ; 

"  And  though  but  few  —  though  Cast  the  wk*» 
"  Of  life  is  ebbing  from  our  veins, 
"  Enough  for  vengeance  still  rcmainfl 
"  As  panthers,  after  set  of  sun, 
"  Rush  from  the  roots  of  Lebanon 
"  Across  the  dark-sea  robber's  way,* 
"  We'll  bound  upon  otir  startled  prey  ; 
"  And  when  some  hearts  that  proudest  swi 
"  Have  felt  our  falchion's  last  farewell , 
"  When  Hope's  expiring  throb  is  o'er, 
"  And  ev'n  Despair  can  prompt  no  more. 
"  This  spot  shall  be  the  sacred  grave 
"  Of  the  last  few  who,  vainly  brave, 
"  Die  for  the  land  they  cannot  save  ! '' 

His  Chiefs  stood  round  —  each  shining  blade 

Upon  the  broken  altar  laid  — 

And  though  so  wild  and  desolate 

Those  coiirts,  where  once  the  Mizhtv  fate ; 

Nor  longer  on  those  mouldering  towers 

Was  seen  the  feast  of  fruits  and  flowers. 

With  which  of  old  the  Magi  fed 

The  wandering  Spirits  of  their  Dead :  • 

*  Ancient  heroes  of  Persia.  "  Among  the  Gctbns  Ihett 
are  sonie,  who  boast  their  descant  bom  Biistam."  — JU 
fktnU  Ptrtia. 

*  See  Ruaael's  account  of  the  ,  anthert  attackhig  tnivM> 
leni  in  the  night  on  the  sea-shore  about  the  roots  of  I^baixia 

»  '<  Among  other  ceieoioiiies  the  Magi  used  to  place  upas 
the  tops  of  high  towen  various  kiads  of  ricli  vian4s,  upas 
which  It  was  supposed  the  Peris  and  the  spirits  of  IkM  * 
parted  heroes  rigaled  themselves."— iUc/Urdssib 


Though  neither  priest  nor  rites  were  there, 
Nor  charmed  loaf  of  pure  pomegranate  r ' 
Nor  hymn,  nor  censer's  fragrant  air. 

Nor  symbol  of  their  worshipp'd  planet ;  • 
Yet  the  same  God  that  heard  their  sires 
Heard  them,  while  on  that  altar's  fires 
They  swore'  the  latest,  holiest  deed 
Of  the  few  hearts,  still  left  to  bleed, 
Should  be,  in  Iean's  injur'd  name. 
To  die  upon  that  Mount  of  Flame  — 
The  last  of  all  her  patriot  line, 
Before  her  last  untrampled  Shrine  ! 

Brave,  suffering  souls  !  they  little  knew 
How  many  a  tear  their  injuries  drew 
From  one  meek  maid,  one  gentle  foe. 
Whom  love  first  touch'd  with  others'  woe  — 
Whose  life,  as  free  from  thought  as  sin, 
Slept  like  a  lake,  till  Love  threw  in 
His  talisman,  and  woke  the  tide. 
And  spread  its  trembling  circles  wide. 
Once,  Emir  !  thy  unheeding  .child, 
'Mid  all  this  havoc,  bloom'd  and  smil'd,  — 
Tranquil  as  on  some  battle  plain 

The  Persian  lily  shines  and  towers,* 
Before  the  combat's  reddening  stain 

Hath  fall'n  upon  her  golden  flowers. 
Light-hearted  maid,  unaw'd,  'unmov'd. 
While  Heav'n  but  spar'd  the  sire  she  lov'd. 
Once  at  thy  evening  tales  of  blood 
Unlistening  and  aloof  she  stood  — 
A.nd  oft,  when  thou  hast  pac'd  along 

Thy  Harem  halls  with  furious  heat, 
Hast  thou  not  curs' d  her  cheerful  song. 

That  came  across  thee,  calm  and  sweet. 
Like  lutes  of  angels,  touch'd  so  near 
Hell's  confines,  that  the  damn'd  can  hear  ! 

Far  other  feelings  Love  nath  brought  — 
Her  soul  all  flame,  her  brow  all  sadness, 

Bhe  now  has  but  the  one  dear  thought, 
And  thinks  that  o'er,  almost  to  madness  ! 

Oft  doth  her  sinking  heart  recall 

His  words  —  "  for  my  sake  weep  for  all ; " 

And  bitterly,  as  day  on  day 
Of  rebel  carnage  fast  succeeds. 


1  In  the  ceromonies  of  the  Ghebers  round  their  Fire,  as 
les.ribed  by  Lord,  "  the  Daroo,"  lie  says,  "  giveth  them  wa- 
er  to  drink,  and  a  pomegranate  leaf  to  chew  in  the  mouth, 
to  cleanse  them  from  inward  uncleanness." 

«  "  Early  in  the  morning,  they  (the  Parsees  or  Ghebers  at 
Oulam)  go  in  i  rowds  to  pay  their  devotions  to  the  Sun,  to 
whom  upon  all  the  altars  there  are  spheres  consecrated, 
•ladc  by  magic,  resembling  the  circles  of  tlie  sun,  and  when 
Uie  sun  rises,  these  orbs  seem  to  be  inflamed,  and  to  turn 


She  weeps  a  lover  snatch' d  away 

In  every  Gheber  wretch  that  bleeds 
There's  not  a  sabre  ipeets  her  eye, 

But  vi-ith  his  lifeblood  seems  to  swim  ; 
There's  not  an  arrow  wings  the  sky. 

But  fancy  turns  its  point  to  him. 
No  more  she  brings  with  footstep  light 
Al  Hassan's  falchion  for  the  ii^ht ; 
And  —  had  he  look'd  with  clearer  sight, 
Had  not  the  mists,  that  ever  rise 
From  a  foul  spirit,  dimm'd  his  eyes  -  - 
He  would  have  mark'd  her  shuddering  froms, 
When  from  the  field  of  blood  he  came. 
The  faltering  speech  —  the  look  estrang'd  — 
Voice,  step,  and  life,  and  beauty  chang'd  — 
He  would  have  mark'd  all  this,  and  known 
Such  change  is  wrought  by  Love  alone  ! 

Ah  !  not  the  Love,  that  shoxild  have  bless'*? 
So  young,  so  innocent  a  breast ; 
Not  the  pure,  open,  prosperous  Love, 
That  pledg'd  on  earth  and  seal'd  above, 
Grows  in  the  world's  approving  eyes. 

In  friendship's  smile  and  home's  caress, 
Collecting  all  the  heart's  sweet  ties 

Into  one  knot  of  happiness  ! 
No,  HiNDA,  no,  —  thy  fatal  flame 
Is  nurs'd  in  silence,  sorrow,  shame  ;  — 

A  passion,  without  hope  or  pleasure, 
In  thy  soul's  darkness  buried  deep. 

It  lies,  like  some  iU-gotten  treasure,  — 
Some  idol,  without  shrine  or  name, 
O'er  which  its  pale-ey'd  votaries  keep 
Unholy  watch,  while  others  sleep. 

Seven  nights  have  darken'd  Oman's  sea, 
Since  last,  beneath  the  moonlight  ray. 
She  saw  his  light  oar  rapidly 

Hurry  her  Gheber's  bark  awaj ,  — 
And  still  she  goes,  at  midnight  hour, 
To  weep  alone  in  that  high  bower. 
And  watch,  and  look  along  the  deep 
For  him  whose  smiles  first  made  her  weep  ;  — 
But  watching,  weeping,  all  was  vain. 
She  never  saw  his  bark  again. 


round  with  a  great  noise.  They  have  every  one  a  censel  la 
their  hands,  and  ofier  incense  to  the  sun." —  RahH  Benj^ 
min. 

«  "  Nul  d'entre  eux  oseroit  se  peijurer,  quai  d  il  a  pHs  I 
t^moin  cet  il^ment  terrible  et  vengeur."  -  -  Encyclopidit 
FranfoUe. 

*  "  A  vivid  verdure  succeeds  the  autumnal  rains,  anu  t)M 
ploughed  fields  are  covered  with  the  Persian  lily,  of  a  r* 
splendent  yellow  color."  —  Rusnel's  Aleppo 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


*ii 


The  ovriet's  solitary  cry, 

rhe  nighthawk,  flitting  darkly  by. 

And  oft  the  hateful  carrion  bird, 
Heavily  flapping  his  clogg'd  wing, 
Whirh  reek'd  with  that  day's  banquetting  — 

Was  all  she  saw,  was  all  she  heard. 

Tw  the  eighth  mom  —  Ax  Hassan's  brow 

Is  biighten'd  with  unusual  joy  — 
Wliat  mighty  mischief  glads  him  now. 

Who  never  smiles  but  to  destroy  i 
Vae  sparkle  upon  Heukenu's  Sea, 
When  toss'd  at  midnight  furiously,' 
Tells  not  of  wreck  and  ruin  nigh. 
More  surely  than  that  smiling  eye  ! 
'♦  Up,  daughter,  up  —  the  Kekna's  *  bnath 
"  Has  blown  a  blast  would  waken  death, 
"  And  yet  thou  sleep'st  —  up,  child,  and  see 
"  This  blessed  day  for  Heaven  and  me, 
"  A  day  more  rich  in  Pagan  blood 
"  Than  ever  flash'd  o'er  Oman's  flood. 
"  Before  another  dawn  shall  shine, 
"  His  head  —  heart  —  limbs  —  will  all  be  mine  ; 
'♦  This  very  night  his  blood  shall  steep 
"  These  hands  all  over  ere  I  sleep  !  "  — 

"  His  blood !  "  she  faintly  scream'd  —  her  mind 
Still  singling  one  from  all  mankind  — 

•  Yes  —  spite  of  his  ravines  and  towers, 
••  Hafed,  my  child,  this  night  is  ours. 

•*  Thanks  to  all- conquering  treachery, 

"  Without  whose  aid  the  links  acciirs'd, 
"  That  bind  these  impious  slaves,  would  be 

«*  Too  strong  for  Alla's  self  to  burst ! 
"  That  rebel  fiend,  whose  blade  has  spread 
"  My  path  with  piles  of  Moslem  dead, 
"  Whose  baffling  spells  had  almost  driven 
•*  Back  from  their  course  the  Swords  of  Heaven, 
"  This  night,  with  all  his  band  shall  know 
•*  How  deep  an  Arab's  steel  can  go, 
••  When  God  and  Vengeance  speed  the  blow. 
'*  And  -  -  Prophet !  by  that  holy  wreath 
"  Thou  wor'st  on  Ohou's  field  of  death,' 

•  I  >  .rear,  for  every  sob  that  parts 
'•^a  anguish  from  these  heathen  hearts, 
•'  A  gem  from  Peiisia's  plunder'd  mines 
M  Shall  glitter  on  thy  Shrine  of  Shrines. 


**  It  ifl  observed,  with  respect  to  the  Sea  of  Flerkend, 
thai  when  it  is  t(is.ie1  by  tempeaUiuuii  winda  it  iparklei  like 
^re."  —  TraveU  of  Tteo  Mohammtdatu. 

*  A  kind  of  trumpet ;—  it  "  wm  that  uaed  by  TanerUne, 
Ihe  sound  of  tviiich  it  described  ai  uncommonly  dreadful, 
and  a)  loud  ai  to  je  beard  at  tbe  distance  of  Mveial  mUaa." 
.-  Rickat  (Uom, 

t  ••  Mutaanmed  lud  two  belmetr.  an  interior  and  •ztenor  | 


"  But,  ha  !  —  she  sinks  —  that  look  so  wild— 
"  Those  livid  lips  —  my  child,  my  child, 
"  This  life  of  blood  betiu  not  the«, 
"  And  thou  must  back  to  Akabt. 

"  Ne'er  had  I  risk'd  thy  timid  sex 
♦«  In  scenes  that  man  hinuelf  might  dread, 
"  Had  I  not  hop'd  otir  every  tread 

«♦  Would  be  on  prostrate  Persian  necks  — 
«•  Curs'd  race,  they  offer  sworda  instead  ! 
"  But  cheer  thee,  maid,  —  the  wind  that  no  » 
"  Is  blowing  o'er  tny  feverish  orow, 
"  To-day  shall  waft  thee  from  the  shore ; 
"  And,  ere  a  drop  of.  this  night's  gore 
**  Have  time  to  chill  in  yonder  towers, 
••  Thou'lt  see  thy  own  sweet  Arab  bower*  I  ' 

His  bloody  boast  was  all  too  true ; 
There  lurk'd  one  wretch  among  the  few 
Whom  Hafed's  eagle  eye  could  count 
Around  him  on  that  Fiery  Mount,  — 
One  miscreant,  who  for  gold  betray 'd 
The  pathway  through  the  valley's  shade 
To  those  high  tow^trs,  where  Freedom  stood 
In  her  last  hold  of  flame  and  blood. 
Left  on  the  field  last  dreadful  night, 
When,  sallying  from  their  Sacred  height. 
The  Ghebcrs  fought  hope's  farewell  fight 
He  lay  —  but  died  not  with  the  brave ; 
That  sun,  which  should  have  gilt  his  grsT* 
Saw  him  a  traitor  and  a  slave ;  — 
And,  while  the  few,  who  thence  retum'd 
To  their  high  rocky  fortress,  moum'd 
For  him  among  the  matchless  dead 
They  left  behind  on  glory's  bed. 
He  liv'd,  and,  in  the  face  of  mom, 
Laugh'd  them  and  Faith  and  Heaven  to 


O  for  a  tongue  to  curse  the  slave. 

Whose  treason,  like  a  deadly  blight, 
Comes  o'er  the  councils  of  the  brave. 

And  blasts  them  in  their  hour  of  might  I 
May  Life's  unblessed  cup  for  him 
Be  drugg'd  with  treacheries  to  the  brim,  — 
With  hopes,  that  but  allure  to  fly, 

With  joys,  that  vanish  while  he  sips, 
Like  Dead  Sea  fruits,  that  tempt  the  eje^ 

But  turn  to  ashes  on  thb  !ips  !  * 


one ;  the  tatter  of  wbich,  called  AI  Mawa^hah,  ttie  Allsi 
wreath,  or  wreathed  (arbnd,  be  wore  at  the  l>ittle  ^ 
Obod."  —  Univtrsal  Hittory. 

*  "  They  .-ay  (hat  there  ai«  apple  HM*  nfom  dw  tidea  ol 
thia  aea,  which  bear  very  lovelv  ftuit,  tat  wHWa  ai*  aU  f si 
of  asbea." — r*esra«(.  The  nme  !•  ttmmi  t4  dw  nnofP 
there ;  v.  Wtmam'M  Traveli  in  A*i>  Itc  Tuikey 

"  The  Aapbalt  Lake,  known  ^  Um  naa*  of  Ifea  Dm* 


124 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


His  country's  curse,  his  children's  shame, 
Outcast  of  virtue,  peace,  and  fame, 
May  he,  at  last,  with  lips  of  flame 
On  the  parch'd  desert  thirsting  die,  — 
While  lakes,  that  shone  in  mockery  nigh,* 
A.re  fading  off,  untouch'd,  untasted, 
Like  the  once  glorious  hopes  he  blasted  ! 
And,  when  from  earth  his  spirit  flies, 

Just  Prophet,  let  the  damn'd  one  dwell 
t^uli  in  the  sight  of  Paradise, 

Beholding  heaven,  and  feeling  hell ! 


Lalla  Rookh  had,  the  night  before,  been 
visited  by  a  dream  which,  in  spite  of  the  im- 
pending fate  of  poor  Hafed,  made  her  heart 
more  than  usually  cheerful  during  the  morning, 
and  gave  her  cheeks  all  the  freshened  animation 
of  a  flower  that  the  Bidmusk  has  just  passed 
over."  She  fancied  that  she  was  sailing  on  that 
Eastern  Ocean,  where  the  sea  gypsies,  who  live 
forever  on  the  water,*  enjoy  a  perpetual  sum- 
mer in  wandering  from  isle  to  isle,  when  she 
saw  a  small  gilded  bark  approaching  her.  It 
was  like  one  of  those  boats  which  the  Maldivian 
slanders  send  adrift,  at  the  mercy  of  winds  and 
waves,  loaded  with  perfumes,  flowers,  and  odo- 
riferous wood,  as  an  off"ering  to  the  Spirit  whom 
they  call  King  of  the  Sea.  At  flrst,  this  little 
hark  appeared  to  be  empty,  but,  on  coming 
nearer 

Sea,  is  very  remarkable  on  account  of  the  considerable  pro- 
oortion  of  salt  which  it  contains.  In  this  respect  it  surpa8»- 
|s  every  other  known  water  on  the  surface  of  the  earth. 
This  great  proportion  of  bitter  tasted  salts  is  the  reason  why 
.leither  animal  nor  plant  can  live  in  this  water."  —  Kla- 
protk's  Chemical  Analysis  of  the  Water  of  the  Dead  Sea, 
Annals  of  Philosophy,  January,  1813.  Hasselquist,  however, 
doubts  the  truth  of  this  last  assertion,  as  there  are  shellfish 
to  be  found  in  the  lake. 

Lord  Byron  has  a  similar  allusion  to  the  fruits  of  the  Dead 
Sea,  in  that  wonderful  display  of  genius,  his  third  Canto  of 
Childo  Harold, — magnificent  beyond  any  thing,  perhaps, 
tliat  even  he  has  ever  written. 

1  "  The  Suhrab  or  Water  of  the  Desert  is  said  to  be 
Mused  by  the  rarefaction  of  the  atmosphere  from  extreme 
■jsat ;  and,  which  augments  the  delusion,  it  is  most  frequent 
In  hollows,  where  water  might  be  expected  to  lodge.  I  have 
ieen  bushes  and  trees  reflected  in  it,  with  as  much  accuracy 
18  though  it  had  been  the  face  of  a  clear  and  still  Ijke."  — 
Potlinger, 

"  As  to  the  un  >»'  i7e:s,  their  works  are  like  a  vapor  in  a 
plain,  which  the  thirsty  traveller  thinketh  to  be  water,  until 
when  he  cometh  thereto  he  findeth  it  to  be  nothing."  —  Ko- 
ran, chap.  24. 

s  "  A  wind  which  prevails  in  February,  called  Bidmusk, 
fh(in  A  small  and  odoriferous  flower  of  that  name."  — "  The 
»ind  which  blows  these  flowers  cumn>only  lasts  till  the  end 
<>♦  »h«  tuonth  "—1-' 


She  had  proceeded  thus  far  in  relating  th» 
dream  to  her  Ladies,  when  Feramokz  appeared 
at  the  door  of  the  pavilion.  In  his  presence, 
of  course,  every  thing  else  was  forgotten,  and 
the  continuance  of  the  story  w  ^  instantly  re- 
quested by  all.  Fresh  wood  &  aloes  was  set 
to  burn  in  the  cassolets  ;  —  the  iolet  sherbets* 
were  hastily  handed  round,  ar.i  after  a  short 
prelude  on  his  lute,  in  the  pathetic  measure  of 
Nava,*  which  is  always  used  to  express  the 
lamentations  of  absent  lovers,  the  Poet  tl  am 
contmued :  — 


The  day  is  lowering  —  stilly  black 
Sleeps  the  grim  wave,  while  heaven's  racL 
Dispers'd  and  wild,  'twixt  earth  and  sky 
Hangs  like  a  shatter'd  canopy. 
There's  not  a  cloud  in  that  blue  plain 

But  tells  of  storm  to  come  or  past ;  - 
Here,  flying  loosely  as  the  mane 

Of  a  young  war  horse  in  the  blast ;    - 
There,  roll'd  in  masse?  dark  and  swelling, 
As  proud  to  be  the  thunder's  dwdUng  ! 
While  some,  already  burst  anf'  r.ven. 
Seem  melting  down  the  verge  uf  heaven  ; 
As  though  the  infant  storm  h*.d  rent 

The  mighty  womb  that  gavw  him  birth, 
And,  having  swept  the  firmanient, 

"Was  now  in  fierce  career  for  earth. 

*  "  The  Biajiis  are  of  two  races :  the  one  is  settled  on 
Borneo,  and  are  a  rude  but  warlike  ind  industrious  nation, 
who  reckon  themselves  the  original  possessors  of  the  island 
of  Borneo.  The  other  is  a  species  of  sea  gypsies  or  itinerant 
fishermen,  who  live  in  small  covered  boats,  and  enjoy  a  per- 

I  pctual  summer  on  the  eastern  ocean,  shifting  to  leeward 
from  island  to  island,  with  the  variations  of  the  monsoon 
In  some  of  their  customs  this  singular  race  resemble  th« 
natives  of  the  Maldivia  islands.  The  Maldivians  annually 
launch  a  small  bark,  loaded  with  perfumes,  gums,  flowers, 
and  odoriferous  wood,  and  turn  it  adrift  at  the  mercy  of 
winds  and  waves,  as  an  offering  to  the  Spirit  of  the  Wind* 
and  sometimes  similar  offerings  are  made  to  the  i^pirit  whom 
they  term  Vie  King  of  the  Sea.  In  like  manner  the  Blajui 
perforin  their  oflfering  to  the  god  of  evil,  launching  a  sniaU 
bark,  loaded  with  all  the  sins  and  misfortunes  of  the  nation, 
which  are  imagined  to  fall  on  the  unhappy  crew  that  may 
be  so  unlucky  as  first  to  meet  with  it."  —  Dr.  Leyden  en  tha 
Languages  and  Literature  of  the  Indo-Chinese  Nations 

*  "  The  sweet-scented  violet  i:3  one  of  the  plants  most  es- 
teemed, particularly  for  its  gre.it  use  in  Sorbet,  which  t  iey 
make  of  violet  sugar."  —  Hasselquist. 

"  The  sherbet  they  most  esteem,  and  which  is  drank  by 
the  Grand  Signor  himself,  is  made  of  violeu  and  »ugar."— 
Tavemier. 

6  "  Last  of  all  she  took  a  guitai  and  sung  a  pathetic  air  in 
the  measure  called  Nava,  which  is  always  used  to  expreaa 
tlu>  lameatRtiona  of  absent  lover*  '  —  Persian  Tales. 


lALLA  ROOKH. 


On  earth  twas  yet  all  calm  around, 
A  pulseless  silence,  dread,  profound, 
jlore  awful  than  the  tempest's  sound. 
The  diver  steer'd  for  Okmus'  bowers. 
And  moor'd  his  skiff  till  calmer  hours  ; 
The  sea  birds,  with  portentous  screech, 
Flevv  fast  to  land  ;  —  upon  the  beach 
ILe  pilot  oft  had  paus'd,  with  glanco 
I'urn'd  upward  to'  that  wild  expanse  ;  — 
And  all  was  boding,  drear,  and  dark 
As  her  own  soul,  when  Hinda's  bark 
Went  slowly  liom  the  Persian  shore. — 
Np  music  tim'd  her  parting  oar,' 
Nor  friends  upon  the  lessening  strand 
Linger' d,  to  wave  the  unseen  hand, 
Or  speak  the  farewell,  heard  no  more ;  — 
But  lone,  unheeded,  from  the  I  ny 
The  vessel  takes  its  mournful  w  ay. 
Like  some  ill-dcstin'd  bark  that  steers 
In  silence  through  the  Gate  of  Tears.' 
And  where  was  stern  Al  Hassan  then  i 
Could  not  that  saintly  scourge  of  men 
From  bloodshed  and  devotion  spare 
One  minute  for  a  farewell  there  ? 
^f o  —  close  within,  in  changeful  fits 
Of  cursing  and  of  prayer,  he  sits 
In  savage  loneliness  to  brood 
Upon  the  coming  night  of  blood,  — 

With  that  keen,  second  scent  of  death, 
By  wliich  the  vulture  snuffs  h\a  food 

In  the  still  warm  and  living  breath  ! ' 
vS'^hile  o'er  the  wave  his  weeping  daughter 
Is  wafted  from  these  scenes  of  slaughter,— 
As  a  young  bird  of  Babylon,* 
Let  loose  to  tell  of  victory  won, 
Flics  home,  with  wing,  ah  !  not  unstain'd 
By  the  red  hands  that  held  her  chain' d. 

And  docs  the  long-left  home  she  seeks 

Light  up  no  gladness  on  her  cheeks  ? 

The  flowers  she  nurs'd  —  the  well-known  groves, 

When  oft  in  dreams  her  spirit  roves  — 

0»;co  more  to  see  her  dear  gazelles 

L^ioie  bounding  -.vith  their  silver  bells ; 


1  '  The  Easterns  used  to  Mt  out  on  tJbelr  longer  voyage* 
Ittth  m'isiL.'  —  JIarmer. 

*  "  The  Gate  of  Tears,  tile  ktraits  or  passage  into  ttie  Bed 
Bea,  commonly  called  Uabeliiiaiidel.  It  received  this  name 
iruin  the  old  Arabians,  on  account  of  tlie  danger  of  the  navi- 
gaticn,  and  tlie  number  of  shipwrecks  by  which  it  was  dis- 
tinguished ;  wWcb  induced  thcni  to  consider  as  dead,  and 
to  wear  inournins  for  all  who  had  tJie  boldness  to  hazard  the 
passage  through  it  into  tlie  Eihiopic  ocean."— AtcAanfMa. 

"  I  have  been  told  that  whensoever  an  animal  falls 
■own  dead,  one  or  more  vultures,  unseen  befoiv,  instantly 
tppear." — Psiiiiaiil. 

64 


Her  birds'  new  plumage  to  behold. 

And  the  gay,  gleaming  fishes  counti 
She  left,  all  filleted  with  gold, 

Shooting  around  their  jasper  fount ;  • 
Her  little  garden  mosque  to  see. 

And  once  again,  at  evening  hoar, 
To  tell  her  ruby  rosary* 

In  her  own  sweet  acacia  bower.  - 
Can  these  delights,  that  wait  her  non, 
Call  up  no  sunshine  on  her  brow  i 
No,  —  silent,  from  her  train  apart. 
As  if  even  now  she  felt  at  heart 
ITie  chill  of  her  approaching  doom,  — 
She  sits,  aU  lovely  in  her  gloom 
As  a  pale  Angel  of  the  Grave ; 
And  o'er  the  wide,  tempestuous  wave, 
Looks,  with  a  shudder,  to  those  towers, 
Where,  in  a  few  short  awful  hours. 
Blood,  blood,  in  streaming  tides  shall  run. 
Foul  incense  for  to-morrow's  sua  1 
"  Where  art  thou,  glorious  btiunger  !  thou. 
<*  So  lov'd,  so  lost,  where  art  thou  now  f 
"  Fje  —  Gheber  —  infidel  —  whato'er 
"Th'  unhallow'd  name  thou'rt  doom'u  to 

bear, 
"  StiU  glorious  —  still  to  this  fond  heart 
"  Dear  as  its  blood,  whate>r  thou  art ! 
'« Yes  —  Alla,  dreadful  Alla  1  yes- 
"  If  there  be  wrong,  be  crime  in  this, 
"  Let  the  black  waves  that  round  us  roU, 
"  Whelm  me  this  instant,  ere  my  soul, 
"  Forgetting  faith  —  homo  —  father  —  aL    • 
"Befoie  its  earthly  idol  fall, 
"  Nor  worship  ev'n  Thyself  above  him  — 
•'  For,  O,  so  wildly  do  I  love  him, 
"  Thy  Paradise  itself  were  dim 
"  And  joyless,  if  not  shar'd  with  him  !" 
Her    hands    were    clasp'd  —  her    eyes    a| 
turn'd. 

Dropping  their  tears  like  moonlight  rain ; 
And,  though  her  lip,  fond  raver  !  bum'd 

With  words  of  passion,  bold,  profane^ 
Yet  was  there  light  around  her  brow» 

A  holiness  in  those  dark  eyes. 


*  "  They  fasten  some  writing  to  the  wings  o!  i  Bagdat,  Oi 
Babylonian  pigeon." — TVoee/s  ofeirUtin  t'.nglukmm. 

i  "  The  EmpieM  of  Jeban-Guire  used  to  dirrft  bswatf 
with  feeding  tame  fish  in  her  canals,  mine  of  which  «%(« 
many  years  afterwards  known  by  fillets  of  gold,  wkicii  aha 
caused  to  be  put  round  them."  —  Harris. 

•  "  Le  Tespih,  qui  :at  un  chapelet,  compoei  d*  iB  pttitu 
boules  d'agatbe,  de  Jaspe,  d'ambre,  de  corail,  ou  d'autr*  ma- 
tiire  precieuse.  J'en  ai  vu  un  superbe  an  Seigneir  Jarpoej 
il  tUiit  de  belles  et  groMee  paries  pariaitaa  at  Agalsa,  ( 
trente  miUe  ptaatns  "— 7W«M 


126 


LALLA  EOOKH. 


Which  show'd — though  wandering  earthward 
now,  — 
Her  spirit's  home  was  in  the  skies. 
V^es  —  for  a  spirit  pure  as  hers 
Is  always  pure,  ev'n  while  it  errs  ; 
As  sunshine,  broken  in  the  rill, 
rhough  turn'd  astray,  is  sunshine  still  I 

So  wholly  had  her  mind  forgot 

.\.ll  thoughts  but  one,  she  heeded  not 

The  rising  storm  —  the  wave  that  cast 

A.  moment's  midnight,  as  it  pass'd  — 

Nor  hoard  the  frequent  shout,  the  tread 

Of  gathering  tumult  o'er  her  head  — 

Clash'd  swords,  and  tongues  that  seem'd  tc  Tie 

With  the  rude  riot  of  the  sky.  — 

But,  hark  !  that  warwhoop  on  the  deck  — 

That  crash,  as  if  each  engine  there, 
Mast,  sails,  and  all,  were  gone  to  wreck, 

Mid  yells  and  stampings  of  despair  ! 
Merciful  Heaven  !  what  can  it  be  ? 
'Tis  not  the  storm,  though  fearfully 
The  ship  has  shudder'd  as  she  rode 
O'er  mountain  waves  —  *'  Forgive  me,  God  ! 
"  Forgive  me  "  — shriek'd  the  maid,  and  knelt. 
Trembling  all  over  —  for  she  felt 
As  if  her  judgment  hour  was  near ; 
While  crouching  round,  half  dead  with!  fear. 
Her  handmaids  clung,  nor  breath'd,  nor  stirr'd  — 
When,  hark  !  —  a  second  crash  —  a  third  — 
And  now,  'aS  if  a  bolt  of  thunder 
Had  riv'n  the  laboring  planks  asunder, 
The  deck  falls  in  —  what  horrors  then  ! 
Blood,  waves,  and  tackle,  swords  and  men 
Come  mix'd  together  through  the  chasm,  — 
Some  wretches  in  their  dying  spasm 
StiU  fighting  on  —  and  some  that  call 
••  For  God  and  Ikan  !  "  as  they  fall ! 

Whose  was  the  hand  that  turn'd  away 

The  perils  of  th'  infuriate  fray, 

And  snatch' d  her  breathless  from  beneath 

This  wildermcnt  of  wreck  and  death  ? 

^he  knew  not  —  for  a  faintness  came 

Ohill  o'er  her,  and  her  sinking  frame 

ijnid  the  ruins  of  that  hour 

I^ay,  like  a  pale  and  scorched  flower, 

Beneath  the  red  volcano's  shower. 

But,  O,  the  sights  and  sounds  of  dread 

That  shock'd  her  ere  her  senses  fled  1 

I  The  meteors  that  Pliny  calls  "  laces." 

>  "  The  brilliant  Canopus,  unseen  in  European  cliraatea." 
^  Brown, 

>  Bee  Wilfonl's  learned  Essays  on  the  Sacred  Isles  in  the 
W^est. 

4  A  precious  a'x>ne  of  the  Indies,  called  by  the  ancients. 


The  yawning  deck  —  the  crowd  that  strove 
Upon  the  tottering  planks  above  — 
The  sail,  whose  fragments,  shivering  o'er 
The  strugglers'  heads,  all  dash'd  with  gor« 
Flutter'd  like  bloody  flags  —  the  clash 
Of  sabres,  and  the  lightning's  flash 
Upon  their  blades,  high  toss'd  about 
Like  meteor  brands  *  —  as  if  throughout 

The  elements  one  fury  ran. 
One  general  rage,  that  left  a  doubt 

Whi  3h  was  the  fiercer,  Heav'n  or  Man ! 

Once  too  —  but  no  —  it  could  not  be  — 

'Twas  fancy  all  —  yet  once  she  thought, 
While  yet  her  fading  eyes  could  see, 

High  on  the  ruin'd  deck  she  caught 
A  glimpse  of  that  unearthly  form. 

That  glory  of  her  soul,  —  even  then, 
Amid  the  whirl  of  wreck  and  storm. 

Shining  above  his  fellow  men, 
As,  on  some  black  and  troublotis  night. 
The  Star  of  Egypt,*  whose  proud  light 
Never  hath  beam'd  on  those  who  rest 
In  the  White  Islands  of  the  West,' 
Burns  through  the  storm  with  looks  of  flamt 
That  put  Heav'n's  cloudier  eyes  to  shame. 
But  no  —  'twas  but  the  minute's  dream  — 
A  fantasy  —  and  ere  the  scream 
Had  halfway  pass'd  her  pallid  lips, 
A  deathlike  swoon,  a  chill  eclipse 
Of  soul  and  sense  its  darkness  spread 
Around  her,  and  she  sunk,  as  dead. 

How  calm,  how  beautiful  comes  on 
The  stilly  hour,  when  storms  are  gone ; 
When  warring  winds  have  died  away. 
And  clouds,  beneath  the  glancing  raj', 
Melt  off,  and  leave  the  land  and  sea 
Sleeping  in  bright  tranquillity,  — 
Fresh  as  if  Day  again  were  bom, 
Again  upon  the  lap  of  Morn  !  — 
When  the  light  blossoms,  rudely  torn 
And  scatter'd  at  the  whirlwind's  Mill, 
Hang  floating  in  the  pure  air  still. 
Filling  it  all  with  precious  balm. 
In  gratitude  for  this  sweet  calm  ;  — 
And  every  drop  the  thunder  showers 
Have  left  upon  the  grass  and  flowers 
Sparkles,  as  'twere  that  lightning  gem* 
Whose  liquid  flame  is  born  of  them  ! 

Ceraunium,  because  it  was  supposed  to  be  found  in  placet 
where  thunder  had  fallen.  Tertullian  says  it  has  a  glitter 
ing  appearance,  as  if  there  had  been  fire  in  U  ;  and  the  au 
thor  of  the  Uissertation  in  Harris's  Voyages,  supposes  it  tc 
be  the  opal. 


t-at,t;a,  rookh. 


40 


Wlien  'stead  of  one  unchanging  breeze, 
There  blow  a  thousand  gentle  airs, 
And  each  a  different  perfume  bears,  — 
Ah  if  the  loveliest  plants  and  tree* 
Had  vas88  breezes  of  their  own 
To  watch  and  wait  on  them  alone. 
And  waft  no  other  breath  than  theirs : 
When  the  blue  waters  rise  and  fall. 
It  ileepj  sunshine  mantling  all ; 
And  er'n  that  swell  the  tempest  learet 
Is  like  the  full  and  silent  heaves 
Of  lovers'  hearts,  when  newly  blest. 
Too  newly  to  be  quite  at  rest. 

Such  was  the  golden  hour  that  broke 
Upon  the  world,  when  IIinda  woke 
From  her  long  trance,  and  heard  around 
No  motion  but  the  water's  sound 
Rippling  against  the  vessel's  side. 
As  slow  it  mounted  o'er  the  tide.  — 
But  where  is  she  ? — her  eyes  are  dark, 
Are  wildcr'd  still  —  is  this  the  bark, 
The  same,  that  from  Habmozia's  bay 
Bore  her  at  mom  —  whose  bloody  way 
The  seadog  track'd  ?  —  no  —  strange  and  new 
Is  all  that  meets  her  wondering  view. 
Upon  a  galliot's  deck  she  lies. 

Beneath  no  rich  pavilion's  shade,  — 
No  plumes  to  fan  her  sleeping  eyes. 

Nor  jasmine  on  her  pillow  laid, 
hut  the  rude  litter,  roughly  spread 
With  war  cloaks  is  her  homely  bed, 
And  shawl  and  sash,  on  javelins  hung. 
For  awning  o'er  her  head  are  flung. 
Shuddering  slie  look'd  around  —  there  lay 

A  group  of  warriors  in  the  sun, 
Resting  their  limbs,  as  for  that  day 

Their  ministry  of  death  were  done. 
Some  gazing  on  the  drowsy  sea. 
Lost  in  unconscious  revcry  ; 
And  some,  who  seem'd  but  ill  to  brook 
That  sluggish  calm,  with  many  a  look 
T)  the  slack  sail  impatient  cast. 
As  loosa  it  Sagg'd  around  the  mast. 

Blsst  A:.LA  !  who  shall  save  her  now  } 
There's  not  in  all  that  warrior  band 

One  Arab  sword,  one  turban'd  brow 
From  her  own  Faithful  Moslem  land. 

fhcir  garb  —  the  leathern  belt '  that  wraps 
Ea.Y.  yellow  vest" — that  rebel  hue  — 


I  D'HerMot,  art.  Agdiiani. 

*  "  The  Guebrea  are  knonrn  by  a  dark  yellow  color, 
vfcicb  tiie  inpn  aflect  in  tiieir  clotbca." — TkrvtmL 


The  Tartar  fleece  upon  their  caj»  • 

Yes —  yes  —  her  fears  are  all  too  true, 
And  Heav'n  hath,  in  this  dreadful  hojir, 
Abandon'd  her  to  Haped's  power :  — 
Hapbd,  the  Gheber  !  —  at  the  thought 

Her  very  heart's  blood  chills  within ; 
He,  whom  her  soul  was  hourly  taught 

To  loathe,  as  some  foul  fiend  of  sift. 
Some  minister,  whom  Hell  had  sent 
To  spread  its  blast,  where'er  he  went. 
And  fling,  as  o'er  our  earth  ho  trod. 
His  shadow  betwixt  man  and  God  ! 
And  she  is  now  his  captive,  —  throwa 
In  his  fierce  hands,  alive,  alone  ; 
His  the  infuriate  band  she  sees, 
All  infidels  —  all  enemies  I 
■What  was  the  daring  hope  that  then 
Cross'd  her  like  lightning,  as  again. 
With  boldness  that  despair  had  lent. 

She  darted  through  that  armed  crowd 
A  look  so  searching,  so  intent. 

That  ev'n  the  sternest  warrior  bow'd 
Abash'd,  when  he  her  glances  caught. 
As  if  he  guess'd  whose  form  they  sought. 
But  no  —  she  sees  him  not  —  'tis  gonn. 
The  vision  that  oefoie  her  shone 
Through  all  the  maze  of  blood  and  storm. 
Is  fled —  'twas  but  a  phantom  form  — 
One  of  those  passing,  rainbow  dreams, 
Half  light,  half  shade,  which  Fanc}''8  beami 
Paint  on  the  fleeting  mists  that  roll 
In  trance  or  slumber  round  the  souL 

But  now  the  bark,  with  livelier  bound. 

Scales  the  blue   wave — the   crew's  in  iii» 
tion. 

The  oars  are  out,  and  with  light  sound 
Break  the  bright  mirror  of  the  ocean. 

Scattering  its  brilliant  fragments  round. 

And  now  she  sees  —  with  horror  sees. 

Their  course  is  toward  that  mountain  hold,  -• 

Those  towers,  that  make  her  lifeblood  frecse, 

W^ere  Mecca's  godless  enemies 

Lie,  like  belcaguer'd  scorpions,  roU'd 
In  their  last  deadly,  venomous  fold  I 

Amid  th'  illumin'd  land  and  flood 

Sunless  that  mighty  mountain  stood ; 

Save  where,  above  its  awful  head. 

There  shone  a  flaming  cloud,  blood  red. 

As  'twere  the  flag  of  destiny 

Hung  out  to  mark  where  death  would  be  I 


•  "  The  Kolab,  or  cap,  worn  by  the  PeraUm,  l» 
ttie  akin  of  the  abeep  of  Taitaiy." — Wmiug. 


aateH 


128 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


Had  her  bewilder' d  mind  the  power 
Of  thought  in  this  terrific  hour, 
She  well  might  marvel  where  or  how 
Man's  foot  could  scale  that  mountain's  brow, 
Since  ne'er  had  Arab  heard  or  known 
Of  path  but  through  the  glen  alone.  — 
But  every  thought  was  lost  in  fear, 
When,  as  their  bounding  bark  drew  near 
The  craggy  base,  she  felt  the  waves 
Hurrj'  Ihcm  toward  those  dismal  caves, 
That  from  the  Deep  in  windings  pass 
Beneath  that  Mount's  volcanic  mass  ;  — 
And  loud  a  voice  on  deck  commands 
To  lower  the  mast  and  light  the  brands!  — 
Instantly  o'er  the  dashing  tide 
Within  a  cavern's  mouth  they  glide. 
Gloomy  as  that  eternal  Porch 

Through  which  departed  spirits  go  :  — 
Not  ev'n  the  flare  of  brand  and  torch 
Its  flickering  light  could  further  throw 
Than  the  thick  flood  that  boil'd  below. 
Silent  they  floated — as  if  each 
Sat  breathless,  and  too  aw'd  for  speech 
In  that  dark  chasm,  where  even  sound 
Seem'd  dark,  —  so  sullenly  around 
The  goblin  echoes  of  the  cave 
Muttcr'd  it  o'er  the  long  black  wave. 
As  'twere  some  secret  of  the  grave  ! 

But  soft  —  they  pause  —  the  current  turns 
Beneath  them  from  its  onAvard  track  ;  — 
Some  mighty,  unseen  barrier  spurns 
The  vexed  tide,  all  foaming,  back. 
And  scarce  the  oars'  redoubled  force 
Can  stem  the  eddy's  whirling  force  ; 
When,  hark  !  —  some  desperate  foot  has  sprung 
Among  the  rocks  —  the  chain  is  flung  — 
The  oars  are  up  —  the  grapple  chngs. 
And  the  toss'd  bark  in  moorings  savings. 
Just  then,  a  daybeam  through  the  shade 
Broke  tremulous  —  but  ere  the  maid 
Can  see  from  whence  the  brightness  steals. 
Upon  her  brow  she  shuddering  feels 
A  viewless  hand,  that  promptly  ties  * 

A  bandage  round  her  burning  eyes  ; 
While  the  rude  litter  where  she  lies, 
[Jpllfited  by  the  warrior  throng. 
O'er  the  steep  rocks  is  borne  along. 

Blest  power  of  sunshine  !  —  genial  Day, 
What  balm,  what  life  is  in  thy  ray  ! 
To  feel  thee  h  such  real  bliss. 
That  had  the  world  no  joy  but  this, 
To  sit  in  sunshine  calm  and  sweet,  — 
U  "nere  a  world  too  exquisite 


For  man  to  leave  it  for  the  gloom. 
The  deep,  cold  shadow  of  the  tomb. 
Ev'n  HiNDA,  though  she  saw  not  where 

Or  whither  wound  the  perilous  road, 
Yet  knew  by  that  awakening  air. 

Which  suddenly  around  her  glow'd. 
That  they  had  risen  from  darkness  then 
And  breath' d  the  sunny  world  again  ! 

But  soon  this  balmy  freshness  fled  — 

For  now  the  steepy  labyrinth  led 

Through   damp    and    gloom  —  'mid    crash  ct 

boughs. 
And  fall  of  loosen'd  crags  that  rouse 
The  leopard  from  his  hungry  sleep, 

Who,  starting,  thinks  each  crag  a  prey. 
And  long  is  heard,  from  steep  to  steep. 

Chasing  them  down  their  thundering  way  I 
The  jackal's  cry  —  the  distant  moan 
Of  the  hyaena,  fierce  and  lone  — 
And  that  eternal  saddening  sound 

Of  torrents  in  the  glen  beneath. 
As  'twere  the  ever-dark  Profound 

That  rolls  beneath  the  Bridge  of  Death  I 
All,  all  is  fearful  —  ev'n  to  see, 

To  gaze  on  those  terrific  things 
She  now  but  blindly  hears,  would  be 

Relief  to  her  imaginings  ; 
Since  never  yet  was  shape  so  dread. 

But  Fancy,  thus  in  darkness  thrown, 
And  by  such  sounds  of  horror  fed. 

Could  frame  more  dreadful  of  her  own. 

But  does  she  dream  ?  has  Fear  again 

Perplex'd  the  workings  of  her  brain, 

Or  did  a  voice,  all  music,  then 

Come  from  the  gloom,  low  whispering  near  — • 

"  Tremble  not,  love,  thy  Gheber's  here  ? " 

She  does  not  dream  -    all  sense,  all  ear. 

She  drinks  the  words,  "  Thy  Gheber's  here." 

'Twas  his  own  voice  —  she  could  not  err  — 

Throughout  the  breathing  world's  extent 
There  was  but  one  such  voice  for  her, 

So  kind,  so  soft,  so  eloquent ! 
O,  sooner  shall  the  rose  of  May 

Mistake  her  own  sweet  nightingale. 
And  to  some  meaner  minstrel's  lay 

Open  her  bosom's  glowing  veU,' 
Than  Love  shall  ever  doubt  a  tone, 
A  breath  of  the  beloved  one  I 


1  A  frequent  image  .imong  the  oriental  poets.  '  rbt 
nightingales  warbled  their  enchanting  notes,  and  rent  UtM 
thia  veils  of  the  rosebud  and  the  rose."— Janii. 


LALLA  ROORU. 


4M 


rhough  blest,  'mid  all  her  ills,  to  think 

She  has  that  one  beloved  near, 
Whose  smile,  though  met  on  ruin's  brirJi , 

Hath  power  to  make  ev'n  ruin  dea*,-  - 
Yet  soon  this  gleam  of  rapture,  crost,  d 
By  fears  for  him,  is  chill' d  and  lose 
How  shall  tto  ruthless  Hafed  Drouk 
That  sne  of  Gheber  blood  should  look, 
With  aught  but  ctirses  in  hm  ej«5, 
On  her  —  a  maid  of  ARaBY  - 
A  Moslem  maid  —  the  child  of  him. 

Whose  bloody  D?.nnc/s  dire  success 
Hath  lefl  their  aHan.  cold  and  dim, 

And  their  fail  luad  a  wilderness  I 
And,  worse  than  all,  that  night  of  blood 

Which  comeo  to  fast  —  O,  who  shall  stay  ' 
The  swora,  laal  once  hath  tasted  food 

Of  Persian  hearts,  or  turn  its  way  ? 
What  arm  shall  then  the  victim  cover. 
Or  Iroux  her  father  shield  her  lover  1 

**  Save  him,  ray  God ! "  she  inly  cries  — 
•*  Save  him  this  night  —  and  if  thine  eyes 

"  Have  ever  welcom'd  with  delight 
••  The  sinner's  tears,  the  sacrifice 

**  Of  sinners'  hearts  —  guard  him  this  night, 
"  And  here,  before  thy  throne,  I  swear 
"  From  my  heart's  inn\ost  core  to  tear 

«•  Love,  hope,  remembrance,  though  they  be 
••  Link'd  with  each  quivering  lifestring  there, 

"  And  give  it  bleeding  all  to  Thee  ? ' 
••  Let  him  but  live,  —  the  burning  tear, 
*•  The  sifhs,  so  sinful,  yet  so  dear, 
"  Which  have  been  all  too  much  his  own, 
"  Shall  from  this  hour  be  Heaven's  alone. 
"  Youth  pass'd  in  penitence,  and  age 
••  In  long  and  painful  pilgrimage, 
"  Shall  leave  no  traces  of  the  flame 
'*  That  wastes  me  now  —  nor  shall  hia  name 
••  E'er  bless  my  lips,  but  when  I  pray 

*  For  his  dear  spirit,  that  away 
•'  Casting  from  its  angelic  ray 

••  Th'  eclipse  of  earth,  he,  too,  may  8^llne 
"  Hedeem'd.  all  glorious  and  all  Thine  ! 

•  Think  —  think  what  victory  to  win 
••  One  radiant  soul  like  his  from  sin,  — 
••  One  wandering  star  of  virtue  back 

••  To  its  o'\%'n  native,  heavenward  track  ! 
**  Let  him  but  live,  and  both  are  Thine, 
•* Together  thine  —  for,  blc'o  or  cross' d. 


°  UliKi'om.1  of  the  sorrowful  NyctanUiM  give  •  dunbl« 
color  to  Bilk.  —  Remarks  on  the  Jlutbandry  of  Benfol,  p.  900. 
Nilica  13  one  of  the  Indian  naincH  of  thin  flower. —  Sir  W. 
*mu.    The  Persiann  call  it  Gul.  —Carrtri 


"  Ltvuig  c/  dead,  IAb  doom  b  mine, 
••  And,  if  /**  perish,  both  arc  lost !  " 


Thb  next  evening  Lalui  Rookh  wai  «i> 

treated  by  her  I^adics  to  continue'  the  rolatioa 
of  her  wonderful  dream  ;  but  the  fearful  interest 
that  hung  round  the  fate  of  Hinda  and  htr  lorei 
had  completely  removed  every  trace  of  it  fron» 
her  mind  j  —  much  to  the  disappointment  of  * 
fair  seer  or  two  in  her  train,  who  prided  them* 
selves  on  their  skill  in  inteqircting  visions,  and 
who  had  already  remarked,  as  an  unlucky  omen, 
that  tiie  Princess,  on  the  very  morning  after  the 
dream,  had  worn  a  silk  dyed  with  the  blossoms 
of  the  sorrowful  tree,  Nilica.' 

Fadladeex,  whose  indignation  had  more  than 
once  broken  out  duiring  the  recital  of  some  parts 
of  this  heterodox  poem,  seemed  at  length  to 
have  made  up  his  mind  to  the  infliction  ;  and 
took  his  seat  this  evening  with  all  the  patience 
of  a  martyr,  while  the  Poet  resumed  his  pro- 
fane and  seditious  story  as  follows  : 


To  tearless  eyes  and  hearts  at  ease 
The  leafy  shores  and  sun-bright  seas. 
That  lay  beneath  that  mountain's  height . 
Had  lxH;n  a  fair  enchanting  sight. 
'Twas  one  of  those  ambrosial  eves 
A  day  of  storm  so  often  leaves 
At  its  calm  setting  —  when  the  West 
Opens  her  golden  bowers  of  rest, 
And  a  moist  radiance  from  the  skies 
Shoots  trembling  down,  as  from  the  eyes 
Of  some  meek  penitent,  whose  last. 
Bright  hours  atone  for  dark  ones  past. 
And  whose  sweet  tears,  o'er  wrong  forgiven. 
Shine,  as  they  fall,  with  light  from  heaven . 

'Twas  stillness  all  —  the  winds  that  late 

Had  rush'd  thiough  Kermam's  almond  groT< 
And  shaken  from  her  bowers  of  date 

That  cooling  feast  the  tiavellcr  loves,* 
Now,  luU'd  to  lang'ior,  scarcely  curl 

The  Green  Sea  wnve,  whose  watcis  gleim 
Limpid,  as  if  her  mines  of  pearl 

Were  melted  all  to  form  tlie  stream :' 


1  « In  paita  of  Kennan,  whrt^'er  dafc«  t»  shalMB  turn 
the  tree*  by  tlie  wind  tliey  do  not  UicJi,  Ihi»  !»«ve  then  ff 
tboee  wbotMvenot«n>,orli>rtnv«lleir  *   -  !»■  f fa«*rf 


tso 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


A.nd  her  fair  islets,  small  and  bright, 
With  their  green  shores  reflected  there, 

Look  like  those  Peri  isles  of  light. 
That  hang  by  spellwork  in  the  air. 

But  vainly  did  those  glories  burst 
On  Hinda's  dazzled  eyes,  when  first 
The  bandage  from  her  brow  was  taken, 
And,  pale  and  aw'd  as  those  who  waken 
In  their  dark  tombs  —  when,  scowling  near, 
f  he  Searchers  of  the  Grave  '  appear,  — 
She  shuddering  turn'd  to  read  her  fate 

In  the  fierce  eyes  that  flash'd  around ; 
And  saw  those  towers  all  desolate, 

That  o'er  her  head  terrific  frown' d, 
As  if  defying  ev'n  the  smile 
Of  that  soft  heaven  to  gild  their  pile. 
In  vain  with  mingled  hope  and  fear, 
She  looks  for  him  whose  voice  so  dear 
Had  come,  like  music,  to  her  ear  — 
Strange,  mocking  dream !  again  'tis  fled. 
Ind  O,  the  shoots,  the  pangs  of  dread 
That  through  her  inmost  bosom  run. 

When  voices  from  without  proclaim 
"  Hafed,  the  Chief"  —  and,  one  by  one. 

The  warriors  shout  that  fearful  name  ! 
He  comes  —  the  rock  resounds  his  tread  — 
How  shall  she  dare  to  lift  her  head, 
Or  meet  those  eyes  whose  scorching  glare 
Not  Yemen's  boldest  sons  can  bear  ? 
In  whose  red  beam,  the  Moslem  tells, 
Such  rank  and  deadly  lustre  dwells, 
As  in  those  hellish  fires  that  light 
The  mandrake's  charnel  leaves  at  night.' 
How  shall  she  bear  that  voice's  tone, 
At  whose  loud  battle  cry  alone 
Whole  squadrons  oft  in  panic  ran. 
Scatter' d  like  some  vast  caravan. 
When,  stretch'd  at  evening  round  the  well, 
I'hey  hear  the  thirsting  tiger's  yell. 

Breathless  she  stands,  with  eyes  cast  down, 

Slirinking  beneath  the  fiery  frown, 

\\  liich.  fancy  tells  her,  from  that  brow 

li  li.isl.ing  o'er  her  fiercely  now  : 

A  id  shuddering  as  she  hears  the  tread 

Ol  his  retiring  Avarrior  band.  — 
Never  was  pause  so  full  of  dread  ; 

Till  Hafed  with  a  trembling  hand 
Took  hers,  and,  leaning  o'er  her,  said, 


I  The  two  terrible  angels,  Monkir  and  Nakir,  who  are 
tailed  "  Ihe  Searchers  of  the  Grave  "  hi  the  "  Creed  of  the 
Vtbodoi  Mahooietans  "  given  by  Ockley,  vol.  ii 


"  HiNDA ; "  —  that  word  was  all  h  e  spoke. 
And  'twas  enough  —  the  shriek  that  broke 

From  her  full  bosom,  told  the  rest.  — 
Panting  with  terror,  joy,  tiurprise. 
The  maid  but  lifts  her  wondering  eyes. 

To  hide  them  on  her  Gheber's  breast  I 
'Tis  he,  'tis  he  —  the  man  of  blood. 
The  fellest  of  the  Fire^end's  brood, 
Hafed,  the  demon  of  the  fight, 
Whose  voice  unnerves,  whose  glances  blight,  • 
Is  her  own  loved  Gheber,  mild 
And  glorious  as  when  first  he  smil'd 
In  her  lone  tower,  and  left  such  beams 
Of  his  pure  eye  to  light  her  dreams. 
That  she  belie  v'd  her  bower  had  given 
Rest  to  some  wanderer  from  heaven  ! 

Moments  there  are,  and  this  was  one, 
Snatch'd  like  a  minute's  gleam  of  sun 
Amid  the  black  Simoom's  eclii)se  — 

Or,  like  those  verdant  spots  that  bloom 
Around  the  crater's  burning  lips, 

Sweetening  the  very  edge  of  doom  1 
The  past  —  the  future — all  that  Fate 
Can  bring  of  dark  or  desperate 
Around  such  hours,  but  makes  them  cast 
Intenser  radiance  while  they  last ! 

Ev'n  he,  this  youth  —  though  dimm'd  and  gont 

Each  star  of  Hope  that  cheer' d  him  on  — 

His  glories  lost  —  his  cause  betray'd  — 

Iran,  his  dear-lov'd  country,  made 

A  land  of  carcasses  and  slaves. 

One  dreary  waste  of  chains  and  graves !  — 

Himself  but  lingering,  dead  at  heart. 

To  sec  the  last,  long  struggling  breath 
Of  Liberty's  great  soul  depart. 

Then  lay  him  down  and  share  her  death  — 
Ev'n  he,  so  sunk  in  wretchedness. 

With  doom  still  darker  gathering  o'er  him, 
Yet,  in  this  moment's  pure  caress. 

In  the  mild  eyes  that  shone  before  liim, 
Beaming  that  blest  assurance,  worth 
All  other  transports  known  on  earth. 
That  he  was  lov'd  —  well,  warmly  lov'ii  - 
O,  in  this  precious  hour  he  pro  v'd 
How  deep,  how  thorough  felt  the  glo^ 
Of  rapture,  kindling  out  of  woe ;  — 
How  exquisite  one  single  drop 
Of  bliss,  thus  sparkling  to  the  top 


s  "  The  Arabians  call  the  mandrake  '  th»  Devil's  cuidk, 
on  acC4  lint  of  iu  shining  appearance  in  the  nig'it."  —  Kttk 


Of  misery's  cup  —  how  keenly  quaff* d, 
Though  death  must  follow  on  the  draught ! 

8he,  too,  while  gazing  on  those  eyes 

That  sink  into  her  soul  so  deep, 
F  trgcts  all  fears,  all  miseries, 

Or  feels  them  like  the  wretch  in  sleep, 
Whom  fancy  cheats  into  a  smile, 
NVho  dreams  of  joy,  and  sobs  the  while  I 
The  mighty  Iluins  where  they  stood, 

XJpon  the  mount's  high,  rocky  verge, 
T-ay  open  towards  the  ocean  flood, 
Where  lightly  o'er  the  illumin'd  surge 
Many  a  fair  bark  that,  all  the  day, 
Had  lurk'd  in  sheltering  creek  or  bay 
Now  bounded  on,  and  gave  their  sails, 
Yet  dripping,  to  the  evening  gales ; 
Like  eagles,  when  the  storm  is  done. 
Spreading  their  wet  Avings  in  the  sun. 
The  beauteous  clouds,  though  daylight's  Star 
Had  sunk  behind  the  hills  of  Lak, 
Were  still  with  lingering  glories  bright,  — 
As  if,  to  grace  the  gorgeous  West, 

The  Spirit  of  departing  Light 
That  eve  had  left  his  sunny  vest 

Behind  him,  ere  he  wing'd  his  flight. 
Never  was  scaiie  so  form'd  for  love  ! 
Beneath  them  waves  of  crystal  move 
Li  silent  swell  —  Heav'h  glows  above, 
And  their  pure  hearts,  to  tran3i)ort  given, 
Swell  like  the  wave,  and  glow  like  Ueav'n. 

But  ah  !  too  soon  that  dream  is  past  — 

Again,  again  her  fear  returns  ;  — 
Night,  dreadful  night,  is  gathering  fast, 

More  faintly  the  hori/.on  burns. 
And  every  rosy  tint  that  lay 
On  the  smooth  sea  hath  died  away. 
Hastily  to  the  darkening  skies 
A  glance  she  casts  —  then  wildly  cries 

At  nitjht,  he  suid —  and,  look,  'tis  near  — 

"  Fly,  fly  —  if  yet  thou  lov'st  mo,  fly  — 
"  Soon  will  hui  murderous  band  be  here, 

"  And  1  shall  see  thee  bleed  and  die.  — 
"  Hush  !  heard  st  ttiou  not  the  tramp  of  men 
"  Sounding  from  yonder  fearful  glen  ?  — 
••  Perhaps  ev'n  now  they  climb  the  wood  — 

••  Fly,  fly  —  though  still  the  West  is  bright, 
•*  He'll  come  —  O,  yes  —  he  wants  thy  blood  — 

"•  I  know  him  —  he'll  not  wait  for  night  1 " 

In  terrors  ev'n  to  agony 

She  clings  around  the  wondering  Chief ;  — 
'  Alas,  poor  'wildcr'd  maid !  to  me 
'  Ibru  otv'st  this  raving  trance  of  grief. 


"  Lost  as  I  am,  nought  ever  grew 
"  Beneath  my  shade  but  pcrish'd  too 
"  My  doom  is  like  the  Dead  Sea  air, 
•  And  nothing  lives  that  enters  there  ! 
"  Why  were  our  barks  together  driven 
"  Beneath  this  morning's  furious  heaven .' 
"  Why,  when  I  saw  the  prize  that  chance 

"  Had  thrown  into  my  desperate  arms, 
**  "When,  casting  but  a  single  glance 

"  Upon  thy  pale  and  prostrate  charms, 
"  I  vow'd  (though  watching  Ticwlcsa  o'er 

"  Thy  safety  through  that  hour's  alarms) 
"  To  meet  th'  unmanning  sight  no  more  — 
"  Why  have  I  broke  that  heart-wrung  vow  • 
"  Why  weakly,  madly  met  thee  now  ?  — 
««  Start  not  —  that  noise  is  but  the  shock 

"  Of  torrents  through  yon  valley  hurl'd-- 
"  Dread  nothing  here  —  upon  this  rock 

"  We  stand  above  the  jarring  world, 
"  Alike  beyond  its  hope  —  its  dread 
♦•  In  gloomy  safety,  like  the  Dead  1 
"  Or,  could  ev'n  earth  and  hell  unite 
•'  In  league  to  storm  tliis  Sacred  Height, 
"  Fear  notliing  thou  —  myselt  to-night, 
•♦  And  each  o'erlooking  star  that  dwells 
"  Near  God  will  be  thy  sentinels  ;  — 
"  And,  ere  to-morrow's  dawn  shall  glow, 
"  Back  to  thy  sire  " 

••  To-morrow !  —  no  — 
The  maiden  scream'd  —  "  Thou'lt  never  se^ 
"  To-morrow's  sun  —  death,  death  will  be 
"  The  night  cry  through  each  reeklug  tower, 
"  Unless  we  fly,  ay,  fly  this  hour  ! 
'*  Thou  art  betray'd  —  some  wretch  who  knem 
"  That  dreadful  glen's  mysterious  clew  — 
"  Nay,  doubt  not  —  by  yon  stars,  'tis  true  - 
••  Hath  sold  thee  to  my  vengeful  sire  ; 
"  This  morning,  with  that  smile  so  dire 
"  He  wears  in  joy,  he  told  me  all, 
"  And  stamp'd  in  triumph  through  our  hall, 
"  As  though  thy  heart  already  beat 
«•  Its  last  life  throb  beneath  his  feet ! 
"  Good  Heav'n,  how  little  drcam'd  I  then 

♦*  His  victim  was  my  o\vn  lov'd  youth  !  — 
"  Fly  —  send  —  let  some  one  watch  the  g"  sk  • 

'•  By  all  my  hopes  of  heaven  'tw  truth  ' ' 

O,  colder  than  the  wind  that  freezes 

Founts,  that  but  now  in  sunshine  pUv  d. 

Is  that  congealing  pang  which  seizes 
The  trusting  bosom,  when  betray'tL 

He  felt  it  —  deeply  felt  —  and  stood. 

As  if  the  tale  had  frozen  his  blood. 
So  maz'd  and  motionless  was  he :  — 

Like  one  whom  sudden  speUs  eaclunt, 


Or  some  mute,  marble  habitant 
Of  the  still  Halls  of  Ishmonie  ! ' 

But  soon  the  painful  chill  was  o'er, 
And  his  great  soul,  herself  once  more, 
Look'd  from  his  brow  in  all  the  rays 
Oi  her  best,  happiest,  grandest  days. 
N'ever,  in  moment  mnst  elate. 

Did  that  high  spirit  loftier  rise  ;  — 
WTiile  bright,  serene,  determinate. 

His  looks  are  lifted  to  the  skies. 
As  if  the  signal  lights  of  Fate 

Were  shining  in  those  awful  eyes  ! 
Tis  come  —  his  hour  of  martyrdom 
In  Iran's  sacred  cause  is  come  ; 
And,  though  his  life  hath  pass'd  away 
Like  lightning  on  a  stormy  day. 
Yet  shall  his  death  hour  leave  a  track 

Of  glory,  permanent  and  bright, 
To  which  the  brave  of  after  times, 
The  suffering  brave,  shall  long  look  bacK 

With  proud  regret,  —  and  by  its  light 

Watch  through  the  hours  of  slavery's  night 
Por  vengeance  on  th  oppressor's  crimes. 
This  rock,  his  monument  aloft. 

Shall  speak  the  tale  to  many  an  age ; 
And  hither  bards  and  heroes  oft 

Shall  come  in  secret  pilgrimage. 
And  bring  their  warrior  sons,  and  tell 
The  wondering  boys  where  Hafed  fell , 
And  swear  them  on  those  lone  remains 
Of  their  lost  country's  ancient  fanes. 
Never  —  while  breath  of  life  shall  live 
Within  them  —  never  to  forgive 
Th'  accursQd  race,  whose  ruthless  chain 
Hath  left  on  Iuan's  neck  a  stain 
Blood,  blood  alone  can  cleanse  again  ! 

Such  are  the  swelling  thoughts  that  now 
Enthrone  themselves  on  Hafed's  brow  ; 
And  ne'er  did  Saint  of  Issa  '  gaze 

On  the  red  wreath,  for  martyr's  twin'd. 
More  proudly  than  the  youth  surveys 

That  pile,  which  through  the  gloom  behind, 
Haif  lighted  by  the  altar's  fire, 
Glimmers  —  his  destin'd  funeral  pyre  ! 


1  For  an  account  of  Ishmonie,  the  petrified  city  in  Upper 
Egypt,  where  it  is  said  there  are  many  statues  of  men,  wo- 
men, &.C.  to  be  seen  to  this  day,  see  Pemfs  View  of  the  Levant. 

2  Jesits 

s  Th«  Ghebers  say  that  when  Abraham,  their  great 
Prophet,  was  throwit  into  the  fire  by  order  of  Nimrod, 
ibe  flame  turned  instantly  into  "  a  bed  of  roses,  where  the 
4uld  sweetlj  reposed."— TVioemier. 


Heap'd  by  his  own,  his  comrades'  hands, 

Of  every  wood  of  odorous  breath, 
There,  by  the  Fire  God's  shrine  it  stands 

Ready  to  fold  in  radiant  death 
The  few  still  left  of  those  who  swore 
To  perish  there,  when  hope  was  o'er  — 
The  few,  to  whom  that  couch  of  fiame. 
Which  rescues  them  from  bonds  and  shaniB, 
Is  sweet  and  welcome  as  the  bed 
For  their  own  infant  Prophet  spread. 
When  pitying  Heav'n  to  roses  turn'd 
The  death  flames  that  beneath  him  buTB  d  *  J 

With  watchfulness  the  maid  attends 
His  rapid  glance,  where'er  it  bends  — 
Why  shoot  his  eyes  such  awful  beams  ? 
What  plans  he  now  ?  what  thinks  or  dreanu 
Alas  !  why  stands  he  musing  here. 
When  every  moment  teems  with  fear  ? 
"  Hafed,  my  own  beloved  Lord," 
She  kneeling  cries  —  "  first,  last  ador'd  I 
"If  in  tha<"  soul  thou'st  ever  felt 

"  Half  what  thy  lips  impassion'd  swore. 
"  Here,  on  my  knees  that  never  knelt 

"  To  any  but  their  God  before, 
"  I  pray  thee,  as  tnou  .ov'st  me,  fly  — 
"  Now,  now  —  ere  yet  their  blades  are  niett. 
"  O  haste  —  the  bark  that  bore  me  hitber 

"  Can  waft  us  o'er  yon  darkening  sea 
"  East  —  west  —  alas,  I  care  not  whither. 

"  So  thou  art  safe,  and  I  wfth  thee  ! 
"  Go  where  we  will,  this  hand  in  thine, 

"  Those  eyes  before  me  smiling  thus, 
"  Through  good  and  ill,  through  storm  and  shm^ 

"  The  world's  a  world  of  love  for  us  ! 
"  On  some  calm,  blessed  shore  we'll  dwell, 
"  Where  'tis  no  crime  to  love  too  well ;  — 
"  Where  thus  to  worship  tenderly 
"  An  erring  child  of  light  like  thee 
"  Will  not  be  sin  —  or,  if  it  be, 
"  Where  we  may  weep  our  faults  away, 
«'  Together  kneeling,  night  and  day, 
"  Thou,  for  my  salte,  at  Alla's  shrine, 
"  And  I  —  at  any  God's,  for  thine  !  " 

Wildly  these  passionate  words  she  spoke  — 
Then  hvmg  her  head,  tind  wept  for  shame , 


Of  their  other  Prophet,  Zoroaster,  there  is  a  story  told  io 
Dion  Prusceus,  Orat.  36,  that  the  love  of  wljdom  and  virtue 
leading  him  to  a  solitary  life  upon  a  mountain,  he  lound  il 
one  day  all  in  a  flame,  shining  with  celestial  fire,  out  of 
which  he  came  without  any  harm,  and  instituted  certaiii 
sacrifices  to  God,  who,  he  declared,  then  appeared  to  him 
—  v.  Patrick  on  Eznd'ia,  iiL  2. 


I 


I. ALT. A   ROOKH. 


*U 


Bobbi..',  as  if  a  heart  string  broke 

'•Vit'i  every  deep-heav'd  sob  that  came. 
While  he,  yi^ung,  warm  —  O  wonder  not 
If,  for  a  moment,  pride  aiid  fame, 
His  oath  —  his  cause  —  that  shrine  of  flame. 
And  Iua.n's  self  are  all  forgot 
For  her  whom  at  his  feet  he  sees 
Kneeling  in  speectiless  agonies. 
No,  blame  him  not,  if  Hope  awhile 
Dawn'd  in  his  soul,  and  threw  her  smile 
O  cr  hours  to  come  —  o'er  days  and  nights, 
Wing  d  with  those  precious,  pure  delights 
Which  she,  who  bends  all  beauteous  there. 
Was  born  to  kindle  and  to  share. 
A  tear  or  two,  which,  as  he  bow'd 

To  raise  the  suppliant,  trembling  stole. 
First  wam'd  him  of  this  dangerous  cloud 

Of  softness  passing  o'er  his  souL 
Starting,  he  brush'd  the  drops  away. 
Unworthy  o'er  that  cheek  to  stray  ;  — 
Like  one  who,  on  the  mom  of  light. 
Shakes  from  his  sword  the  dews  of  night. 
That  had  but  dimm'd,  not  stain'd  its  light. 

Yet,  though  subdued  th'  unnerving  thrill. 
Its  warmth,  its  weakness  linger'd  still 

So  touching  in  each  look  and  tone, 
That  the  fond,  fearing,  hopmg  maid 
Half  counted  on  the  flight  she  pray'd. 

Half  thought  the  hero's  soul  M-as  grown 

As  soft,  as  j-ielding  as  her  own, 
And  sniil'd  and  bless'd  him  while  he  said, — 
♦♦  Yes  —  if  there  be  some  happier  sphere, 
••  Where  fadeless  truth  like  ours  is  dear,  — 
•*  If  there  be  any  land  of  rest 

"  For  those  who  love  and  nf'er  forpet, 
•♦  O,  comfort  thee  —  for  as\£f  ^nd  ol«»nr 

"  We'll  meet  in  that  calir  region  yet !  " 

Scarce  had  she  time  to  ask.  Y  »r  heart 
If  good  or  ill  these  words  impii  -t, 
When  the  rous'd  youth  imjjatient  flew 
To  the  tower  wall,  where,  high  in  view, 
A  ponderous  sea  honi '  hung,  and  blew 
A  signal,  deep  and  dread  as  those 
The  storm  fiend  at  his  rising  blows.  — 
Full  well  his  Chieftains,  sworn  and  true 
Through  life  and  death,  that  signal  knew ; 
For  'twas  th'  appointed  warning  blast, 
Th'  alarm,  to  tell  when  hope  was  past. 
And  the  tremendous  death  die  cast ! 

1  "  The  Btiell  called  Siiankos,  comr.on  to  India,  Africa, 
tad  the  .Mediterranean,  and  still  used  In  many  parta  m  a 
trum|«(  fur  blowing  alarm!!  or  giving  simala :   il  aenda  (brtk 
a  deep  and  bol'ow  vtmd."  —  Pania»/. 
K 


And  there,  upon  the  mouldering  tower. 
Hath  hung  this  sea  horn  many  an  hour. 
Ready  to  sound  o'er  land  and  sea 
That  dirge  note  of  the  brave  and  free. 

They  came  —  his  Chieftains  at  the  call 
Came  slowly  round,  and  with  them  all  — 
Alas,  how  few  !  the  worn  remains 
Of  those  who  late  o'er  Kerman's  {.Ulna 
Went  gayly  prancing  to  the  clash 

Of  Moorish  zel  and  tymbalon. 
Catching  now  hope  from  every  flash 

Of  their  long  lances  in  the  sun, 
And,  as  their  coursers  charg'd  the  winA, 
And  the  white  ox  tails  stroam'd  )>ehind, 
Lookinsr,  as  if  the  steeds  they  rode 
Were  wing'd,  and  every  Chief  a  God  ! 
How  fall'n,  how  alter'd  now  !  how  wan 
Each  scarr'd  and  faded  ^asage  shone. 
As  round  the  burning  shrine  they  came;* 

How  deadly  was  the  glare  it  cast. 
As  mute  they  paus'd  before  the  flame 

To  light  their  torches  as  they  pass'd  ! 
'Twas  silence  all  —  the  youth  hath  pleim'4 
The  duties  of  his  soldier  bond  , 
And  each  determin'd  brow  declares 
His  faithful  Chieftains  well  know  theirs. 

But  minutes  speed  —  night  gems  the  skiet 
And  O,  how  soon,  ye  b?i;8sed  eyes, 
Tliat  look  from  heaven,  ye  may  behold 
Sights  that  will  turn  your  star  flres  cold  1 
Breathless  with  awe,  impatience,  hope, 
ITie  maiden  sees  the  veteran  group 
Her  litter  silently  prepare. 

And  lay  It  at  her  trembling  feet ;  - 
And  now  the  youth,  with  gentle  care. 

Hath  plac'd  her  in  the  shelter'd  stat, 
And  press'd  her  hand  —  that  lingering  pre* 

Of  hands,  that  for  the  last  time  sever  ; 
Of  hearts,  whose  pulse  of  happiness. 

When  that  hold  breaks,  is  dead  forevet 
And  yet  to  her  this  sad  caress 

Gives  hope  —  so  fondly  hope  can  err  ! 
'Twas  joy,  she  thought,  joy's  mute  cxuew  — 

Their  happy  flight's  dear  harbinger  ; 
'Twas  warmth  —  assurance  —  tenderness — 

'Twas  any  thing  but  leaving  her. 

*•  Haste,  haste!"  she  cried,  "the  clouds  gro« 

dark, 
«  But  still,  ere  night,  we'll  reach  the  bark ; 

>  "  The  flneat  ornament  <nr  the  hnrvM  ia  made  of  aii  laiip 
fljring  taiwela  of  king  white  hair,  uken  cwt  (4  ihr  tail*  ot 
wild  oxen,  that  are  to  b  Crnind  in  »ome  placM  of  ma  1» 
diea" — Thamif 


"  And  by  to-morrow's  da-wn  —  O  bliss  ! 

•'  With  thee  npon  the  sun-bright  deep, 
"  Far  off,  I'll  but  remember  this, 

•'  As  some  dark  vanish'd  dream  of  sleep  ; 
"  And  thou "  but  ah  !  —  he  answers  not  — 

Good  Heav'n '  —  and  does  she  go  alone  ? 
She  now  has  reach'd  that  dismal  spot, 

Where,  some  hours  since,  his  voice's  tone 
H  la  come  to  soothe  her  fears  and  ills 
S r.*>ct  as  the  angel  Israfil's, 
\\  hsn  every  leaf  on  Eden's  tree 
I«  trembling  to  his  minstrelsy  — 
Yet  now —  O,  now,  he  is  not  nigh.  — 

"  IIafed  !  my  Hafed  !  —  if  it  be 
"  Thy  will,  thj'  doom  this  night  to  die, 

"  Let  me  but  staj'  to  die  with  thee, 
"  A  nd  I  wiU  bless  thy  loved  name, 
"  Till  the  last  life  breath  leave  this  frame. 
"  O,  let  our  lips,  our  checks  be  laid 
'*  But  near  each  other  while  they  fade  ; 

"  L'^t  us  but  mix  our  parting  breaths^ 
"And  I  ca-i  die  ten  thousand  deaths  ! 
'♦  You  too,  who  hurry  me  away 
"  So  cruell  y,  one  moment  stay  — 

'•  O,  stay —  one  moment  is  not  much  — 
"  He  yet  may  come  —  for  him  I  pray  — 
"  Hafed  !  dear  Hafed  !  —  "  all  the  way 

In  wild  lamentings,  that  would  touch 
A.  heart  of  stone,  she  shrieked  his  name 
To  the  dark  woods  —  no  Hafed  came  :  — 
No  —  hapless  pair —  you've  look'd  your  last :  — 

Your  hearts  should  both  have  broken  then: 
The  dicam  is  o'er  —  your  doom  is  cast  — 

You'll  never  meet  on  earth  again ! 

Alas  for  him,  who  hears  her  cries  ! 

Still  half  way  down  the  steep  he  stands, 
Watching  with  fix'd  and  feverish  eyes 

The  glimmer  of  those  burning  brands. 
That  down  the  rocks,  with  mournful  ray, 
(vight  all  he  loves  on  earth  away  ! 
\\o[  elcRS  as  they  who,  far  at  sea, 

liy  the  cold  moon  have  just  consi^n'd 
1  he  corse  of  one,  lov'd  tenderly. 

To  the  bleak  flood  they  leave  behind ; 
Vnd  on  the  deck  still  lingering  stay, 
\i:d  long  look  back,  with  sad  delay, 
To  watch  the  moonlight  on  the  wave, 
That  ripples  o'er  that  cheerless  grave. 

But  see  —  he  starts  —  what  heard  he  then  ? 
That  dreadful  shout !  —  across  the  glen 

1  '    The  iin^el  Israfil,  who  has  the  most  ir«lodioiu  voice 
"<  ^J  (i  xl's  creatures." —  Sale. 


From  the  land  side  it  comes,  and  loud 

Rings  through  the  chasm ;  as  if  the  crowd 

Of  fearful  things,  that  haunt  that  dell, 

Its  Gholes  and  Dives  and  shapes  of  hell. 

Had  all  in  one  dread  howl  broke  out, 

So  loud,  so  terrible  that  shout ! 

•'  They    come  —  the    Moslems    come  !  "  —  h.i 

cries, 
His  proud  soul  mounting  to  his  eyes,  — 
"  Now.  Spirits  of  the  Brave,  whc  roam 
"  Enfranchis'd  through  yon  starry  dome, 
"  Rejoice  —  for  souls  of  kindred  fire 
"Are  on' the  wing  to  join  your  choir  !  " 
He  said  —  and,  light  as  bridegrooms  bound 

To  their  young  loves,  reclimb'd  the  steep 
And    gain'd    the    Shrine  —  his    Chiefs    stooo 
round  — 

Their  swords,  as  with  instinctive  leap. 
Together,  at  that  cry  accurs'd, 
Had  from  their  sheaths,  like  sunbeams,  burst. 
And  hark  !  —  again  —  again  it  rings  ; 
Near  and  more  near  its  echoings 
Peal  through  the  chasm  —  O,  who  that  then 
Had  seen  those  listening  warrior  men. 
With    their    swords    grasp' d,    their    eyes    ol 

flame 
Tum'd    on    their    Chief  —  could    doubt    the 

shame, 
Th'  indignant  shame  with  which  they  thriU 
To  hear  those  shouts  and  yet  stand  still  ? 

He  read  their  thoughts  —  they  «vere  his  own  — 

"What!    while  our   arms   can   wield  thesi 
blades, 
"  Shall  we  die  tamely  ?  die  alone  ? 

"  "\^'ithout  one  victim  to  our  shades, 
"  One  Moslem  heart,  where,  buried  deep, 
"  The  sabre  from  its  toil  may  sleep  ? 
"  No  —  God  of  Iran's  burning  skies  ! 
"  Thou  scorn'st  th'  inglorious  sacrifice. 
"  No  —  though  of  all  earth's  hope  bereft. 
"  Life,  swords,  and  vengeance  still  are  left. 
"  W^e'U  make  yon  valley's  reeking  caves 

"  Live  in  the  awe-struck  minds  of  m«n, 
"  Till  tyrants  shudder,  M-hen  their  slaves 

"  Tell  of  the  Gheber's  bloody  glen, 
"  Follow,  brave  hearts  !  —  this  pile  remain! 
"  Our  refuge  still  from  life  and  chains ; 
"  But  his  the  best,  the  holiest  bed,  ' 

"  Who  sinks  entomb'd  in  Moslem  dead ! " 

Down  the  precipitous  rocks  they  sprang, 

While  vigor,  more  than  human,  strung 
Each  arm  and  heart.  —  Th'  exulting  foe 
Still  through  the  dark  defiles  below, 


I 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


ue 


I'rack'd  by  his  torches'  lurid  fire. 

Wound  slow,  as  through  Golconda'b  Tale  ' 
rhc  mighty  serpent,  in  his  ire, 

Glides  on  •with  glittering,  deadly  trail. 
No  torch  the  Ghebors  need  —  so  well 
They  know  each  mystery  of  the  dell. 
So  oft  have,  in  their  wanderings, 
Cross'd  the  wild  race  that  round  them  dwells 

The  very  tigers  from  their  delves 
I  nok  out,  r.iid  let  them  pass,  as  things 

Untam' J  and  fearless  like  themselves  ! 

1  h»re  was  a  deep  ravine,  that  lay 
y©.  darkling  in  the  Moslem's  way  ; 
Fit  spot  to  make  invaders  rue 
The  many  fall'n  before  the  few. 
Th«  torrents  &om  that  morning's  sky 
Had  fill'd  the  narrow  chasm  breast  high, 
And,  on  each  side,  aloft  and  wild, 
Huge  cliffe  and  toppling  crags  were  pil'd,  — 
Tne  guards  with  which  young  Freedom  linea 
The  pathways  to  her  mountain  shrinea. 
Here,  at  this  pass,  the  scanty  band 
Of  Iran's  last  avengers  stand  ; 
Here  wait,  in  silence  like  the  dead. 
And  listen  for  the  Moslem's  tread 
80  anxiously,  the  carrion  bird 
Above  them  flaps  his  Ming  unheard  I 

They  come  —  that  plunge  into  the  water 
Gives  signal  for  the  work  of  slaughter. 
Now,  Ghebers,  now  —  if  e'er  your  blades 

Ilad  point  or  prow^ess,  prove  them  now  — 
>Voe  to  the  file  that  foremost  wades ! 

They  come  —  a  falchion  greets  each  brow. 
And,  as  they  tumble,  trunk  on  trunk. 
Beneath  the  gory  waters  sunk. 
Still  o'er  their  drowning  bodies  press 
New  victims  quick  and  numberless  ; 
TiN  scarce  an  arm  in  Hafed's  band. 

So  fierce  their  toil,  hath  power  to  stir, 
But  listless  from  each  crimson  hand 

Ihe  sword  hangs,  clogg'd  with  massacre. 
Never  was  horde  of  tyrants  met 
With  bloodier  welcome  —  never  yet 
lb  patriot  vengeance  hath  the  sword 
More  terrible  libations  pour'd  ! 

AH  up  the  dreary,  long  ravine. 
By  the  red,  murky  glimmer  seen 


>  Bee  Huole  upon  the  Stnry  of  Sinbad. 

*  "  In  till!)  thii  kct  U|wn  the  bnnki  of  the  Jordan  leveral 
ion*  iif  wild  beasts  are  wont  to  harbor  themmlve*,  whoM 
Hint  » iMt»d  out  of  tlie  cotmi  by  lli«  oveiflowinp  of  th« 


Of  half-quench'd  brands,  that  o'er  t*ie  flood 
Lie  scatter'd  round  and  bum  in  blool. 
What  ruin  glares  !  what  carnage  swim*  I 
Heads,  blazing  turbans,  quivering  limba* 
Lost  swords  that,  dropp'd  from  many  a  hand* 

In  that  thick  pool  of  slaughter  stand ; 

Wretches  who  wading,  half  on  fire 

From   the  toss'd   brands    that    round  tK^a 

fly. 

'Twixt  flood  and  flame  in  shrieks  expire ;  '— 
And  some  who,  grasp'd  by  those  that  die. 
Sink  woundless  with  them,  smother'd  o'er 
In  their  dead  brethren's  gushing  gore  I 

But  vainly  hundreds,  thousands  bleed* 
Still  hundreds,  thousands  more  succeed ; 
Countless  as  towards  some  flame  at  night 
The  North's  dark  insects  wing  their  flight, 
And  quench  or  perish  in  its  light, 
To  this  terrific  spot  they  pour  — 
Till,  bridg'd  \«ith  Moslem  bodies  o'er. 
It  bears  aloft  their  slippery  tread. 
And  o'er  the  dying  and  the  dead. 
Tremendous  causeway  I  on  they  paM« 
Then,  hapless  Ghebers,  then,  alas. 
What  hojMJ  was  left  for  you  ?  for  you. 
Whoso  yet  warm  pile  of  sacrifice 
Is  smoking  in  their  vengeful  eyes  ;  — 
Whose  swords  how  keen,  how  fierce  they  knevr 
And  bum  with  shame  to  find  how  few. 

Crush'd  down  by  that  vast  multitude, 
Some  found  their  graves  where  first  they  stood 
While  some  with  hardier  struggle  died, 
And  still  fought  on  by  Uafbu's  side. 
Who,  fronting  to  the  foe,  trod  back 
Towards  the  high  towers  his  gory  track ; 
And,  as  a  lion  swept  away 

By  sudden  swell  of  Jordan's  pride 
From  the  wild  covert  where  he  lay,* 

Long  battles  with  th'  o'erwhelming  tid«. 
So  fought  he  back  with  fierce  delay, 
And  kept  both  foes  and  fate  at  bay. 

But  whither  now  ?  their  track  is  lost. 
Their  prey  escap'd  —  guide,  torchcn  gone 

By  torrent  beds  and  labyrinths  cross' J, 
The  scatter'd  crowd  rush  blindly  on  — 

«•  Curse  on  those  tardy  lights  that  wind," 

They  panting  cry,  "  so  far  behind ; 


river,  pave  occasion  to  that  allusion  of  Jemmiah,  ht  «!«• 
ttm*^ like t tin frvmOumaMMgrfMrdn  " -.«■»!<>«■> 


i36 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


•«  O  for  a  bloodhound's  precious  scent, 

••  To  track  the  waj-  the  Gheber  went !  " 

Vain  wish  —  confusedly  along 

Tliey  rush,  more  desperate  as  more  wrong ; 

Till,  wilder'd  by  the  far-off  lights, 

Yet  glittering  up  those  gloomy  heights, 

Their  footing,  niaz'd  and  lost,  they  miss, 

And  down  the  darkling  precipice 

Are  dash  d  into  the  deeji  abyss  ; 

Or  midway  hang,  impal'd  on  rocks, 

A  banquet,  yet  alive,  for  flocks 

Of  ravening  vultures,  —  while  the  dell 

Redchoes  vith  each  horrid  yell. 

Those  sounds  —  the  last,  to  vengeance  dear, 
That  e'er  shall  ring  in  Hafed's  ear,  —  . 
Now  reach'd  him,  as  aloft,  alone, 
Upon  the  steep  way  breathless  thrown. 
He  lay  beside  his  reeking  blade, 

Resign'd,  as  if  life's  task  were  o'er, 
Its  last  blood  offering  amply  paid. 

And  Iran's  self  could  claim  no  more. 
One  only  thought,  one  lingering  beam 
Now  broke  across  his  dizzy  dream 
Of  pain  and  weariness  —  'twas  she. 

His  heart's  pure  planet,  shining  yet 
Above  the  waste  of  memory, 

When  all  life's  other  lights  were  set. 
And  never  to  his  mind  before 
Her  image  such  enchantment  wore. 
It  seem'd  as  if  each  thought  that  stain'd, 

Each  fear  that  chill'd  their  loves  was  past, 
And  not  one  cloud  of  earth  remain'd 

Between  him  and  her  radiance  cast :  — 
As  if  to  charms,  before  so  bright, 

New  grace  from  other  worlds  was  given^ 
And  his  soul  saw  her  by  the  light 

Now  br'»aking  o'er  itself  from  heaven  ! 

A  voice  spoke  near  him  —  'twas  the  tone 

Of  a  lov'd  friend,  the  only  one 

Of  all  his  warriors,  left  M'ith  life 

From  that  short  night's  tremendous  strife.  — 

♦'  And  must  we  then,  my  chief,  die  here  ? 

*'  Foes  round  us,  and  the  Shrine  so  near  !  ' 

These  words  have  rous'd  the  last  remains 

Of  life  within  him —  "  what !  not  yet 
"  Beyond  the  reach  of  Moslem  chains  !  " 

Q.'he  thought  could  make  ev'n  Death  forget 
Ills  icy  bondage  —  with  a  bound 
He  springs,  all  bleeding,  from  the  ground. 
And  grasps  his  comrade's  arm,  now  grown 
Ev'n  feebler,  heavier  than  his  own. 
An  \  up  the  painful  pathway  leads, 
peat  a  gai»  ing  on  each  step  he  treads. 


Speed  them,  thou  God,  who  heard'st  their  vcw 
They  mount  —  they  bleed  —  O  save  them  now  - 
The  crags  are  red  they've  clamber'd  o'er. 
The  rock  weed's  dripping  with  tlieir  gore  ;  — 
Thy  blade  too,  Hafed,  false  at  length. 
Now  breaks  beneath  thy  tottering  strength  I 
Haste,  haste  —  the  voices  of  the  Foe 
Come  near  and  nearer  from  below  — 
One  effort  more —  thank  Heav'n  !  'tis  pasti 
They've  gained  the  topmost  steep  at  last. 
And  now  they  touch  the  temple's  walls. 

Now  Hafei)  sees  the  Fire  divine  !  — 
When,  lo  !  —  his  weak,  worn  comrade  falls    . 

Dead  on  the  threshold  of  the  shrine. 
"  Alas,  brave  soul,  too  quickly  fled  ! 

"  And  must  I  leave  thee  withering  here, 
"  The  sport  of  every  ruflian's  tread, 

"  The  mark  for  every  coward's  spear  ? 
"  No,  by  yon  altar's  sacred  beams  !  " 
He  cries,  and,  with  a  strength  that  seems 
Not  of  this  world,  uplifts  the  frame 
Of  the  fall'n  Chief,  and  towards  the  flame 
Bears  him  along;  —  with  death-damp  hand 

The  corpse  upon  the  pj're  he  lays. 
Then  lights  the  consecrated  brand, 

And  fires  the  pile,  whose  sudden  blaze 
Like  lightning  bursts  o'er  Oman's  Sea.  — 
«  Now,  Freedom's  God  !  I  come  to  Thee," 
The  youth  exclaims,  and  with  a  smile 
Of  triumph  vaulting  on  the  pile. 
In  that  last  effort,  ere  the  fires 
Have  harm'd  one  glorious  limb,  expires  I 

What  shriek  was  that  on  Oman's  tide  f 

It  came  from  yonder  drifting  bark, 
That  just  hath  caught  upon  her  side 

The  death  light  —  and  again  is  dark 
It  is  the  boat  —  ah,  why  delay'd  ?  — 
That  bears  the  wretched  Moslem  maid ; 
Confided  to  the  watchful  care 

Of  a  small  veteran  band,  with  whom 
Their  generous  Chieftain  would  not  share. 

The  secret  of  his  final  doom, 
But  hop'd  when  Hinda,  safe  and  free. 

Was  render'd  to  her  father's  eyes. 
Their  pardon,  full  and  prompt,  would  be 

The  ransom  of  so  dear  a  prize.  — 
Unconscious,  thus,  of  Hafed's  fate, 
And  proud  to  guard  their  beauteous  freight. 
Scarce  had  they  clear'd  the  surfy  waves 
That  foam  around  those  frightful  caves, 
When  the  curs'd  war  whoops,  known  so  weH 
Came  echoing  from  the  distant  d»ll  — 
Sudden  each  oar,  upheld  and  still, 

Hung  dripping  o'er  the  vessel's  side. 


Ajid,  driving  at  the  current's  will. 
They  ijck'd  along  the  whispering  tide; 

While  every  eye,  in  mute  dismay, 
Was  toward  that  fatal  mountain  turn'd, 

VVhere  the  dim  altar's  quivering  ray 
As  yet  all  lone  and  tranquil  burn'd. 

i),  'tia  not,  HiNOA,  in  the  power 

Of  Fancy's  most  terrific  touch 
lo  paint  thy  pangs  in  that  dread  hour  — 

Thy  silent  agony —  'twas  such 
As  those  who  feel  could  paint  too  well. 
But  none  e'er  felt  and  liv'd  to  tell ! 
'Twas  not  alone  the  dreary  state 
Of  a  lorn  spirit,  crush'd  by  fate. 
When,  though  no  more  remains  to  dread. 

The  panic  chill  will  not  depart ;  — 
When,  though  tV.e  inmate  Hope  be  dead, 

Her  ghost  stil'.  haunts  the  mouldering  heart ; 
No  — pleasures,  hopes,  affections  gone, 
The  wretch  may  bear,  and  yet  live  on, 
Like  things,  within  the  cold  rock  found 
Alive,  when  all's  congeal'd  around. 
But  there's  a  blank  repose  in  this, 
A  calm  stagnation,  that  were  bliss 
To  the  keen,  burning,  harrowing  pain. 
Now  felt  through  all  thy  breast  and  brain ;  — 
That  spasm  of  terror,  mute,  intense. 
That  breathless,  agoniz'd  suspense. 
From  whose  hot  throb,  whose  deadly  aching, 
l*he  heart  hath  no  relief  but  breaking  ! 
Calm  is  the  wave  — heav'n's  brilliant  lights 

Reflected  dance  beneath  the  prow ;  — 
Time  was  when,  on  such  lovely  nights. 

She  who  is  there,  so  desolate  now. 
Could  sit  all  cheerful,  though  alone. 

And  ask  no  happier  joy  than  seeing 
That  starlight  o'er  the  waters  thrown  — 
No  joy  but  that,  to  make  her  blest. 

And  the  fresh,  buoyant  sense  of  Being, 
Which  bounds  in  youth's  yet  careless  breast,  — 
Itself  a  star,  not  borrowing  light, 
But  in  its  own  glad  essence  bright. 
How  different  now!  —  but,  hark,  again 
llie  yell  of  havoc  rings  —  brave  men  ! 
In  vain,  with  beating  hearts,  ye  stand 
On  the  bark's  edge  —  in  vain  each  hand 
Half  draws  the  falchion  from  its  sheath  ; 

All's  o'er  —  in  rust  your  blades  may  lie ;  — 
He,  at  whose  word  they've  scatter'd  death, 

Ev'n  now,  this  night,  himself  must  die  ! 
Well  may  ye  look  to  yon  dim  tower, 

And  ask,  and  wondering  guess  what  means 
rhe  battle  cry  at  this  dead  hour  — 

Ah !  »he  o  uld  *.^11  you  —  she,  who  leant 


Unheeded  there,  pale,  sunk,  aghast. 
With  brow  against  the  dew-cold  mast ;  — 

Too  well  she  knows  —  her  more  than  lifii^ 
Her  soul's  first  idol  and  its  last. 

Lies  bleeding  in  that  murderous  strifa. 

But  see  —  what  moves  upon  the  height) 
Some  signal !  —  'tis  a  torch's  light. 

What  bodes  its  solitary  glare  i 
In  gasping  silence  toward  the  Shrine 
All  eyes  are  turn'd  —  thine,  Hinda,  thin* 

Fix  their  last  fading  lifebeams  there. 
'Twas  but  a  moment  —  fierce  and  high 
The  death  pile  blaz'd  into  the  sky, 
And  far  away,  o'er  rock  and  flood 

Its  melancholy  radiance  sent ; 
While  Hafei>,  like  a  vision  stood 
Rcveal'd  before  the  burning  pyre. 
Tall,  shadowy,  like  a  Spirit  of  Fire 

Shrin'd  in  its  own  grand  clement ! 
"  'TLb  he  !  "  —  the  shuddering  maid  exclaim,  - 

But,  while  she  speaks,  he's  seen  no  more  ; 
High  burst  in  air  the  funeral  flames. 

And  Iran's  hopes  and  hers  are  o'er  I 
One  wild,  heart-broken  shriek  she  gaTe ; 

Then  sprung,  as  if  to  reach  that  blaze, 

Where  still  she  fix'd  her  dying  gaze. 
And,  gazing,  sunk  into  the  wave,  — 

Deep,  deep,  —  where  never  care  or  pais 

Shall  reach  her  innocent  heart  again ! 


Farewell  —  farewell  to  thee,  A&abt's  daughter! 

(Thus  warbled  a  Peri  beneath  the  dark  8ea,\ 
No  pearl  ever  lay,  under  Oman's  green  water. 

More  pure  in  its  shell  than  thy  Spirit  in  theo. 

O,  £air  as  the  sea  flower  close   to  thee  grow* 
ing. 
How  light  was  thy  lieart  till  Love's  witchery 
came, 
Like  the  wind  of  the  south '  o'er  a  sumnji  IvU 
blowing, 
And  hush'd  all  its  music,  and  wither'd  its 
frame  ! 

But   long,   upon  Ajlabt's  green  sunny  omh- 
lands. 
Shall  maids  and  their  lovers  remember  the 
doom 


>  "TbU  wind(lheSamoor)aoaon<tMllMMilatiafliitM 
tlMt  tb«y  can  never  be  tuned  wbile  it  bMa"  — ( 
PirtitL 


Of  her,  who  lies  sleeping  among  the  Pearl  Isl- 
ands, 
With  nought  but  the  sea  star '  to  light  up  her 
tomb. 

And  still,  when  the  merry  date  season  is  burn- 
ing,* 
And  calls  to  the  palm  groves  the  j'oung  and 
the  old. 
The  happiest  there,  from  their  pastime  return- 
ing 
At  sunset,  will  weep  when  thy  story  is  told. 

The  young  village  maid,  when  with  flowers  she 

dresses 

Her  dark  flowing  hair  for  some  festival  day, 

Will    think  of    thy    fate    till,    neglecting   her 

tresses, 

She  mournfully  turns  from  the  mirror  away. 

Nor  shall  Ikan,  beloved  of  her  Hero  !  forget 
thee  — 
Though  tyrants  watch  over  her  tears  as  they 
start, 
•^lose,  close  by  the  side  of  that  Hero  she'll  set 
thee, 
Embalm'd  in  the  innermost  shrine  of  her  hear* . 

Farewell  —  be  it  ours  to  embellish  thy  pillow 
With  every  thing  beauteous  that  grows  in  tlie 
deep; 
Each  flower  of  the  rock  and  each  gem  of  the 
billow 
Shall  sweeten  thy  bed  and  illumine  thysleop. 

Around  thee  shall  glisten  the  loveliest  amber 

That  ever  the  sorrowing  sea  biid  has  wept ;  ' 
With  many  a  shell,  in  whose  hollow-wreath'd 
chamber 
We,    Peris    of  Ocean,   by    moonlight    have 
slept. 

We'll  dive  where  chc  gpxdens  of  coral  lie  dark- 
ling, 
And  plant  all  the  rosiest  stems  at  thy  head  ; 
\\  e'U  seek  where  the  sands  of  the  Caspian  *  are 
sparkling. 
And  gather  their  gold  to  strew  over  thy  bed. 

1  "  One  of  the  greatest  curiosities  found  in  t'le  PeiSi'.ii 
&.lf  is  a  fisli  which  the  English  call  St<ir  fish.  It  i?  ci'cu 
ar,  and  at  night  very  himinoiis,  resembling  t'.ie  fu.l  ncjn 
lurroinided  by  rays."  —  Jitiria  ^bn  TaLb. 

2  For  a  description  of  the  merriment  of  the  Ar  cf  tir.je,  of 
J\ii  work   '\  nr  dances,  and  llieir  return  ho:a8  ti^ir.  the 


Farewell  —  farewell  —  until  Pity's  sweet  foun 
tain 
Is  lost  in  the  hearts  of  the  fair  and  the  brave, 
They'll  weep  for  the  Chieftain  who  died  on  that 
mountain, 
They'll  weep  for  the  Maiden  who  slecpg  it 
this  wave. 


PREFACE 
TO  THE  SEVENTH  VOLUME. 

The  station  assigned  to  "  The  Fudge  Family, 
in  the  following  pages,  immediately  after  Lalla 
Rookh,  agrees  but  too  closely  with  the  actual 
order  in  which  these  two  works  were  originally 
written  and  published.  The  success,  far  ex- 
ceeding my  hopes  and  deserts,  with  which 
Lalla  Rookh  was  immediately  crowned,  re- 
lieved me  at  once  from  tne  anxious  feeling 
of  responsibility  under  which,  as  my  readers 
have  stdn,  tliat  enterprise  had  been  com- 
menced, and  vriiich  continued  for  some  time 
to  huunt  n.e  amidst  all  the  enchantments  of  my 
task.  I  was  therefore  in  the  true  holiday 
mood,  when  a  dear  friend,  with  whose  name 
is  associated  some  of  the  brightest  and  pleasant- 
est  hours  of  my  past  life,*  kindly  ofiered  me  a 
seat  in  his  carriage  for  a  short  »^it  to  Paris. 
This  proposal  I,  of  course,  most  g'adly  accept- 
ed ;  and,  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  1817,  found 
myself,  for  the  first  time,  in  that  gav  caj^ital. 

As  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbon  dynasty 
was  still  of  too  recent  a  date  for  anj  an  algama- 
tion  to  have  yet  taken  place  between  the  new 
and  ancient  order  of  things,  all  the  most  prom- 
inent features  of  both  regimes  wer*"  just  then 
brought,  in  their  fullest  relief,  into  juxtapo- 
sition ;  and,  accordingly,  the  result  '^•as  such 
as  to  suggest  to  an  unconcerned  spectator  quite 
as  abundant  matter  for  ridicule  as  for  gravf 
political  consideration.  It  would  be  difficult, 
indeed,  to  convey  to  those  who  had  not 
themselves  seen  the  Paris  of  that  period,  any 


palm  groves  at  the  end  of  autumn  with  the  fruits  see  Kemjy 
fcr,  Jlmanilat.  Exot. 

8  Some  naturalists  have  imagined  that  amber  is  a  co%:t» 
tion  of  the  tears  of  birds.  —  See  Trcvouz,  Chambers. 

*  "The  bay  Kieselarke,  which  is  otherwise  called  thi 
Golden  Bay,  the  sand  whereof  shines  as  fire  "  —  Struf. 

i  Mr.  Rogers. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


4av 


fiicar  notion  of  that  anomalous  aspect,  both 
locial  and  political,  which  it  then  presented. 
It  was  as  if,  in  the  days  succeeding  the  Deluge, 
a  email  coterie  of  antediluvians  had  been  sud- 
dc  ily  evoked  from  out  of  the  deep  to  take  the 
(^ouiinand  of  a  new  and  freshly-starting  world. 

To  me,  the  abundant  amusement  and  interest 
'» hic'i  such  a  scene  could  not  but  afford  was  a 
|cod  deal  heightened  by  my  having,  in  my 
toutliful  day?,  been  made  acquainted  with  some 
•f  those  personages  who  were  now  most  in- 
terested in  the  future  success  of  the  Legitimate 
jause.  ITie  Comte  D'Artois,  or  Monsieur,  I 
had  met  in  the  year  1802-3,  at  Donington 
Park,  the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Moira,  under 
whose  princely  roof  I  used  often  and  long, 
in  those  days,  to  find  a  most  hospitable  home. 
A  small  party  of  distinguished  French  emi- 
grants were  already  staying  on  a  \'isit  in  the 
house  when  Monsieur  and  his  suite  arrived ; 
and  among  those  were  the  present  King  of 
France  and  his  two  brothers,  the  Due  de  Mont- 
pensier,  and  the  Comte  de  Beaujolais. 

Some  doubt  and  uneasiness  had,  I  remember, 
been  felt  by  the  two  latter  brothers,  as  to  the 
reception  they  were  likely  to  encounter  from 
the  new  guest ;  and  as,  in  those  times,  a  cropped 
and  unpowdercd  head  was  regarded  generally  as 
a  symbol  of  Jacobinism,  the  Comte  Beaujolais, 
who,  like  many  other  young  mc  ,  wore  his  hair 
in  this  fashion,  thought  it,  on  the  present  occa- 
sion, most  prudent,  in  order  to  avoid  all  risk  of 
offence,  not  only  to  put  powder  in  his  hair,  but 
also  to  provide  himself  with  an  artificial  cue. 
This  measure  of  precaution,  however,  led  to  a 
slight  incident  after  dinner,  which,  though  not 
very  royal  or  dignified,  was  at  least  creditable  to 
the  social  good  humor  of  the  future  Charles  X. 
On  the  departure  of  the  ladies  from  the  dining 
room,  we  had  hardly  seated  ourselves  ip  the  old- 
fashioned  style,  round  the  fire,  when  Monsieur, 
whw  ^ad  happened  to  place  himself  next  to 
Beaujolais,  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  ascititious 
tail,  —  which,  having  been  rather  carelessly  put 
on,  had  a  good  deal  straggled  out  of  its  place. 
Wiwh  a  sort  of  scream  of  jocular  pleasure,  as 
d  delig  ted  at  the  discovery,  Monsieur  seized 
the  stray  appendage,  and,  bringing  it  round  into 
full  view,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  whole 
ictmpany,  popped  it  into  poor  grinning  Beau- 
x>la)s'  mouth. 

1  B«e  p.  ISS  nfthis  edition. 
In  enipl  lying  h»  past  tenM  here,  I  do  the  prewnl  lord 


On  one  of  the  evenings  of  this  short'  risit  of 
Monsieur,  I  remember  Curran  arriving  unex- 
pectedly, on  his  way  to  London ;  and.  having 
come  too  late  for  dinner,  he  joined  our  party 
in  the  evening.  As  the  foreign  portion  of 
the  company  was  then  quite  new  to  him,  1 
was  able  to  be  useful,  by  informing  him  of  the 
names,  rank,  and  other  particulars  of  the  party 
he  found  assembled,  from  Monsieur  himMlf 
down  to  the  old  Due  de  Lorgo  and  the  Baron  d« 
Rolle.  When  I  had  gone  through  the  whole 
list,  •'  Ah,  poor  fellows  !  "  he  exci<;im?d,  with 
a  mixture  of  fun  and  pathos  in  his  lock,  imly 
Irish,  "  Poor  fcllow%  aU  dismounted  cavalry  !  " 

On  the  last  evening  of  Monsieur's  stay,  I  was 
made  to  sing  for  him,  among  other  songs, 
**  Farewell,  Bessy  !  "  one  of  my  parliest  attempts 
at  musical  composition.  As  soon  as  I  had 
finished,  he  paid  me  the  compliment  of  reading 
aloud  the  words  as  written  under  the  music  ; 
and  most  royal  havoc  did  he  make,  as  to  this 
day  I  remember,  of  whatever  little  sense  oi 
metre  they  could  boast. 

Among  my  earlier  poetic  writings,  more  than 
one  grateful  memorial  may  be  found  of  ths 
happy  days  I  passed  in  this  hospitable  man- 
sion,' — 

Of  all  my  minnjr  mom*  and  tnoonlifht  nlfiitt 
On  Dunliigton'a  green  lawnn  and  breexy  heixliu. 

But  neither  verse  nor  prose  could  do  any  justice 
to  the  sort  of  im])re88ion  I  still  retain  of  those 
long-vanished  days.  The  library  at  Donington 
was  '  extensive  and  valuable  ;  and  through  the 
privilege  kindly  granted  to  me  of  retiring  thither 
for  study,  even  M'hen  the  family  were  absent,  I 
frequently  passed  whole  weeks  alone  in  tha* 
fine  library,  indulging  in  all  the  first  airy  castle 
building  of  authorship.  The  various  projects, 
indeed,  of  future  works  that  used  then  to  pass 
in  fruitless  succession  through  my  mind,  can 
be  compared  only  to  the  waves  as  described  I  y 
the  poet,  — 

"  And  one  no  sooner  touch'd  ibe  tliore,  and  dird. 
Than  a  new  fullower  ruse." 

With  that  library  is  also  connected  ai.othei 
of  my  earlier  poems,  —  the  verses  addressed  U 
the  Duke  of  Montpensier  on  his  portrait  of  th< 
Lady  Adelaide  Forbes  ; »  for  it  was  there  lha> 
this  truly  noble  lady,  then  in  the  first  dawn  of 
her  beauty,  used  to  sit  for  that  picture ;  while 


injustice,  whose  niial  wish  I  know  it  is  tD  keep  all  ai  TkM 
ington  exactly  a*  his  noble  father  left  IL 
*  6«eo.C5orthiaedUk» 


140 


LALLA  KOOKH. 


m  another  part  of  the  library,  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  —  engaged  ge-i.erally  at  that  time  with 
a  volume  of  Clarendon ,  —  was  by  such  studies 
unconsciously  preparing  himself  for  the  high 
and  arduous  destiny,  which  not  only  the  Good 
Genius  of  France,  but  liis  own  sagacious  and 
intrepid  spirit,  had  marked  out  for  him. 

1  need  hardly  say  how  totally  different  were 
lU  the  circumstances  under  which  Monsieur 
cimself  and  some  of  his  followers  were  again 
»een  by  me  in  the  year  1817  ;  —  the  same  actors, 
Indeed,  but  with  an  entirely  new  change  of 
scenery  and  decorations.  Among  the  variety 
")!  aspects  presented  by  this  change,  the  ridicu- 
ous  certainly  predominated  ;  nor  could  a  satirist 
A'ho,  like  Philoctetes,  was  smitten  with  a  fancy 
■or  shooting  at  geese,'  ask  any  better  supply  of 
<uch  game  than  the  high  places,  in  France,  at 
^.hat  period,  both  lay  and  ecclesiastical,  afforded. 
A.S  I  was  not  versed,  however,  sufhciently  in 
French  poHtics  to  venture  to  meddle  with  them, 
even  in  sport,  I  found  a  more  ready  conductor 
of  laughter  —  for  which  I  was  then  much  in 
the  mood  —  in  those  groups  of  ridiculous  Eng- 
lish who  were  at  that  time  swarming  in  all 
directions  throughout  Paris,  and  of  all  whose 
various  forms  of  cockneyism  and  nonsense  I 
endeavored,  in  the  personages  of  the  Fudge 
Family,  to  collect  the  concentrated  essence. 
The  result,  as  usual,  fell  very  far  short  of  what 
I  had  myself  preconceived  and  intended.  But, 
making  its  appearance  at  such  a  crisis,  the  work 
brought  with  it  that  best  seasoning  of  all  such 
jeux-d' esprit,  the  dpropos  of  the  moment ;  and, 
accordingly,  in  the  race  of  successive  editions, 
Lalla  llookh  was,  for  some  time,  kept  pace  with 
>y  Miss  Biddy  Fudge. 

The  series  of  trifles  contained  in  this  volume, 
entitled  "  Rhymes  on  the  Road,"  were  written 
l<artly  as  their  title  implies,  and  partly  at  a  sub- 
seciuent  period  from  memorandums  made  on 
the  spot.  This  will  account  for  so  many  of 
tl.ose  pieces  being  little  better,  I  fear,  than 
■'  prose  fringed  with  rhyme."  The  journey  to 
I  pirt  of  which  those  Rhymes  owed  their 
existence  was  commenced  in  comoany  with 
Lord  John  Russell  in  the  autumn  of  the  year 
1819.  After  a  week  or  two  passed  at  F5iri9.  tc 
enable  liOrd  John  to  refer  to  Barillon's  Letters 
for  a  new  edition  of  his  Life  of  Lord  Russell 
Jien   preparing,  we  set  out  together  for   the 


"  Pinnigero,   non   armigero  in  corpore  tela  exercean- 
njr :"— the  words  pMt  br  Accius  in  th<)  mouth  of  Philoc- 

Wtos. 


Simplon.  At  Milan,  the  agreeable  soci«ty  of 
the  late  Lord  Kinnaird  detained  us  for  a  ffSM 
days  ;  and  then  my  companion  took  the  route  to 
Genoa,  while  I  proceeded  on  a  visit  to  Lord 
Byron,  at  Venice. 

It  was  during  the  journey  thus  briefly  de- 
scribed, I  addressed  the  well-known  Remon- 
strance to  my  noble  friend,*  which  has  of  lata 
been  frequently  coupled  with  my  proi^hetic 
verses  on  the  Duke  of  Wellinficton,'  from  the 
prescient  spirit  with  which  it  co  confidently 
looked  forward  to  all  that  Lord  John  has  since 
become  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 

Of  my  visit  to  Lord  Byron,  —  an  event,  to 
me  so  memorable,  —  I  have  already  detailed  all 
the  most  interesting  particulars  in  my  published 
Life  of  the  poet ;  and  shall  here  only  cite,  from 
that  work,  one  passage,  as  having  some  refer- 
ence to  a  picture  mentioned  in  the  following 
pages.  "  As  we  were  conversing  after  dinner 
about  the  various  collections  of  paintings  I  had 
seen  that  morning,  on  my  saying  that,  fearful  as 
I  was  of  ever  praising  any  picture,  lest  I  should 
draw  on  myself  the  connoisseur's  sneer,  for  my 
pains,  I  would  yet,  to  him,  venture  to  own  tha 

I  had  seen  a  picture  at  Milan,  which *  The 

Hagar  ! '  *  he  exclaimed,  eagerly  interrupting 
me ;  and  it  was,  in  fact,  that  very  picture  I  was 
about  to  mention  to  him  as  having  a«vcJcened  in 
me,  by  the  tr  th  of  its  expression,  more  real 
emotion  than  any  I  had  yet  seer,  among  the 
chefs -d'ccuvre  of  Venice." 

In  the  society  I  chiefly  )ived  with,  while  at 
Rome,  I  considered  myself  singularly  fortunate  ; 
though  but  a  blind  wo/fhipper  of  those  powers 
of  Art  of  which  my  companions  were  all  high 
priests.  Canova  biraf^elf,  Chantrey,  Lawrence, 
Jackson,  Turner,  Eaatlake,  —  such  were  the 
men  of  whose  presence  and  guidance  I  enjoyed 
the  advantage  in  visiting  all  that  unrivalled 
Rome  can  boast  of  beautiful  and  grand.  That 
I  derived  from  this  course  of  initiation  any  thing 
more  than  a  very  humbling  conscioutiness  of  my 
own  ignorance  and  want  of  taste,  in  matters  of 
art,  I  will  not  be  so  dishonest  as  to  pretend. 
But,  to  the  stranger  in  Rome  every  step  forms 
an  epoch  ;  and,  in  addition  to  all  its  own  count- 
less appeals  to  memory  and  imagination,  the 
agreeu'jle  auspices  under  which  I  first  visited 
all  its  moKiorable  places  could  not  bat  rendei 
cveij   Vj'.pression  I  re^ei/ed    more  vivid   ai>d 

Ser  V.p^e',la;i«ius  Pcsron. 

fii  y.  'J.  2f?4  jf  ,h\$  edition. 

*  a  1st  ^Bj  dismissing  Uagai   by  Guercin  '. 


LAJLLA.  KOOKH. 


M« 


permanent.  Thus,  with  my  recollection  of  the 
BepuicLre  of  St.  Ppter,  and  its  ever-burning 
lamps,  for  which  splendid  spot^anova  was  then 
meditating  a  statue,'  there  is  always  connected 
in  my  mind  the  exclamation  which  I  heard 
break  from  Chantrey  after  gazing,  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, in  silence,  upon  that  glorious  site,  — 
*  ANTiat  a  place  to  work  for  !  " 

It  one  of  the  poems  contained  in  this  volume  • 
«llu&lon  is  made  to  an  evening  not  easily  for- 
gotten, when  Chantrey  and  myself  were  taken 
by  Canova  to  the  Borghese  Palace,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  showing  us,  by  the  light  of  a  taper  — 
his  favorite  mode  of  exhibiting  that  work  —  his 
ber  jtiful  statue  of  the  Princess  Borghese,  called 
th3  Venere  Vincitrice.  In  Chantrey's  eagerness 
to  point  out  some  grace  or  effect  that  peculiarly 
■truck  him,  he  snatched  the  light  out  of  Ca- 
nova's  hand  ;  and  to  this  circumstance  the  fol- 
lowing passage  of  the  poem  referred  to  was 
meant  to  allude  :  — 

When  he,  thy  p«er  in  art  and  fain*, 
HiiiiK  ii'er  the  marble  with  delight ;  * 
And,  Mhile  his  ling'ring  band  would  tteaJ 

O'er  every  grace  the  taper'H  rays, 
Gave  thee,  with  all  the  gen'rout  seal 
Such  nioKter  Kpiritji  only  feel. 

That  best  of  Tanie  —  a  riral'a  praiM. 

One  of  the  days  that  still  linger  most  pleas- 
antly in  my  memory,  and  which,  I  trust,  neither 
Lady  Calcott  nor  Mr.  Eastlake  have  quite  for- 
gotten, was  that  of  our  visit  together  to  the 
Palatine  Mount,  when,  as  we  sauntered  about 
that  picturesque  spot,  enjoj'ing  the  varied  views 
of  Rome  which  it  comm  ^nds,  they  made  me, 
for  the  first  time,  acquainted  with  Guidi's  spir- 
ited Ode  on  the  Arcadians,  in  which  there  is 
poetry  enough  to  make  amends  for  all  the  non- 
sense of  his  rhyming  brethren.  Truly  and 
grandly  does  he  exclaim, — 

**  Indoniita  e  supcrba  ancor  i  Roma 
Benchti  hi  veggii  col  gran  busto  a  terra^ 

Son  piene  di  splendor  le  cue  mine, 
E  il  gran  cenere  auo  si  mostra  etemo." 

"W  ith  Canova,  while  sitting  to  Jackson  for  a 
portrait  ordered  by  Chantrey,  I  had  mqre  than 
once  some  interesting  conversation,  —  or,  rather, 
listened  while  he  spoke,  —  respecting  the  polit- 
ical state  of  Europe  at  that  period,  and  those 
"bricconi,"  as  he  styled  them,  the  sovereigns 
«f  ths  Holy  Alliance ;  and,  before  I  left  Rome, 

i  A  ftatue,  I  believe,  of  Piua  VL 
•  See  Rhymes  on  the  Road. 

1  A  sligh .  aliaraiion  hsre  has  rendered  Umm  xvam  man 
56 


he  kindly  presented  to  me  a  set  of  engraringt 
from  some  of  his  finest  statues,  together  will 
a  copy  of  the  beautifully  printed  collection  of 
Poems,  which  a  Roman  poet  named  Missirinl 
had  written  in  praise  of  his  different  "  MannL" 

Wlien  Lord  John  Russell  and  myself  parted, 
at  Milan,  it  was  agreed  between  us,  that  after  ■ 
short  visit  to  Rome,  and  (if  practicable  within 
the  allowed  time)  to  Naples,  I  was  to  rejom  Him 
at  Genoa,  and  from  thence  accompany  him  to 
England.  But  the  early  period  for  whiih  Par- 
liament was  summoned,  that  year,  owing  to  the 
violent  proceedings  at  Manchester,  rendered  it 
necessary  for  Lord  John  to  hasten  his  return  to 
England.  I  was,  therefore,  most  fortunate,  un- 
der such  circumstances,  in  being  permitted  by 
my  friends  Chantrey  and  Jackson  to  join  in 
their  journey  homeward  ;  through  which  lucky 
arrangement,  the  same  precious  privilege  I  had 
enjoyed,  at  Rome,  of  hearing  the  opinions  of 
such  practised  judges,  on  all  the  great  works  of 
art  I  saw  in  their  company,  was  afterwards  con- 
tinued to  me  through  the  various  collections  wa 
visited  together,  at  Florence,  Bologna,  Modena, 
Parma,  Milan,  and  Turin. 

To  some  of  those  pictures  a'nd  statues  that 
most  took  my  fancy,  during  my  tour,  allusion! 
will  be  found  in  a  few  of  the  poems  contained 
in  this  volume.  But  the  great  pleasure  I  de- 
rived from  these  and  many  other  sucK  worki 
arose  far  more  from  the  poetical  nature  of  their 
subjects  than  from  any  judgment  I  had  learned 
to  form  of  their  real  merit  as  works  of  art, — 
a  line  of  lore  in  which,  notwithstanding  my 
course  of  schooling,  I  remained,  I  fear,  unen- 
lightened to  the  last.  For  all  that  was  lost 
upon  me,  however,  in  the  halls  of  Art,  I  waa 
more  than  consoled  in  the  cheap  picture  gallery 
of  Nature ;  and  a  glorious  sunset  I  witnessed 
in  ^ccndipg  the  Siraplon  is  still  remembered 
by  me  with  a  depth  and  freshness  of  feeling 
which  no  one  work  of  art  I  saw  in  the  gallerien 
of  Italy  has  left  behind. 

I  have  now  a  few  words  to  devote  to  a  some- 
what kindred  subject  with  which  a  poem  or  two 
contained  in  the  following  pages  are  closely  con- 
nected.* In  my  Preface  to  the  First  Volume  ol 
this  collection,  I  briefly  noticed  the  taste  for 
Private  Theatrical  Performances  which  pre- 
vailed during  the  latter  half  of  the  last  century 
among  the  higher  ranks  in  Ireland.  This  taste 
continued  for  nearly  twenty  year*  to  surriTa 


tni*  to  the  actual  fact  than  tbsr  «ran  to  tlwlr 
tbrm. 
«  Sm  MiaMllajieouf  FoMiab 


U2 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


the  epoch  of  the  Union,  and  in  the  perform- 
ances of  the  Private  Theatre  of  Kilkenny  gave 
forth  its  last,  as  well  as,  perhaps,  brightest 
flashes.  The  life  and  soul  of  this  institution 
was  our  manager,  the  late  Mr.  Richard  Pov/er, 
a  gentleman  who  could  boast  a  larger  circle  of 
Attached  friends,  and  through  a  life  more  free 
torn  shadow  or  alloy,  than  any  individual  it 
has  ever  been  my  lot  to  know.  No  livelier 
proof,  indeed,  could  be  required  of  the  sort  of 
feeling  entertained  towards  him  than  was  once 
jhovvn  in  the  reception  given  to  the  two  follow- 
ing homely  lines  which  occurred  in  a  Prologue 
I  wrote  to  be  spoken  by  Mr.  Corry  in  the  char- 
acter of  Vapid. 

'Tis  said  our  worthy  manager  intends 

To  help  my  night,  and  he,  you  know,  has  friends.i 

These  few  simple  words  I  write  with  the  as- 
sured conviction  that  they  would  produce  more 
effect  from  the  homefelt  truism  they  contained 
than  could  be  effected  by  the  most  labored  burst 
of  eloquence ;  and  the  result  was  just  what  I 
had  anticipated,  for  the  house  rung,  for  a  con- 
siderable time,  with  the  heartiest  plaudits. 

The  chief  comic,  or  rather  farcical,  force  of 
the  company  lay  in  my  friend  Mr.  Corry,  and 
»•  longo  intcrvallo,"  myself ;  and  though,  as 
usual,  with  low  comedians,  we  were  much 
looked  doAvn  upon  by  the  lofty  lords  of  the 
Duskin,  many  was  the  sly  joke  we  used  to  in- 
dulge together,  at  the  expense  of  our  heroic 
brethren.  Some  waggish  critic,  indeed,  is  said 
to  have  declared  that  of  all  the  personages  of 
our  theatre  he  most  admired  the  prompter, — 
"because  he  was  least  seen  and  best  heard." 
But  this  joke  was,  of  course,  a  mere  good- 
humored  slander.  There  were  two,  at  least,  of 
our  dramatic  corps,  Sir  Wrixon  Becher  and  Mr. 
Rothe,  whose  powers,  as  tragic  actors,  few  ama- 
teurs have  ever  equalled ;  and  Mr.  Corry  — 
perhaps  alone  of  all  our  company  —  would  have 
been  sure  of  winning  laurels  on  the  public  stage. 

As  to  my  own  share  in  these  representations, 
the  following  list  of  my  most  successful  char- 
acters will  show  how  remote  from  the  line  of 
the  Heroic  was  the  small  orbit  through  which 
I  ranged  ;  my  chief  parts  having  been  Sam,  in 
"  Raising  the  Wind,"  Robin  Roughhead,  Mungo, 
Badi,  in  the  "  Mountaineers,"  Spado,  and  Peep- 
ing Tom.  In  the  part  of  Spado  there  ocJcur 
several  allusions  to  that  gay  rogue's  shortness 
of  stature  wluch  never  failed  to  be  welcomed 

*  See  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


by  my  auditors  with  laughter  and  cheers  ;  and 
the  words  "  Even  Sanguino  allows  I  am  a  clcvei 
little  fellow"  was  always  a  signal  for  this  sor 
of  friendly  explosion.  One  of  the  songs,  in- 
deed, written  by  O'Keefe  for  the  character  of 
Spado  so  much  abounds  with  points  thus  per* 
sonall}'-  applicable,  that  many  supposed,  with 
no  great  compliment  either  to  my  poetry  or  my 
modesty,  that  the  song  had  been  written,  ex- 
pressly for  the  occasion,  by  myself.  The  folloW" 
ing  is  the  verse  to  which  I  allude,  and  for  th* 
poetry  of  which  I  was  thus  made  responsible :  — 

•'  Though  bom  to  be  little's  my  fate, 

Yet  so  was  the  great  Alexander ; 
And,  wiien  I  wallc  under  a  gate, 

I've  no  need  to  stoop  like  a  gander. 
I'm  no  lanky,  long  hoddy  doddy, 

Whose  paper  kite  sails  in  the  sky  ; 
Though  wanting  two  feet,  in  my  body, 

In  soul,  I  am  thirty  feet  high." 

Some  further  account  of  the  Kilkenny  Theatre, 
as  well  as  of  the  history  of  Private  Theatrical! 
in  general,  will  be  found  in  an  article  I  wrote  on 
the  subject  for  the  Edinburgh  Review,  vol.  xlvi. 
No.  92,  p.  368. 


The  singular  placidity  with  which  Fadladeem 
had  listened,  during  the  latter  part  of  this  ob- 
noxious story,  surprised  the  Princess  and  FtaA- 
Moiiz  exceedingly ;  and  even  inclined  tOAvards 
him  the  hearts  of  these  unsuspicious  young 
persons,  who  little  knew  the  source  of  a  com- 
placency so  marvellous.  The  truth  was,  he  had 
been  organizing,  for  the  last  few  days,  a  most 
notable  plan  of  persecution  against  the  poet,  in 
consequence  of  some  passages  that  had  fallen 
from  him  on  the  second  evening  of  recital,  — 
which  appeared  to  this  worthy  Chamberlain  to 
contain  language  and  principles,  for  which  noth- 
ing short  of  the  summarj'  criticism  of  the  Cha- 
buk  *  would  be  advisable.  It  was  his  intention, 
therefore,  immediately  on  their  arrival  at  Cash- 
mere, to  give  information  to  the  King  of  Bu- 
charia  of  the  very  dangerous  sentiments  of  hi» 
minstrel ;  and  if,  unfortunately,  that  monarch 
did  not  act  with  suitable  vigor  on  the  occasion, 
(that  is,  if  he  did  not  give  the  Chabuk  to  Feba- 
MOBz,  and  a  place  to  Fadladeen,)  there  would 
be  an  end,  he  feared,  of  all  legitimate  govern- 
ment in  Bucharia.  He  could  not  help,  hofT' 
ever,  auguring  better  both  for  himself  and  thi 

S  "  The  application  of  whips  or  rods."  —  Dubois 


m  i83  of  potentates  in  general ;  and  it  was  the 
pleasure  arising  from  these  mingled  anticipa- 
tions that  difi'uscd  such  unusual  satisfaction 
through  his  features,  and  made  his  eyes  shine 
out,  like  poppies  of  the  desert,  over  the  wide 
and  lifeless  wilderness  of  that  countenance. 

Having  decided  upon  the  Poet's  chastisement 
iu  Okxm  a-.vr.r)£^  b;  thought  it  bj .t  humanity  to 
fpu:  him  the  minor  tortures  of  criticism.  Ac- 
lordingly,  when  they  assembled  the  following 
evening  in  the  pavilion,  and  Lalla  Rooku  was 
expecting  to  see  all  the  beauties  of  her  bard 
nelt  away,  one  by  one,  in  the  acidity  of  criti- 
cism, like  pearls  in  the  cup  of  the  Egyptian 
queen,  —  he  agreeably  disappointed  her,  by 
merely  saying,  with  an  ironical  smile,  that  the 
merits  of  such  a  poem  deserved  to  be  tried  at 
a  much  higher  tribunal ;  and  then  suddenly 
j^assed  off  into  a  panegyric  upon  all  Mussul- 
man sovereigns,  more  particularly  his  august 
and  Imperial  master,  Aurungzebe,  —  the  wisest 
and  best  of  the  descendants  of  Tunur,  —  who, 
among  other  great  things  he  had  done  for  man- 
kind, had  given  to  him,  Fadladeen,  the  very 
profitable  posts  of  Betel  Carrier  and  Taster  of 
Sherbets  to  the  Emperor,  Chief  Holder  of  the 
Girdle  of  Beautiful  Forms,'  and  Grand  Nazir, 
ii  Chamberlain  of  the  Harem. 

'ITiey  were  now  not  far  from  that  Forbidden 
River,*  beyond  which  no  pure  Hindoo  can  pass ; 
and  were  reposing  for  a  time  in  the  rich  valley 
of  Hussun  Abdaul,  which  had  always  been  a 
favorite  resting-place  of  the  Emperors  in  their 
annual  migrations  to  Cashmere.  Hero  often 
had  the  Light  of  the  Faith,  Jchanguire,  been 
known  to  wander  with  his  beloved  and  beauti- 
ful Nourmahal ;  and  here  would  Lalla  Kookh 
have  been  happy  to  remain  forever,  giving  up 
:he  throne  of  Bucharia  and  the  world,  for  Fbb- 


1  Kempfer  mentions  nicb  an  olBcer  among  the  (ttendanta 
of  tbe  Kini;  of  Tersia,  and  rallsi  liiin  "  fonnx  cuiporis  esti- 
mator." Hix  buslines:!  wan,  at  stated  pcrioda,  to  measure 
Ue  ladie*  of  the  Ilarem  by  a  sort  of  regulation  girdle,  wliiwe 
limitii  it  was  not  thought  graceful  to  exceed.  If  any  of  them 
•utgrew  this  standard  of  shape,  they  were  reduced  by  abeti- 
oence  till  tiiey  came  within  proper  bound*. 

»  'I'he  Attuck. 

"  .\kl)ar  on  his  way  ordered  a  fort  to  be  built  upon  the 
Kilab,  which  he  called  Attock,  which  means  in  the  Indian 
Bnguage' Forbidden  ;  for,  by  the  8U|>er!itition  of  the  Hindoo*, 
it  was  held  unlawful  to  croai  that  river."  —  Dm'M  Uindos' 
an. 

*  "  Tb*  iqh«Vtanu  of  this  countnr  ^7in^^)  are  never  af- 


AMOEz  and  love  in  this  sweet,  lonely  rallej 
But  the  time  was  now  fast  approaching  whei 
she  must  see  him  no  longer,  —  or,  what  wai 
still  worse,  behold  liim  with  eyes  whose  everj 
look  belonged  to  another;  and  there  was 
melancholy  preciousncss  in  these  last  moinonti, 
which  made  her  heart  cling  to  them  as  it  woulu 
to  life.  During  the  latter  part  of  the  joumej 
indeed,  she  had  sunk  into  a  deep  sadness,  from 
which  nothing  but  the  presence  of  the  young 
minstrel  could  awake  her.  Like  those  lamps 
in  tombs,  which  only  light  up  when  the  air  la 
admitted,  it  was  only  at  his  approach  that  her 
eyes  became  smiling  and  animated.  But  here, 
in  this  dear  valley,  every  moment  appeared  an 
age  of  pleasure  ;  she  saw  him  all  day,  and  was 
therefore,  all  day  happy,  —  resembling,  she  often 
thought,  that  people  of  Zingc,'  who  attribute 
the  unfading  cheerfulness  they  enjoy  to  one 
genial  star  that  rises  nightly  over  their  heads.* 

The  whole  party,  indeed,  seemed  in  their  live- 
liest mood  during  the  few  days  they  passed  in 
this  delightful  solitude.  The  young  attendants 
of  the  Princess,  who  wore  here  allowed  a  much 
freer  range  than  they  could  safely  be  indulged 
with  in  a  less  sequestered  place,  ran  wild  among 
the  gardens  and  bounded  through  the  meadows, 
lightly  as  young  roes  over  the  aromatic  plains 
of  Tibet.  ^Vhile  Fadlaueen,  in  addition  to  the 
spiritual  comfort  derived  by  him  from  a  pil- 
grimage to  the  tomb  of  the  Saint  from  whom 
the  valley  is  named,  had  also  opportunities  of 
indulging,  in  a  small  way,  his  taste  for  victims, 
by  putting  to  death  some  hundreds  of  thos« 
unfortunate  little  lizards,*  which  all  pious  Mus- 
sulmans make  it  a  point  to  kill ;  —  taking  for 
granted,  that  the  manner  in  which  the  crea- 
ture hangs  its  head  is  meant  an  a  mimicry  of 
the  attitude  in  which  the  Faithful  say  thcii 
prayers. 


dieted  with  aadneas  or  melancholy ;  on  thit  lui^iert  tbe 
Sheik  Abn-<il-Kheir-JIihan  has  the  foltcwing  distich :  — 

"  '  Who  is  the  raati  wiUiout  care  or  sonxiw,  (tell)  ttat 
may  rub  my  hand  to  him. 

"  '  (Behold)  the  Zingians,  without  care  or  aonow,  (hoiie- 
aome  with  tipaineMs  and  mirth.' 

"  Tbe  pliiloaupben  have  discovered  that  the  cjiuae  M  Ihv 
cbeerfulnesa  proceed*  from  tbe  influence  of  the  star  ftubeC 
or  Canopus,  which  rise*  over  them  every  nifbL*  —Enrma 
from  a  OeographiuU  Pertian  Mantuerift  eulUd  H^  AUim. 
«r  ttu  Sevm  ClimaUt,  trantlaUd  bf  W.  Ou*eUjf,  Ctf 

*  The  star  Soheil,  or  Canopus, 

i  "  The  lizard  Sicllia  The  Arabs  call  it  lUrdut  Tm 
Turks  kill  it,  for  they  Imagine  that  by  declining  tna  bead  | 
mimic*  them  when  thejr  aajr  tbetr  prayen."— i 


<4i 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


About  two  miles  from  Hussun  Abdaul  were 
those  Royal  Gardens,'  which  had  grown  beau- 
tiful under  the  care  of  so  many  lovely  eyes,  and 
were  beautiful  still,  though  those  eyes  could 
Bee  thom  no  longer.  This  p^ace,  with  its  flow- 
ers aad  its  holy  silence,  interrupted  only  by  the 
dipping  of  the  wings  of  birds  in  its  marble 
Dasins  filled  with  the  pure  water  of  those  hills, 
was  to  Lalla  Rookh  all  that  her  heart  could 
fancy  of  fragrance,  coolness,  and  almost  heav- 
enly tranquillity.  As  the  Prophet  said  of  Da- 
mascus, "it  was  too  delicious  ;" *  —  and  here, 
in  listening  to  the  sweet  voice  of  Feramohz,  or 
reading  in  his  eyes  what  yet  he  never  dared  to 
tell  her,  the  most  exquisite  moments  of  her 
whole  life  were  passed.  One  evening,  when 
they  had  been  talking  of  the  Sultana  Nour- 
mahal,  the  Light  of  the  Harem,'  who  had  so 
often  wandered  among  these  flowers,  and  fed 
with  her  own  hands,  in  those  marble  basins,  the 
small  shining  fishes  of  which  she  was  so  fond,* 
—  the  youth,  in  order  to  delay  the  moment  of 
separation,  proposed  to  recite  a  short  story,  or 
rather  raphsody  of  which  this  adored  Sultana 
was  the  heroine.  It  related,  he  said,  to  the  re- 
concilement of  a  sort  of  lovers'  quarrel  which 
*ook  place  between  her  and  the  Emperor  during 
a  Feast  of  Roses  at  Cashmere ;  and  would 
remind  the  Princess  of  that  diff"erence  between 
Haroun-al-Raschid  and  his  fair  mistress  Marida,* 
which  was  so  happily  made  up  by  the  soft 
strains  of  the  musician,  Moussali.  As  the  story 
was  chiefly  to  be  told  in  song,  and  Pehamorz 
had  unluckily  forgotten  his  own  lute  in  the 
valley,  he  borrowed  the  vina  of  Lalla  Rooku's 
little  Persian  slave,  and  thus  began :  — 


•  ^or  these  particulats  respecting  Hussum  Abdaul  I  am 
bvtebted  to  the  very  interesting  Introduction  of  Mr.  Elphin- 
Sotie's  work  upon  Caubul. 

»  "  As  you  enter  at  that  Bazaar,  without  the  gate  of  Da- 
i»*scus,you  see  the  Green  Mosque,  so  called  because  it  hath 
I  rtseple  faced  with  ^reen  glazed  bricks,  which  render  it 
♦ery  resplendent ;  it  is  covered  at  top  with  a  pavilion  of  the 
Kune  stuff.  The  Turks  say  this  mosque  was  made  in  that 
pls^e,  because  Mahomet  being  come  so  far,  would  not  enter 
Ihe  town,  saying  it  was  too  delicious." — TheverwL  This 
teminls  one  of  the  following  pretty  passage  in  Izaak  Wal- 
*n:  —  "When  I  sat  last  on  this  primrose  bank,  and  looked 
iown  these  meadows,  I  thought  of  them  as  Charles  the  Em- 
peror did  of  the  city  of  Florence, '  that  they  were  too  pleas- 
Uit  to  be  looked  on,  but  only  on  holidays.'  " 

0  Nourmahal  signifies  Light  of  the  Harem.  She  was  af- 
tem  uds  called  Nourjehaa>  vt  the  Li^ht  of  the  World. 


Who  has  not  heard  of  the  Vale  of  Cashmere, 
With  its  roses  the  brightest  that  earth  evei 
gave,« 
Its  temples,  and  grottoes,  and  fountains  as  cleaf 
As  the  love-lighted  eyes  that  hang  over  theii 
wave  ? 

O,  to  see  it  at  sunset,  —  when  warm  o  er  thi 

Lake 
Its  splendor  at  parting  a  summer  eve  throws, 
Like  a  bride,  fuU  of  blushes,  when  hng'ring  to 

take 
A  last   look  of  her   mirror  at  night  ere  she 

goes !  — 
When    the    shrines    through   the  foUage  are 

gleaming  half  shown. 
And  each  hallows  the  hour  by  some  rites  of  its 

own. 
Here  the  music  of  pray'r  from  a  minaret  swells, 
Here  the  Magian  his  urn,  full  of  perfume,  is 

swinging. 
And  here,  at  the  altar,  a  zone  of  sweet  bells 
Round  the  waist  of  some  fair  Indian  dancer  is 

ringing.'' 
Or  to  see  it  by  moonlight,  —  when  mellowly 

shines 
The  light  o'er  its  palaces,  gardens,  and  shrines ; 
When  the  waterfalls  gleam,  like  a  quick  fall  of 

stars, 
And  the  nightingale's  hymn  from  \  he  Isle  of 

Chenars 
Is  broken  by  laughs  and  light  echoes  of  feet 
From  the  cool,  shining  walks  where  the  young 

people  meet.  — 
Or  at  morn,  when  the  magic  of  daylight  awakes 
A  new  wonder  each  minute,  as  slowly  it  breaks, 
Hills,   cupolas,    fountains,    call'd    forth  every 

one 
Out  of  darkness,  as  if  but  just  born   of  the 

Sun. 


*  See  note  5,  p.  435,  of  this  edition. 

5  "  Uaroun  Al  Kaschid,  cinquieuie  Khalife  des  AuasBidoSj 
s'^tant  un  jour  brouille  avec  une  de  ses  maiti'esses  nomm^ 
Maridah,  qu'il  aimoit  cependant  jusqu'4 1'exces,  et  cetle  m^ 
sintelligence  ayant  deji  dure  quelque  terns  commcn^a  6 1'tOr 
nuyer.  Giafar  Barmaki,  son  favori,  qui  s'en  apperciit,  com- 
manda  k  Abbas  ben  Ahnaf,  excellent  poete  de  ce  terns  ik,  da 
composer  qtielques  vers  sur  le  sujet  de  cette  brouillerie.  Ce 
poete  executa  I'ordre  de  Giafar,  qui  fit  chanter  ces  vers  pal 
Moussali  en  presence  du  Khalife, °et  ce  prince  fut  tellement 
touch6  de  la  tendresse  des  vers  du  poete  et  de  la  douceur  de 
la  voix  du  musicien  qu'il  alia  aussitSt  trouver  Maridali,  el 
fit  sa  paix  avec  elle.  —  D'HerbeloL 

*  "  The  rose  of  Kashmire  for  its  brillianry  and  delicacf 
of  odor  has  long  been  proverbial  in  the  East."  —  Forster. 

1  "  Tied  round  her  waist  the  zone  of  bells,  tliat  sounded 
with  ravishing  melody."  —  Son^  ofjayadcva 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


««• 


When  the  Spirit  of  Fragrance  u  up  with  the 

day, 
Prom  his  Harem  of  night  flowers  ntealing  away ; 
And  the  wind,  full  of  wantonness,  wooes  like  a 

lover 
The  young  aspen  trees,'  till  they  tremble  all 

over. 
When  the  East  is  as  warm  as  the  light  of  first 

hopes, 
And  Day,  with  his  banner  of  radiance  unfurl' d, 
Eh-nes  in  through  the  mountainous  portal '  that 

opes, 
Sublime,    from  that  Valley  of  bliss  to  the 

»orld  ! 

But  never  yet,  by  night  or  day, 
In  dew  of  spring  or  summer's  ray, 
Did  the  sweet  Valley  shine  so  gay 
As  now  it  shines  —  all  love  and  light. 
Visions  by  day  and  feasts  by  night  1 
A  happier  smile  illumes  each  brow. 

With  quicker  spread  each  heart  xmcloses, 
And  all  is  ecstasy,  —  for  now 

The  Valley  holds  its  Feast  of  Roses ; » 
The  joyous  Time,  when  pleasures  pour 
Profusely  round  and,  in  their  shower, 
Hearts  open,  like  the  Season's  Rose,  — 

ITie  Flow'ret  of  a  hundred  leaves,* 
Expanding  while  the  dew  fall  flows, 

And  every  leaf  its  balm  receives. 

Twas  when  the  hour  of  evening  came 

Upon  the  Lake,  serene  and  cool. 
When  Day  had  hid  his  sultry  flame 

Behind  the  palms  of  Baramoulb,' 
When  maids  began  to  lift  their  heads, 
Refresh'd  from  their  embroidcr'd  beds. 
Where  they  had  slept  the  sun  away. 
And  wak'd  to  moonlight  and  to  play. 
All  were  abroad  —  the  busiest  hive 
On  Bela's  *  hills  w  less  alive. 
When  saffron  beds  arc  full  in  flower. 
Than  look'd  the  Valley  in  that  hour. 

1  "  The  linle  isles  in  the  Lake  of  Cachemlre  are  set  with 
■ibora  an'*,  large-leaved  aiipen  tnet,  slender  and  talL"  — 
Mtmi'T 

t  >•  The  Tuckt  Siiliroan,  the  name  bestowed  by  the  Ma- 
bommetani  on  thi.s  hill,  forms  one  side  of  a  grand  {wrtal  to 
the  Lake."  —  Forster. 

<  "  The  Feaxt  of  Ro««s  continues  the  whole  time  of  tbeir 
remaining  in  bloom."  —  See  Pietro  de  ti  FaUt. 

*  "  Gill  sad  berk,  the  Rose  of  a  hundred  leavea.  I  believe 
a  particular  npeciea."  —Outelrjf.  *  Bermtr. 

*  A  place  mentioned  in  the  Toozek  Jehangeery,  or  M»- 
noim  of  Jchanguire,  where  tnere  \»  an  account  of  the  beds 
ot  saffron  flowers  abuiit  Casliniere. 

T  '>  It  i«    hf   custom  ainonc  tlic  women  to  employ  the 


A  thousand  restless  torches  pUy'd 
Through  every  grove  and  island  shad* 
A  thousand  sparkling  lamps  were  Mt 
On  every  dome  and  minaret ; 
And  fields  and  pathways,  far  and  near, 
Were  lighted  by  a  blaze  so  clear, 
That  you  could  see,  in  wandering  rmmd, 
The  smallest  rose  leaf  on  the  grountL 
Yet  did  the  maids  and  matrons  leave 
Their  veils  at  home,  that  brilliant  eve ; 
And  there  were  glancing  eyes  about, 
And  checks,  that  would  not  dare  shine  >at 
In  open  day,  but  thought  tfecy  might 
Look  lovely  then,  because  'twas  night. 
And  all  were  free,  and  wandering. 

And  all  exclaim'd  to  all  they  met. 
That  never  did  the  summer  bring 

So  gay  a  Feast  of  Roses  yet ;  — 
The  moon  had  never  shed  a  light 
.  So  clear  as  that  which  bless'd  them  there 
The  roses  ne'er  shone  kalf  so  bright. 

Nor  they  themselves  look'd  half  Ao  fair. 

And  what  a  wilderness  of  flowers  ! 
It  scem'd  as  though  from  all  the  bowers 
And  fairest  fields  of  all  the  year. 
The  mingled  spoil  were  scatter'd  here. 
The  Lake,  too,  like  a  garden  breathes, 

Vv'ith  the  rich  buds  that  o'er  it  li«»    • 
As  if  a  shower  of  fairy  wTcaths 

Had  fall'n  upon  it  from  the  sky  1 
And  then  the  sounds  of  joy,  —  the  b«Mit 
Of  tabors  and  of  dancing  feet ; 
The  minaret  crier's  chant  of  glee 
Sung  from  his  lighted  gallery,^ 
And  answcr'd  by  a  ziraleet 
From  neigboring  Harem,  wild  and  sweet ;  - 
The  merry  laughter,  echoing 
From  gardens,  where  the  silken  swing  • 
Wafts  some  delighted  girl  above 
The  top  leaves  of  the  orange  grove ; 
Or,  from  those  infant  groups  at  play 
Among  the  tents  '  that  line  the  way, 

Maazeen  to  chant  from  the  gallery  of  (be  nearest  iakiv» 
which  on  that  occasion  U  illuminated,  and  the  wmomi  a* 
aembled  at  the  bouse  respond  at  intervals  with  a  littUm  «l 
Joyous  chorus."  —  Rmstd. 

*  "  The  swing  is  a  favorite  partime  in  the  Bast,  as  ,«» 
moting  a  circulation  of  air,  extremely  refrenfaing  it  Itmai 
sultry  climateH."  —  Rkkardtou. 

*•  Tbe  swings  are  adorned  with  fentoona.  Thie  artiaM 
is  accompanied  with  muxic  of  voice*  and  of  iiisUu Bents 
hired  by  the  masters  of  the  swinp." — Tluuntt 

•  «  At  the  keeping  of  the  Feast  of  Rows  we  bebsM  aa  la 
Anite  number  of  tents  pitched,  wiUi  such  a  crowd  of  ■•» 
women,  boys,  and  firis,  with  music,  dances,"  4«.  ftc- 
Ittrhtrt 


Flinging,  unaw'd  by  slave  or  mother, 

llandfuls  of  roses  at  each  other.  — 

Then,  the  sounds  from  the  Lake,  —  the  low 

whispering  in  boats, 
As  they  shoot  through  the  moonlight ;  —  the 

dipping  of  oars, 
A.nd  the  wild,  airy  warbling  that  every  where 

floats. 
Through  the  groves,  round  the  islands,  as  if 

all  the  shorc-s, 
Like  those  of  Katiiay,  utter'd  music,  and  gave 
An  answer  in  song  to  the  kiss  of  each  Avave.' 
But  the  gentlest  of  all  are  those  sounds,  full  of 

feeling. 
That  soft  from  the  lute  of  some  lover  are  steal- 
ing,— 
Some  lover,  who  knows  all  the  heart-touching 

power 
Of  a  lute  and  a  sigh  in  this  magical  hour.        f  f 
0,  best  of  delights  as  it  every  where  is 
Tc  be  near  the  lov'd  One,  —  what  a  rapture  is  his 
Who  in  moonlight  and  music  thus  sweetly  may 

glide 
O'er  the  Lake  of  Cashmere,  with  that  One  by 

his  side  ! 
If  woman  can  make  the  worst  wilderness  dear. 
Think,  think  what  a  Heav'n  she  must  make  of 

Cashmebe ! 

So  felt  the  magnificent  Son  of  Acbar,' 

When  from  power  and  pomp  and  the  trophies 

of  war 
He  flew  to  that  Valley,  forgetting  them  all 
With  the  Light  of  the  Harem,  his  young  Nour- 

MAHAL. 

When  free  and  uncrown' d  as  the  Conqueror 

rov'd 
IW  the  banks  of  that  Lake,  with  his  only  belov'd. 
He   saw,  in  the  wreaths  she  would  playfully 

snatch 
From  the  hedges,  a  glory  his  crown  could  not 

match, 
\j  d  preferr'd  in  his  heart  the  least  ringlet  that 

curl'd 
i  4i  •  wn  her  exquisite  neck  to  the  throne  of  the 

world. 


•  "An  old  cummentator  of  the  Chou-King  says,  the  an- 
'.icnta  having  remarked  that  a  current  of  water  made  some 
«"  the  stones  near  its  hanks  send  forth  a  sound,  they  de- 
.ached  some  of  them,  and  being  charmed  with  tlie  delightful 
south]  they  emitted,  constructed  King  or  musical  Instru- 
oeiits  of  them."  — Orosier 

This  miraculous,  quality  has  been  attributed  also  to  the 
«!iore  of  Attica.  "  Hujus  lit  us,  ait  Capella,  concentum  nni- 
unin  il'isis  terre  ur*!    'edd^re,  quod  propter  tantam  erudi- 


There's  a  beauty  forever  unchangingly  bright 
Like  the  long,  sunny  lapse  of  a  summer-day'i 

light, 
Shining  on,  shining  on,  by  no  shadow   madi 

tender, 
Till  Love  falls  asleep  in  its  sameness  of  splendor. 
This  was  not  the  beauty  —  0,  nothing  like  this,. 
That  to  young  Noi/rmahal  giive  such  magic  r)f 

bliss  ! 
But  that  loveliness,  ever  in  motion,  which  p'f  js 
Like  the  light  upon  autumn's  soft  shadowy  days, 
Now  here  and  now  there,  giving  warmth  as  it 

flies 
From  the  lip  to  the  cheek,  from  the  cheek  to 

the  eyes ; 
Now   melting    in   mist  and    now  breaking    in 

gleams. 
Like  the  glimpses  a  saint  hath  of  Heav'n  in  hi.» 

dreams. 
When  pensive,  it  seem'd  as  if  that  very  grace, 
That  charm  of  all  others,  was  born  with  her  face  ! 
And  when  angry,  —  for  ev'n  in  the  tranquillest 

climes 
Light  breezes  will  ruffle  the  blossoms   some- 
times— 
The  short,  passing  anger  but  seem'd  to  awaken 
New  beauty,  like  flowers  that  are  sweetest  wheu 

shaken. 
If  tenderness  touch'd  her,  the  dark  of  her  eyp 
At  once  took  a  darker,  a  heavenUor  dye. 
From  the  depth  of  whose  shadow,  like  holy 

revealings 
From  innermost  shrines,  came  the  light  of  hei 

feelings. 
Then  her  mirth  —  O,   'twas   sportive   as   evei 

took  wing 
From  the  heart  with  a  burst,  Aike  the  wild  bird 

in  spring ; 
lUum'd  by  a  wit  that  would  tiacinate  sages. 
Yet  playful  as  Peris  just  loos'd  from  their  cages.* 
While  her  laugh,  full  of  life,  without  any  control 
But  the  sweet  one   of  gracefulness,  rung  from 

her  soul ; 
And  where  it  most  sparkled  no  glance  could 

discover. 
In  lip,  cheek,  or  eyes,  for  she  brighten* d  aL  ever, 


tionis  vim  puto  dictum."  —  Ludov.  Vives  in  AufjLstin  it 
Civitat.  Dei,  lib.  iviii.  c.  8. 

*  Jehanguire  was  the  son  of  the  Great  Acbar. 

8  In  the  wars  of  the  Dives  with  the  Peris,  whenever  the 
former  took  the  latter  prisoners,  "they  s'hut  them  up  in  iron 
cages,  and  hung  them  on  the  highest  trees.  Here  they  were 
visited  by  their  companions,  who  brought  'hem  the  choices! 
odors."  —  Richardson. 


LALLA  RUOKH. 


Like  any  fair  lake  that  the  breeze  is  upon, 
Wlicn  it  breaks  into  dimples  and  laughs  in  the 

sun. 
Ruch,   such  were   the  peerless   enchantments, 

that  gave 
NocBMAHAL  the  proud  Lord  of  the  East  for  her 

slave  : 
1-iJ  though  blight  was  his  Harem,  —  a  living 

partcne 
Cf  '.ht  flow'rs  '  of  this  planet  —  though  treasures 

were  there, 
Poi  wliich  Soliman's  self  might  havo  giv'n  all 

the  store 
rhat  the  navy  from  Ophir  e'er  wing'd  to  his 

shore, 
Vet   dim   before  her  were  the  smiles  of  them 

all. 
A  nd  the  Light  of  his  Harem  was  young  Noub- 

MAHAL ! 

But  where  is  she  now,  this  night  of  joy, 

When  bliss  is  every  heart's  employ  ?  — 

AVhen  all  around  her  is  so  bright. 

So  like  the  visions  of  a  trance, 

That  one  might  think,  who  came  by  chance 

Into  the  vale  this  happy  night, 

lie  saw  that  City  of  Delight ' 

In  Fairyland,  whose  streets  and  towers 

Are  made  of  gems  and  light  and  flowers  I 

Where  is  the  lov'd  Sultana  r  where, 

When  mirth  brings  out  the  young  and  fair, 

Does  she,  the  fairest,  hide  her  brow. 

In  melancholy  stillness  now  ? 

Alas  !  -^how  light  a  cause  may  move 
Dissension  between  hearts  thac  love  ! 
Hearts  that  the  world  in  vain  had  tried, 
A.nd  sorrow  but  more  closely  tied  ; 
That  stood  the  storm,  when  waves  were  rough, 
Yet  in  a  sunny  hour  fall  off. 
Like  ships  that  have  gone  do^^-n  at  sea. 
When  heav.jn  was  all  tranquillity  ! 
A  something,  light  as  air  —  a  look, 
A  word  unkind  or  wrongly  taken  — 

0  1  jve.  that  tempests  never  shook. 

A  breath,  a  touch  like  this  hath  shaken. 
And  ruder  v.-ords  will  soon  rush  in 
To  spread  the  breach  that  words  begin  ; 

I  In  the  ftlaUy  languafe  tlio  same  word  signUlM  waman 
tnd  fliiwers. 

*  I1ie  capital  of  Sbadukiam.    See  note  3,  p.  408,  of  tUi 
fdition. 

»  5?ee  the  rfiire^cntatinn  of  the  Eartem  Cupid,  pinioned 
tloiiely  roiitul  with  wreaths  of  fluwera,  in  PiearCt  C^rtroo- 

1  ei)  Ilelii:ieii5pa. 

*  Am  )iig  the  lirds  of  Toiiiuin  if  a  apeciee  of  goldflncll. 


And  eyes  forget  the  gentle  ray 
They  wore  in  couruhip's  smiling  day ; 
And  voices  lose  the  tone  that  shed 
A  tenderness  round  all  they  said ; 
Till  fast  declining,  one  by  one. 
The  sweetnesses  of  love  arc  gone, 
And  hearts,  so  lately  mingled,  seem 
Like  broken  clouds,  —  or  like  the  fctreiiB, 
That  smiling  left  the  mountain  ■  brow 

As  though  its  waters  ne'er  could  se^'er. 
Yet,  ere  it  reach  the  plain  below. 

Breaks  into  floods,  that  part  forever. 

O,  you,  that  have  the  charge  of  T^ve, 

Keep  him  in  rosy  bondage  bound. 
As  in  the  Fields  of  Bliss  above 

lie  sits,  with  flow'rets  fetter'd  round  ;  * 
Loose  not  a  tie  that  round  him  clings. 
Nor  ever  let  him  use  his  wings  ; 
For  cv'n  an  hour,  a  minute's  flight 
Will  rob  the  plumes  of  half  their  light. 
Like  that  celestial  bird,  —  whose  nest 

Is  found  beneath  for  Eastern  skies,  — 
Whose  wings,  though  radiant  when  a*  nm 

Lose  all  their  glory  when  he  fliCi  I  * 

Some  difference,  of  this  danp'.rraf  kill,  — 
By  which,  though  light,  tho  '.a'^s  that  bir.d 
The  fondest  hearts  may  so*--!  be  riven  ; 
Some  shadow  in  Love's  f  jMmer  heaven. 
Which,  though  a  fleec,  '-p'_cL  at  first. 
May  yet  in  awful  thu/.J'-r  burst  ;• 
Such  cloud  it  is,  that  now  hangs  over 
The  heart  of  the  Ira-jC.ntX  Lover, 
And  far  hath  banish'd  from  his  sight 
His  NouBMAUAL,  his  Harem's  Light ! 
Hence  is  it,  on  this  happy  night, 
When  Pleasure  through  the  fields  and  groT»» 
Has  let  loose  all  her  world  of  loves. 
And  every  heart  has  found  its  own. 
He  wanders,  joyless  and  alone, 
And  weary  as  that  bird  of  Thrace, 
Whose  pinion  knows  no  resting-place.* 

In  vain  the  loveliest  cheeks  and  tyes 
This  Eden  of  the  Earth  stipplios 

Come  crowding  round  —  the  rl.c^ns  irt  p«ie. 
The  eyes  are  dim  :  —  tiiough  rich  the  ipot 

which  ainKB  ao  raelodiouiljr  Uiat  it  I*  called  the  CelentUI 
Bird.  lu  \\'\npt,  when  it  b  perched,  apfiear  variefaiad 
with  beautiful  colon,  but  when  it  flien  Utey  in*  all  tfedl 
aplendor."  —  (inner. 

*  "  An  thexe  birds  on  the  Bnephnni*  art 
rpKt.  thej-  are  called  by  the  French  '  lee  Immi 
DaUow*f. 


148                                                          LALLA 

ROOKH. 

With  every  flow'r  this  earth  has  got, 

'Twas  midnight  —  through  the  lattice,  wreath  d 

"What  is  it  to  the  nightingale, 

With  woodbine,  many  a  perfume  breat^'d 

If  there  his  darling  rose  is  not  ? ' 

From  plants  that  wake  when  others  sleep, 

Iij  vain  the  Valley's  smiling  throng 

From  timid  jasmine  buds,  that  keep 

Worship  him,  as  he  moves  along ; 

Their  odor  to  themselves  all  day. 

He  heeds  them  not  —  one  smile  of  hers 

But,  when  the  sunlight  dies  away. 

Is  worth  a  world  of  worshippers. 

Let  the  delicious  secret  out 

They  but  the  Star's  adorers  are, 

To  every  breeze  that  roams  about ;  — 

Bhe  is  the  Heav'n  that  lights  the  Star ! 

When  thus  Namouna  :  —  'Tis  the  hour 
"  That  scatters  spells  on  herb  and  flower, 

Hence  is  it,  too,  that  Nourmahal, 

"  And  garlands  might  be  gather'd  now. 

Amid  the  luxuries  of  this  hour. 

"That,  twin'd  around  the  sleeper's  brow. 

Far  from  the  joyous  festival, 

"  Would  make  him  dream  of  such  delights. 

Sits  in  her  own  sequester'd  bower, 

*•  Such  miracles  and  dazzling  sights. 

"With  no  one  near,  to  soothe  or  aid, 

"  As  Genii  of  the  Sun  behold. 

But  that  inspir'd  and  wondrous  maid, 

•'  At  evening,  from  their  tents  of  gold 

Namouna,  the  Enchantress ;  —  one, 

"  Upon  th'  horizon  —  where  they  play 

O'er  whom  his  race  the  golden  sun 

••  Till  twilight  comes,  and,  ray  by  ray, 

For  unremember'd  years  has  run. 

«'  Their  sunny  mansions  melt  away. 

Yet  never  saw  her  blooming  brow 

••  Now,  too,  a  chaplet  might  be  wreath'd 

Younger  or  fairer  than  'tis  now. 

"  Of  buds  o'er  which  the  moon  has  breath'd, 

Nay,  rather,  —  as  the  west  wind's  sigh 

"  Which  worn  by  her,  whose  love  has  stray' i, 

Freshens  the  flower  it  passes  by,  — 

••  Might  bring  some  Peri  from  the  skies, 

Time's  wing  but  seem'd,  in  stealing  o'er, 

"  Some  sprite,  whose  very  soul  is  made 

To  leave  her  lovelier  than  before. 

«'  Of  flow'rets'  breaths  and  lovers'  sighs, 

.  Yet  on  her  smiles  a  sadness  hung. 

"  And  who  might  tell " 

And  when,  as  oft,  she  spoke  or  sung 

"  For  me,  for  me. 

Of  other  worlds,  there  came  a  light 

Cried  Noukmahal  impatiently,  — 

From  her  dark  eyes  so  strangely  bright, 

"  0,  twine  that  wreath  foy  me  to-night.' 

That  all  bcliev'd  nor  man  nor  earth 

Then,  rapidly,  with  foot  as  light 

Were  conscious  of  Namouxa's  birth ! 

As  the  young  musk  roe's,  out  she  flew, 

All  spells  and  talismans  she  knew. 

To  cull  each  shining  leaf  that  grew 

From  the  great  Mantra,*  which  around 

Beneath  the  moonlight's  hallowing  beams. 

The  Air's  sublimer  Spirits  drew. 

For  this  enchanted  Wreath  of  Dreams. 

To  the  gold  gems  *  of  Afric,  boxind 

Anemones  and  Seas  of  Gold,* 

Upon  the  wandering  Arab's  arm, 

And  new-blown  lihes  of  the  river,  " 

To  keep  him  from  the  Siltim's  *  harm. 

And  those  sweet  flow'rets,  that  u'Jifold 

And  she  had  pledg'd  her  powerful  art,  — 

Their  buds  on  Camadeva's  quiver  ;  ^    - 

Pledg'd  it  with  all  the  zeal  and  heart 

The  tube  rose,  with  her  silvery  light, 

Of  one  who  knew,  though  high  her  sphere, 

That  in  the  Gardens  of  Malay 

What  'twas  to  lose  a  love  so  dear,  — 

Is  call'd  the  Mistress  of  the  Night," 

To  find  some  spell  that  should  recall 

So  like  a  bride,  scented  and  bright. 

Her  Selim's  *  smile  to  Nourmahal  I 

She  comes  out  when  the  sun's  away ;  — 

1  "  You  may  place  a  hundred  handfuls  of  fragrant  heriM 

6  The  name  of  Jehanguire  before  his  accession  to  th« 

Kod  flowers  before  the  nightingale,  yet  he  wishes  not,  in  his 

throne. 

constant  heart,  for  more  than  the  sweet  breath  of  his  be- 

« "  Hemasagara,  or  the  Sea  of  Gold,  with  flowers  of  the 

loved  rose."  —  Jami. 

■briglitest  gold  color."  —  Sir  W.  Jones. 

a  "  He  is  said  to  have  found  the  great  Mantra,  spell  or 

'  "  This  tree  (the  Nagacesara)  is  one  of  the  most  delight 

talisman,  through  which  he  ruled  over  the  elements  and 

ful  on  earth,  and  the  delicious  odor  of  its  blossoms  justlj 

ipirits  of  all  de'iominations."  —  JVilford. 

gives  them  a  place  in  the  quiver  of  Camadeva,  or  the  Qot 

8  "  The  gold  jewels  of  Jinnie,  which  are  called  by  the 

of  Love."  — W. 

^rabs  El  Herrez,  from  the  supposed  charm  they  contain." 

8  "  The  Malayans  style  the  tube  rose  (Polianthee  tubert 

'-Jackson. 

sa)  Sandal  Malam,  or  the  Mistress  of  the  Night."  — /«!m 

4  "  A  demon,  supposed  to  haunt  woods,  kc  in  a  human 

Mat 

^baf€."  —  JitcAan/^on. 

Lu&JXA   ROOKH. 


441 


A  maranths,  such  as  crown  the  maids 
That  wander  through  Zaxara's  shades ; '  — 
And  the  white  moon  flower,  as  it  shows, 
On  Seuendib's  high  crags,  to  those 
VVho  near  the  isle  at  evening  sail. 
Scenting  her  clove  trees  in  the  gale  ; 
In  short,  all  flow'rets  and  all  plants, 

From  the  divine  Amrita  tree,' 
lliat  blesses  heaven's  inhabitants 

With  fruits  of  immortality, 
Down  to  the  basil  tuft,'  that  wave*, 
Its  fragrant  blossom  over  graves. 
And  to  the  humble  rosemary. 
Whose  sweets  so  thanklessly  are  shed 
To  scent  the  desert  *  and  the  dead  :  — 
All  in  that  garden  bloom,  and  all 
Arc  gather' d  by  young  Nouuhahax, 
Who  heaps  her  baskets  with  the  flowers 

And  leaves,  till  they  can  hold  no  more  ; 
Then  to  Namouna  flies,  and  showers 

Upon  her  lap  the  shining  store. 
With  what  delight  th'  Enchantress  views 
Bo  many  buds,  bath'd  with  the  dews 
And  beams  of  that  bless'd  hour  !  —  her  glance 
Spoke  something,  past  all  mortal  pleasures, 
As,  in  a  kind  of  holy  trance. 

She  hung  above  those  fragrant  treasures. 
Bending  to  drink  their  balmy  airs, 
Ae  if  she  mix'd  her  soul  with  theirs. 
And  'twas,  indeed,  the  perfume  shed 
From  flow'rs  and  scented  flame,  that  fed 
Her  charmed  life  —  for  none  had  e'er 
Beheld  her  taste  of  mortal  fare, 
Nor  ever  in  aught  earthly  dip. 
But  the  morn's  dew,  her  roseate  lip. 
Fill'd  with  the  cool,  inspiring  smell, 
Th'  Enchantress  now  begins  her  spell. 


I  The  people  of  the  Bana  country  in  Sumatra  (of  which 
Zaniara  Ik  une  of  tli«  ancient  names),  "  wlien  not  engaged 
01  war,  lead  an  idle,  inactive  life,  paxsing  the  day  in  play- 
ing on  a  kind  of  (lute,  crowned  with  garlands  of  flowers, 
tmong  which  tlie  globe  amanintbus,  a  native  of  the  country, 
nnstiv  Drcvails."  —  Margden. 

s  "  I'iie  largest  and  richext  sort  (of  the  Jambu  or  roM 
tpple)  is  called  Amrita,  or  immortal,  and  the  raythoIogiiAs 
Df  Tibet  apply  the  same  word  to  a  celestial  tree,  bearing 
ambrosial  fruiL" —  Sir  If.  Jones. 

*  3wcet  bnsi'  called  Rayhan  in  Persia,  and  gerfrally 
(blind  in  churchyards. 

"  The  women  in  ilgypt  go,  at  least  two  days  in  tlie  week, 
10  prny  and  werp  at  the  sepulchres  of  the  dead  ;  and  the 
custom  then  is  to  throw  upon  the  tombs  a  sort  of  herb, 
which  the  Arabs  call  riAon,  and  which  is  our  sweet  basiL" 
—  MaUlft,  L.ett.  10. 

*  "  In  the  Great  Desert  are  foi  lul  many  stallu  of  Uvender 
»nd  ro^niary  "  —  .4*i  -*.  Bm. 


67 


Thus  singing  as  she  winds  and  weavM 
In  mystic  form  the  glittering  leares :  — 

I  know  where  the  winged  risions  dwell 

That  around  tlxe  night  bed  play  i 
I  know  each  herb  and  flow'refs  bell. 
Where  they  hide  their  wings  by  day. 
Then  hasten  we,  maid. 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  f»i» 

The  image  of  love,  that  nightly  fliea 

To  visit  the  bashful  maid. 
Steals  from  the  jasmine  flower,  that  sighs 

Its  soul,  like  her,  in  the  shade. 
The  dream  of  a  future,  happier  hour. 

That  alights  on  misery's  brow, 
Springs  out  of  the  silvery  almond  flower. 

That  blooms  on  a  leafless  bough.* 
Then  hasten  we,  maid. 
To  twine  our  braid. 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fitde 

The  visions,  that  oft  to  worldly  eya» 

The  glitter  of  mines  unfold, 
Inhabit  the  mountain  herb,*  tliat  dyes 

The  tooth  of  the  fawn  like  gold. 
The  phantom  shapes  —  O  touch  not  them 

That  appall  the  murderer's  sight. 
Lurk  in  the  fleshly  mandrake's  stem. 

That  shrieks,  when  pluck'd  at  night  I 
Then  hasten  we,  maid. 
To  twine  our  braid. 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fiMli> 

The  dream  of  the  injur'd,  patient  mind. 
That  smiles  at  the  wrongs  of  men. 


>  "  The  almond  tree,  with  white  flowers,  btoasoBM  oa  tik, 
bare  branches." —  Ifcasdquut. 

*  An  herb  on  .Mount  IJhanus,  which  is  said  In  communi- 
cate a  yellow  golden  hue  to  the  leeth  of  the  goats  and  olhM 
animals  that  graze  upon  it. 

^fbuhr  thinks  this  may  be  the  herb  which  ihe  Basten 
alchemi^its  look  to  as  a  means  of  making  gold.  "  Most  i. 
those  alchemical  enthusiasts  think  thcinKelves  sure  uf  •l< 
cess,  if  they  OMild  but  And  cHit  the  herb,  which  g.lds  the 
teeth  and  gives  a  yellow  color  to  the  flerh  of  the  slieep  ihsi 
eat  it  Even  the  oil  of  this  plant  must  be  of  a  golden  cok» 
It  is  called  HatcAitckat  ed  dab." 

Father  Jerom  Dandini,  however,  asserts  (bat  (be  teetli  </ 
the  goats  at  .Mount  I.ibanus  are  of  a  tilrtr  culiir ;  tMl  mUa, 
"  this  confirms  ine  (hat  which  I  observed  in  Candia;  to  wll, 
that  tlie  animals  that  live  on  .Mount  Ida  rat  a  cenaia  iMlK 
which  renders  (heir  (eeth  of  a  golden  color ;  wbicli,  leeasi 
ing  to  my  judgment,  cannot  otherwise  pnweed  lha«  Am 
the  mines  which  are  under  gmtimi.'* — />bi*«»,  Vcvtigi  f 
Mount  LibuuiA 


UiO 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


h  found  in  the  bruis'd  and  wounded  rind 
Of  the  cinnamon,  sweetest  then. 
Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 
ro-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade. 

No  sooner  was  the  flowery  crown. 

Placed  on  her  head,  than  sleep  came  down, 

Gently  as  nights  of  summer  fall, 

Upon  the  lids  of  Noukmahal  ;  — 

And,  suddenly,  a  tuneful  breeze, 

A  s  full  of  small,  rich  harmonies 

As  ever  wind,  that  o'er  the  tents 

Of  AzAB '  blew,  was  full  of  scents. 

Steals  on  her  ear,  and  floats  and  swells, 

IJke  the  first  air  of  morning  creeping 
Into  those  wreathy.  Red  Sea  shcUs, 

Where  Love  himself,  of  old,  lay  sleeping ;  • 
A  nd  now  a  Spirit  form'd,  'twould  seem. 

Of  music  and  of  light,  —  so  fair. 
So  brilliantly  his  features  beam. 

And  such  a  sound  is  in  the  air 
Of  sweetness  when  he  waves  his  wings,  — 
Hovers  around  her,  and  thus  sings  : 

From  Chindara's  ^  warbling  fount  I  come, 
Call'd  by  that  moonlight  garland's  spell ; 
From  Chindaka's  fount,  my  fairy  home. 

Where  in  music,  morn  and  night,  I  dwell. 
Where  lutes  in  the  air  are  heard  about, 
And    voices    are    singing    the    whole    day 
long, 
And  every  sigh  the  heart  breathes  out 
Is  turn'd,  as  it  leaves  the  lips,  to  song ! 
Hither  I  come 
From  my  fairy  home. 
And  if  there's  a  magic  in  Music's  strain, 
I  swear  by  the  breath 
Of  that  moonlight  wreath. 
Thy  Lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feet  again. 


I  The  myrrh  country 

«  "  Tliis  idei  (of  deities  living  in  shells)  was  not  unknown 
«.  t/»e  Gieeks,  wlic  represent  the  young  Nerites,  one  of  the 
.!lupids,  as  living  in  shelU  on  the  shores  of  the  Red  Sea."  — 
irafird. 

3  "  A  fabulous  fountain,  where  instruments  are  said  to  be 
eon? tantly  playing."  —  Richardson. 

*  "  Tlie  Pompadour  pigeon  is  the  specijs,  which,  by  car- 
rying the  fruit  of  the  cinnamon  to  different  places,  is  a  great 
iipseminator  of  this  valuable  tree." — See  BrtnenU  lUustr, 
Tab.  19. 

6  "  Whenever  our  pleasure  arises  from  a  succession  of 
lour.ds,  it  is  a  perception  of  a  complicated  nature,  made  up 
of  a  sr>tsation  of  the  present  sound  or  note,  and  an  idea  or 
•enenbrance  of  the  foreg.  ing,  while  thnir  mixture  and  con- 


For  mine  is  the  lay  that  lightly  floata, 
And  mine  are  the  murmuring,  dying  iv.otM. 
That  fall  as  soft  as  snow  on  llie  sea. 
And  melt  in  the  heart  as  instantly . — 
And  the  passionate  strain  that,  deeply  goingi 

Refines  the  bosom  it  trembles  through. 
As  the  musk  wind,  over  the  water  blowing, 

Ruffles  the  wave,  but  sweetens  it  too. 

Mine  is  the  charm,  whose  mystic  away 
The  Spirits  of  past  Delight  obey ;  — 
Let  but  the  tuneful  talisman  sound. 
And  they  come,  like  Genii,  hovering  round. 
And  mine  is  the  gentle  song  that  bears 

From  soul  to  soul,  the  wishes  of  love. 
As  a  bird,  that  wafts  through  genial  airs 

The  cinnamon  seed  from  grove  to  grove,' 

'Tis  I  that  mingle  in  one  sweet  measure 

The  past,  the  present,  and  future  of  plejcmrc  ; 

When  Memory  links  the  tone  that  is  gone 

With  the   blissful  tone    that's    still  in  thi 
ear; 
And  Hope  from  a  heavenly  note  flies  on 

To  a  note  more  heavenly  still  that  is  near. 

The  warrior's  heart,  when  touch'd  by  me. 
Can  as  doAvny  soft  and  as  yielding  be 
As  his  own  white  plume,  that  high  amid  deatn 
Through  the  field  has  shone  —  yet  moves  with 

a  breath ! 
And,  O,  how  the  eyes  of  Beauty  glisten. 

When  Music  has  reach' d  her  inward  soul. 
Like  the  silent  stars,  that  wink  and  listen 
While  Heaven's  eternal  melodies  rolL 
So,  hither  I  come 
From  my  fairy  home, 
And  if  there's  a  magic  in  Music's  strain, 
I  swear  by  the  breath 
Of  that  moonlight  ■WTCath, 
Thy  Lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feet  again. 


currence  produce  such  a  mysterious  delight,  as  neither  cmM 
have  produced  alone.  And  it  is  often  heightened  by  an  an 
ticipation  of  the  succeeding  notes.  Thus  Sense,  Meniop' 
and  Imagination,  are  conjunctively  employed."-  Oerrari 
on  Taste. 

This  is  exactly  the  Epicurean  theory  of  Pleasure,  as  ex- 
plained by  Cicero  :  — "  Quocirca  cor';us  gaudere  tamdlu, 
dum  prtBsentem  sentiret  voluptatem :  animum  et  prssentem 
percipere  pariter  cum  corpore  et  praspicere  venientem,  nee 
pneteritam  praeferfluere  smere." 

Madame  de  Stael  accounts  upon  the  same  principle  foi 
the  gratification  we  derive  from  rhyme :  —  "  Elle  est  I'imag* 
de  l'esp6rance  et  du  souvenir.  Un  son  nous  fait  d^sirer  c* 
lui  qui  doit  lui  r^pondre,  et  quand  le  second  reteo'Jt  il  wxm 
rappelle  celui  qui  vient  de  nous  ^chapper.'* 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


Tis  dawn  —  at  least  that  earlier  dawn. 
Whose  glimpses  are  again  withdrawn,' 
A.S  if  the  morn  had  wak'd,  and  then 
Shut  close  her  lids  of  light  again. 
And  NouRMAKAL  is  up,  and  trying 

The  wonders  of  her  lute,  whose  strings  — 
0,  bliss  !  —  now  murmur  like  the  sighing 

From  that  ambrosial  Spirit's  wings. 
And  tlien,  her  voice  —  'tis  more  than  human  — 

Never,  till  now,  had  it  been  given 
To  lips  of  any  mortal  woman 

To  utter  notes  so  fresh  from  heaven ; 
Sweet  as  the  breath  of  angel  sighs. 

When  angel  sighs  are  most  divine. — 
"  O,  let  it  last  till  night,"  she  cries, 

"  And  he  is  more  than  ever  mine." 
And  hourly  she  renews  the  lay, 

So  fearful  lest  its  heavenly  sweetness 
Should,  ere  the  evening,  fade  away, — 

For  things    so    heavenly  have    such    fleet- 
ness ! 
But,  far  from  fading,  it  but  grows 
Richer,  diviner  as  it  flows  ; 
Till  rapt  she  dwells  on  every  string, 

And  pours  again  each  sound  along. 
Like  echo,  lost  and  languishing, 

In  love  with  her  own  wondrous  song. 

That  evening,  (trusting  that  his  soul 
Might  be  from  haunting  love  released 


1  "  The  Fenians  have  two  mornings,  the  Soobhi  Kazim 
•lid  the  Soobhi  Sadig,  the  false  and  tlie  real  daybreak. 
They  account  fur  tliis  plicnomcnun  in  a  most  whimsical 
manner.  They  Ray  that  as  the  sun  rises  from  behind  the 
Kohi  Oaf  (.Mount  Caucasus),  it  pa.wes  a  liole  perforated 
tlirough  that  mountain,  and  that  darting  its  rays  through  it, 
it  is  the  cause  of  the  Soobhi  Kazim,  or  this  temporary  ap- 
pearance of  daybreaX  As  it  ascends,  the  earth  is  again 
veiled  in  darkness,  until  the  sun  rises  above  the  mountain, 
and  brings  with  it  the  Soobhi  Sadig,  or  real  morning.'*  — 
SeoU  Waring.  He  ihmks  Milton  may  allude  to  this,  when 
be  says,  — 

"  Ere  the  blabbing  Eastern  scout, 

The  nice  mom  on  the  Indian  steep 

From  her  cabin'd  loophole  peep.'' 
t  "  In  the  centre  of  (he  plain,  as  it  approaches  the  Lake, 
tmt  cfthe  Delhi  Empenirs,  I  believe  Shah  Jehan,  construcl- 
•d  a  spacious  garden  called  the  Sballmar,  which  is  abun- 
dantly stored  with  fruit  trees  and  flowering  shrubs.  Some 
Df  the  rivulets  which  intersect  the  plain  are  led  into  a  canal 
at  the  bark  of  tile  garden,  and  flowing  tlirough  its  centre,  or 
xcasionally  thrown  into  a  varirty  of  waterworks,  compose 
the  chief  beauty  of  the  Shalimar.  To  decorate  this  spot  the 
Mogul  Princes  of  India  have  displayed  an  equal  roagnifl- 
lence  and  taste  ;  especially  Jehan  Gheer,  who,  with  the  en- 
ihanting  Noor  Mahl,  made  Kashmire  his  usual  residence 
daring  the  summer  months.  On  arciiea  thrown  over  the 
canal  are  creeled,  at  equal  distances,  four  or  Ave  suits  of 
apartnicnu,  eaih  consisting  of  a  saloon,  with  four  looma  at 


By  mkth,  by  music,  and  the  bowl,) 

Th'  Imperial  Selim  held  a  feast 
In  his  magniflccnt  Shalimar :  •  — 
In  whose  Saloons,  when  the  first  star 
Of  evening  o'er  the  waters  trembled. 
The  Valley's  loveliest  all  assembled ; 
All  the  bright  creatures  that,  like  dreanu, 
Glide  through  its  foliage,  and  drink  beam 
Of  beauty  from  its  founts  and  streams ; ' 
And  all  those  wandering  minstrel  maid*, 
Who  leave  —  how  can  they  leave  ?  —  the  sha  W 
Of  that  dear  Valley,  and  are  found 

Singing  in  gardens  of  the  South  * 
Those  songs,  that  ne'er  so  sweetly  sound 

As  from  a  yoting  Cashmerian's  mouth. 

There,  too,  the  Harem's  inmates  smile ;  — 

Maids  from  the  West,  Mith  sun -bright  hair, 
And  from  the  Garden  of  the  Nile, 

Delicate  as  the  roses  there  ;  *  — 
Daughters  of  Love  from  Ctpsus'  rocks. 
With  Paphian  diamonds  in  their  locks ;  '^ 
liight  Pe&i  forms,  such  as  there  are 
On  th^  gold  meads  of  Candauab  ;  * 
And  they,  before  whose  sleepy  eyea, 

In  their  own  bright  Kathaian  bowers. 
Sparkle  such  rainbow  butterflies. 

That  they  might  fancy  the  rich  flowers, 
That  round  them  in  the  sun  lay  sighing. 
Had  been  by  magic  all  set  flying.* 


the  angles,  where  the  followers  of  the  court  attend,  and  the 
servants  prepare  sherbets,  coffee,  and  the  hookah.  The 
frame  of  the  doors  of  the  principal  saloon  is  composed  o: 
pieces  of  a  stone  of  a  black  color,  streaked  with  yeIlo« 
lines,  and  of  a  closer  grain  and  higher  polish  than  porphyry 
They  were  taken,  it  is  said,  from  a  Hindoo  templb,  by  on« 
of  the  Mogul  princes,  and  are  estpemed  of  great  valM."  — 
Forster. 

*  "  The  waters  of  Cachemir  are  the  more  renowned  Irtm 
its  being  supposed  that  the  Cachemirians  are  indebted  (en 
their  beauty  to  them."— .1/i  Yndu 

4  ><  From  him  I  received  tlie  following  little  Oazsel,  o« 
Love  Song,  ttie  notes  uf  which  lie  committed  to  paper  from 
the  voice  of  one  of  those  singing  girls  of  Cashmere,  wt] 
wander  from  that  delightful  valley  over  the  various  pai« 
of  India." —  Persian  MitceUanitt. 

»  "  The  roses  of  the  Jinan  Nile,  or  Garden  of  the  Nile  (a 
tached  to  the  Empeiur  of  Marocco's  palace),  are  unsaaatied 
and  mattresses  are  made  of  their  leaves  for  tk>e  mec  ut  rank 
to  recline  upon."  —  Jackson. 

*  "On  the  side  of  a  mountain  near  Paphos  there  it  a 
cavern  which  produces  the  most  beautiful  rr>ck  crysuL  <>• 
account  of  its  brilliancy  it  has  been  called  the  Paphian  dia- 
mond."—  Maritu 

'  "  There  is  a  part  of  Candahar,  called  Pwta  or  Fairy 
\Mi."  —  ThnenoL  In  some  of  tlwse  CMinlries  to  tb«  oo«tfe 
of  India  vegetable  gold  is  supposed  to  be  produced. 

»  "  These  are  the  butterflies  which  are  calM  In  the  Chi- 
nese language  Flying  Lmvm.    Bmm  of  tkiai  bav»  sod 


ASS 


LALLA   ROOKH. 


Every  thing  young,  every  thing  fair 

From  East  and  West  is  blushing  there, 

Except  —  except  —  O,  Nourmahal  ! 

Thou  loveliest,  dearest  of  them  all. 

The  one,  whose  smile  shone  out  alone, 

Amidst  a  world  the  only  one ; 

Whose  light,  among  so  many  lights, 

iVas  like  that  star  on  starry  nights, 

riie  feaman  singles  from  the  sky, 

f  0  steer  his  bark  forever  by  ! 

Thou  ^^■ert  not  there  —  so  Selik  thought. 
And     every    thing    seem'd    drear    without 
thee  ; 

But,  ah  !  thou  wert,  thou  wert,  —  and  brought 

Thy  charm  of  song  all  fresh  about  thee. 
Mingling  unnotie'd  with  a  band 
Of  lutanists  from  many  a  land, 
And  veil'd  by  such  a  mask  as  shades 
The  features  of  young  Arab  maids,'  — 
A  mask  tliat  leaves  but  one  eye  free, 
To  do  its  best  in  witchery,  — 
She  rov'd,  with  beating  heart,  around. 

And  waited,  trembling,  for  the  minute, 
When  she  might  try  if  stiU  the  sound 
Of  her  lov'd  lute  had  magic  in  it. 

The  board  was  spread  with  fruits  and  wine  : 
With  grapes  of  gold,  like  those  that  shine 
On  Casbin's  hills  ;  *  —  pomegranates  full 

Of  melting  sweetness,  and  the  pears, 
And  sunniest  apples'  that  Caubul 

Li  all  its  thousand  gardens  *  bears ;  — 
Plantains,  the  golden  and  the  green, 
Malaya's  nectar'd  mangusteen  ;* 
Prunes  of  Bokaea,  and  sweet  nuts 

From  the  far  groves  of  Samacband, 
And  Basra  dates,  and  apricots. 

Seed  of  the  Sun,'  from  Irax's  land  ;  — 


staining  colors,  and  are  so  variegated,  that  Ihey  may  be 
called  flying  flowers  ;  and  indeed  they  are  always  produced 
D  the  finest  flower  gardens."  —  Dunn. 

1  "  The  Arabian  women  wear  black  masks  with  little 
ela^ps  prettily  ordered."  — Carreri.  Niebuhr  mentions  their 
■bo  ving  but  one  eye  in  conversation. 

*  "The  golden  grapes  of  Casbin."  —  Description  <if  Per- 
iw. 

s  "  The  fruits  exported  from  Caubul  are  apples,  pears, 
pomegranates,"  &c. —  Elphinstone. 

*  "  We  sat  down  under  a  tree,  listened  to  the  birds,  and 
talked  with  the  son  of  our  Alehmaundar  about  our  country 
and  Caubul,  of  which  he  gave  an  enchanting  account :  that 
eity  and  its  100,000  gardens,"  &c.  —  Id. 

•  "  The  mangusteen,  the  most  delicate  fruit  in  the  world  ; 
the  pride  of  the  Malay  islands."  —  Marsden. 

•  "  A  delicious  kind  of  apricot,  called  by  the  Persians 
tokm-ek-sb >ms,  signifying  sun's  seed."  —  Description  of 
Perrta. 


With  rich  conserve  of  Visna  cherries  ^ 
Of  orange  flowers,  and  of  those  berries 
That,  wild  and  fresh,  the  young  gazelles 
Feed  on  in  Erac's  rockv  dells.' 
All  these  in  richest  vases  Smile, 

In  baskets  of  pure  santal  wood, 
And  urns  of  porcelain  from  that  isle  • 

Sunk  underneath  the  Indian  flood. 
Whence  oft  the  lucky  diver  brings 
Vases  to  grace  the  halls  of  kings. 
Wines,  too,  of  every  clime  and  hue. 
Around  their  liquid  lustre  threw  ; 
Amber  Rosolli, '"  —  the  bright  dew 
From  vineyards  of  the  Green  Sea  gushing  ;  " 
And  Shikaz  wine,  that  richly  ran 

As  if  that  jewel,  large  and  rare. 
The  ruby  for  which  Kublai-Khan 
^Offer'd  a  city's  wealth,'*  was  blushing. 

Melted  within  the  goblets  there  1 

• 

And  amply  Selim  quaffs  oi  each. 

And  seems  resolv'd  the  flood  shall  reach 

His  inward  heart,  —  shedding  around 

A  genial  deluge,  as  they  run. 
That  soon  shall  leave  no  spot  undrown'd, 

For  Love  to  rest  his  wings  upon. 
He  little  knew  how  well  the  boy 

Can  float  upon  a  goblet's  streams. 
Lighting  them  with  his  smile  of  joy ;  — 

As  bards  have  seen  him  in  their  dreams, 
Down  the  blue  Ganges  laughing  glide 

Upon  a  rosy  lotus  wreath,'^ 
Catching  new  lustre  from  the  tide 

That  with  his  image  shone  beneath. 

But  what  are  cups,  withuat  the  aid 
Of  song  to  speed  them  as  they  flow  ? 


1  "  Sweetmeats,  in  a  crystal  cup,  consisting  of  rcje  leave* 
in  conserve,  with  lemon  of  Visna  cherr)-,  orange  flowtrs/ 
&c.  —  Russel. 

8  "  Antelopes  cropping  the  fresh  berries  of  Erac." — Th« 
Moallakat,  Poem  of  Tarafa. 

»  "  Mauri-ga-Sima,  an  island  near  Formosa,  suppced  6 
have  been  sunk  in  the  sea  for  the  crimes  of  its  inhabiunta 
The  vessels  which  the  fishermen  and  divers  bring  op  .roiB 
it  are  sold  at  an  immense  price  in  China  and  Japan.  ?*t 
Kivipfer. 

10  Persian  Tales. 

u  The  white  wine  of  Kishma. 

13  "  The  King  of  Zeilan  is  said  to  have  the  very  finest  ruby 
that  was  ever  seen.  Kublai-Khan  sent  and  offered  the  value 
of  a  city  for  it,  but  the  King  answered  he  would  not  give  il 
for  the  treasure  of  the  world."  —  Marco  Polo. 

13  The  Indians  feign  that  Cupid  was  first  seen  floatm| 
down  the  Ganges  on  the  Nymphtea  Nelumbo  —  Stte  Ve-% 
i  nant. 


A.nd  see  —  a  lovely  Georgian  maid. 
With  all  the  bloom,  the  freshen'd  glow 

Of  her  own  country  maidens'  looks, 

When  warm  they  rise  from  Teflis'  brooks  ;  • 

Ajid  with  an  eye,  whose  restless  ray. 
Full,  floating,  dark  —  0,  he,  who  knows 

His  heart  is  weak,  of  Ileav'n  should  pray 
To  guard  him  from  such  eyes  as  those  ! 

With  a  voluptuous  wildness  flings 

Her  snowy  hand  across  the  strings 

Of  a  syrinda,*  and  thus  sings  :  — 

Corns  hither,  come  hither — by  night  and  by  day, 

We  linger  in  pleasures  that  nevser  are  gone ; 
Like  the  waves  of  the  suiimier,  as  one  dies  away. 

Another  as  sweet  and  as  shining  comes  on. 
And  the  love  that  is  o'er,  in  expiring,  gives  birth 
To   a  new   one   as  warm,  as  luequall'd  in 
t  iss; 
And,  C,  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth, 
It  IB  this,  it  is  this.' 

Here  maidens  are  sighing,  and  fragrant  their 
sigh 
As  the  flower  of  the  Amra  just  op'd  by  a  bee ;  * 
And  precious  their  tears  as  that  rain  from  the 
sky,» 
Which  turns  into  pearls  as  it  falls  in  the  sea. 
0,  think  what  the  kiss  and  the  smile  must  be 
worth 
When  the  sigh  and  the  tear  are  so  perfect  in 
bliss, 
\nd  own  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth. 
It  is  this,  it  is  this. 

Here  sparkles  the  nectar,  that,  hallow'd  by  love, 
Could  draw  down  those  angels  of  old  from 
their  sphere. 
Who  for  wine  of  this  earth  '  left  the  fountains 
above. 
And  forgot  heaven's  stars  for  the  eyes  we 
have  here. 
And,  bless'd  with  the  odor  our  goblet  gives  forth. 
What  Spirit  the  sweets  of  his  Eden  would 
miss? 
For,  O,  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth. 
It  is  this,  it  Is  this. 


1  Teflis  b  c«Iebr»t«d  hi  ita  natural  warn  batha.      8«e 
On  rraukoL 

1  "  The  Indian  Syrinda  or  guitar."  —  Sjfmei. 

•  "  Around  tlie  exterior  of  the  Oewan  Khafa  (a  building 

jt  Shah  AIIum'8)  in  the  cornice  are  the  Tullowing  lines  in 

tetters  of  gold  upon  a  ground  o(  white  marble  — '  (f  tktrt  b4 

tparadiit  upon  earth,  it  it  Ihsi,  it  is  t'lit.'  "  —  Francklin. 

"  Delightful  are  the  flowers  of  the  Amra  trees  on  th« 


The  Georgian'^  son^j  was  scarcely  muta. 

When  the  same  measure,  sound  for  souikC 
Was  caught  up  by  another  lute. 

And  so  divinely  breathed  around. 
That  all  stood  hush'd  and  wondering. 

And  tum'd  and  look'd  into  the  air, 
As  if  they  thought  to  see  the  wing 

Of  IsRAFiL,^  the  Angel,  there ;  — ' 
So  powerfully  on  every  soul 
That  new,  enchanted  measturo  stole. 
While  now  a  voice,  sweet  as  the  note 
Of  the  charm'd  lute,  was  heard  to  float 
Along  its  chords,  and  so  int^^dno 

Its  sounds  with  theirs,  that  none  knew  whethal 
The  voice  or  lute  was  most  divine. 

So  wondrously  they  went  together :  — 

There's  a  bliss  beyond  all  that  the  minstrel  has 
told. 
When  two,  that  are  link'd  in  one  heavenly  tie, 
With  heart  never  changing,  and  brow  never  cold, 
Love  on  through  all  ills,  and  love  on  till  they 
die! 
One  hour  of  a  passion  so  sacred  is  worth 

Whole  ages  of  heartless  and  wandering  bliss  | 
And,  O,  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth 
It  is  this,  it  is  this. 

Twas  not  the  air,  'twas  not  the  words, 
But  that  deep  magic  in  the  chords 
And  in  the  lips,  that  gave  such  power 
As  Music  knew  not  till  that  hour. 
At  once  a  hundred  voices  said, 
"  It  is  the  mask'd  Arabian  maid  !  " 
While  Selim,  who  had  felt  the  strain 
Deepest  of  any,  and  had  lain 
Some  minutes  rapt,  as  in  a  trance, 

After  the  fairy  sounds  were  o'er. 
Too  inly  touch' d  for  utterance, 

Now  motion'd  with  his  hand  for  more : 

Fly  to  the  desert,  fly  with  me, 
Otir  Arab  tents  are  rude  for  thee ; 
But,  O,  the  choice  what  heart  can  doo/.t 
Of  tents  with  love,  or  thrones  without  f 
Our  rocks  are  rough,  but  smiUng  ther* 
The  acacia  waves  her  yellow  hair. 


moanUin  tops,  while  the  murmarinc  bess  parsM  tbeit  t 
Infituous  toiL"  —  Seng  of  Jarfadmt*. 

*  «  The  Niun  or  dn>pH  of  spring  rain,  wMcb  Ibejr  bslwfl 
to  produce  pearls  if  tbev  fall  into  shells."  —  ki\  \»  4Mm 

•  For  an  account  of  the  »bare  wbicJi  wine  bad  ia  dwM 
of  the  angels,  see  Jfisnii. 

T  The  Aogel  oTMusir     SMOole  1  p.  434.  of  tUs  etfiOM 


i6i 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


Lonely  and  sweet,  nor  lov'd  the  less 
For  flowering  in  a  wilderness. 

Our  sands  are  bare,  but  down  their  slope 
JThe  silvery-footed  antelope 
As  gracefully  and  gayly  springs 
As  o'er  the  marble  courts  of  kingSk 

rhcn  come  —  thy  Arab  maid  will  be 
The  lov'd  and  lone  acacia  tree, 
rhe  antelope,  whose  feet  shall  bless 
With  their  light  sound  thy  loneliness. 

O,  there  are  looks  and  tones  that  dart 
An  instant  sunshine  through  the  heart,  — 
As  if  the  soul  that  minute  caught 
Some  treasure  it  through  life  had  sought ; 

As  if  the  very  lips  and  eyes, 
Predestin'd  to  have  all  our  sighs, 
AJid  never  be  forgot  again, 
Sparkled  and  spoke  before  us  then  ! 

So  came  thy  every  glance  and  tone, 
When  first  on  me  they  breath'd  and  shone  ; 
New,  as  if  brought  from  other  spheres, 
Yet  welcome  as  if  lov'd  for  years. 

Then  fly  with  me,  if  thou  hast  known 
No  other  flame,  nor  falsely  thrown 
A  gem  away,  that  thou  hadst  sworn 
Should  ever  in  thy  heart  be  worn. 

Come,  if  the  love  thou  hast  for  me 
Is  pure  and  fresh  as  mine  for  thee,  — 
Fresh  as  the  fountain  under  ground. 
When  firpt  'tis  by  the  lapwing  found. 

But  if  for  me  thou  dost  forsake 
Some  other  maid,  and  rudely  break 
Her  worshipp'd  image  from  its  base, 
To  give  to  me  the  ruin'd  place ;  — 

Then,  fare  thee  well  —  I'd  rather  make 
My  bower  upon  some  icy  lake 
When  thawing  suns  begin  to  shine, 
Than  trust  to  love  so  false  as  thine  ! 

ITiere  was  a  pathos  in  this  lay, 
That,  ev'n  without  enchantment's  art, 

Would  instantly  have  found  its  way 
Deep  into  Selim's  burning  heart ; 


I'he  ITiidhud,  or  Lapwing,  is  supposed  to  have  tlia 
•ow^r  of  discovering  water  under  ground. 


But,  breathing,  as  it  did,  a  tone 
To  earthly  lutes  and  lips  unknown ; 
With  every  chord  fiesh  from  the  touch 
Of  Music's  Spirit,  —  twas  too  much  ! 
Starting,  he  dash'd  away  the  cup,  — 

Which,  all  the  time  of  this  sweet  air, 
His  hand  had  held,  untasted,  up. 

As  if  'twere  fix'd  by  magic  there,  — 
And  naming  her,  so  long  unnam'd. 
So  long  unseen,  wildly  exclaim'd, 

"  O  NOUEMAHAL  !    O  NoURMAHAL  ! 

'•  Hadst  thou  but  sung  this  witching  strain, 
"  I  could  forget  —  forgive  thee  all, 
'«  And  never  leave  those  eyes  again." 

The  mask  is  off —  the  charm  is  wrought— 
And  Selim  to  his  heart  has  caught, 
In  blushes,  more  than  ever  bright. 
His  NouEMAHAL,  his  Harem's  Light ! 
And  well  do  vanish' d  frowns  enhance 
The  charm  of  every  brighten'd  glance ; 
And  dearer  seems  each  dawning  smile 
For  having  lost  its  light  a  while  ; 
And,  happier  now  for  all  her  sighs. 

As  on  his  arm  her  head  reposes, 
She  whispers  him,  with  laughing  eyes, 

'•Remember,  love,  the  Feast  of  Roses  !  " 


Fadladeen,  at  the  conclusion  of  this  light 
rhapsody,  took  occasion  to  sum  up  hia  opinion 
of  the  young  Cashmerian's  poetry,  —  of  which, 
he  trusted,  they  had  that  evening  heard  the 
last.  Having  recapitulated  the  epithets,  "  friv- 
olous "  —  "  inharmonious  "  —  ♦'  nonsensical,"  he 
proceeded  to  say  that,  viewing  it  in  the  most 
favorable  light,  it  resembled  one  of  those  Mal- 
divian  boats,  to  which  the  Princess  had  alludrd 
in  the  relation  of  her  dream,'  —  a  slight,  gilded 
thing,  sent  adrift  without  rudder  or  ballast,  and 
with  nothing  but  vapid  sweets  and  faded  flowers 
on  board.  The  profusion,  indeed,  of  flowera 
and  birds,  which  this  poet  had  ready  on  all  oc- 
casions, —  not  to  mention  dews,  gems,  &c.  — 
was  a  most  oppressive  kind  of  opulence  to  hi* 
hearers ;  and  had  the  unlucky  effect  of  giving 
to  his  style  all  the  glitter  of  the  flower  garden 
without  its  method,  and  all  the  flutter  of  the 
aviary  without  its  song.  In  addition  to  this,  ha 
chose  his  subjects  badly,  and  was  always  mos< 
inspired  bj-  the  worst  parts  of   them,      lit 

1  See  p.  424  of  this  edition. 


Khanns  of  pagnnism,  the  merits  of  rebellion,  — 
these  were  the  themes  honored  with  his  partic- 
ular enthusiasm ;  and,  in  the  poem  just  recited, 
'tne  of  his  niost  palatable  passages  was  in  praise 
of  that  beverage  of  the  Unfaithful,  wine;  — 
•*  being,  perhaps,"  said  he,  relaxing  into  a  smile, 
BS  conscious  of  his  own  character  in  the  Harem 
■;n  this  point,  "  one  of  those  bards,  whose  fancy 
■Via  all  its  illumination  to  the  grape,  like  that 
siiH'.eJ  por<  elain,'  so  curious  and  so  rare,  whose 
.mages  arc  only  y  .sible  when  liquor  is  poured 
Into  it."  Upon  the  whole,  it  was  his  opinion, 
&om  the  specimens  which  they  had  heard,  and 
which,  he  begged  to  say,  were  the  most  tire- 
some part  of  the  journey,  that  —  whatever  other 
merits  this  well-dressed  young  gentleman  might 
possess  —  poetry  was  by  no  means  his  proper 
avocation :  «'  and,  indeed,"  concluded  the  critic, 
"  from  his  fondness  for  flowers  and  for  birds,  I 
would  venture  to  suggest  that  a  florist  or  a  bird 
catcher  is  a  much  more  suitable  calling  for  him 
than  a  poet." 

They  had  now  begun  to  ascend  those  barren 
mountains,  which  separate  Cashmere  from  the 
rest  of  India ;  and,  as  the  heats  were  intolera- 
olc,  and  the  time  of  their  encampments  limited 
to  the  few  hours  necessary  for  refreshment  and 
repose,  there  was  an  end  to  all  their  delightful 
evenings,  and  Lalxa  Rookh  saw  no  more  of  Fkb- 
Auouz.  She  now  felt  that  her  short  dream  of 
happiness  was  ovei*,  and  that  she  had  nothing 
but  the  recollection  of  its  few  blissful  hours, 
like  the  one  draught  of  sweet  water  that  serves 
the  camel  across  the  wilderness,  to  be  her  heart's 
refreshment  during  the  dreary  waste  of  life  that 
was  before  her.  The  blight  that  had  fallen  up- 
on her  spirits  soon  found  its  way  to  her  cheek. 


1  "  The  ChineM  had  formerly  the  art  of  painting  on  the 
■idea  of  porcelain  vesseU  ftsh  and  other  aniinaU,  which 
were  only  perceptible  when  the  vessel  was  full  of  some 
lit]  inr.  They  call  this  species  Kia-tsin,  that  is,  aimr*  it  pnt 
I-.  y 'US,  on  accuunt  bf  the  manner  in  which  the  azure  ia 
laiu  jn."  — "  Tliey  are  every  now  and  tlien  trying  to  recov- 
er the  an  if  tlis  magical  painting,  but  to  no  purpoae." — 

I  An  eminent  carver  of  Idols,  said  in  the  Koran  to  be  flu 
ther  tc  Abraham  "  I  have  such  a  lovely  idol  as  ia  not  to 
h»  mot  Willi  in  the  house  of  Kuot."  —  Ilafiu 

'  Kai  h'nire  be  Nazeer.  —  Fm-tter, 

4  "  1  ne  pardonable  superstition  ol  the  sequeatered  Inhab- 
itants has  multiplied  llie  places  of  worship  of  Mahadeo,  of 
Beschan,  and  of  Btama.  All  Cashmere  is  holy  land,  and 
miraculous  fountains  abound." — Major  RtuniP*  Blemoin 
jfa  Map  of  Hindoatan. 

Jehinguire  mentiuns  "  a  fointain  in  Cashmere  eallad  Tti^ 
•*Cb,  which  signifies  a  snake    probably  because  kmim  Urge 


and  her  ladies  saw  with  regret  —  thoagh  not 

without  some  suspicion  of  the  cause that  thi 

beauty  of  their  mistress,  of  which  they 
almost  as  proud  as  of  their  own.  wta  fast 
ishing  away  at  the  very  moment  of  all  wh«l 
she  had  most  need  of  it.  What  must  the  Kir." 
of  Bucharia  feel,  when,  instead  of  the  live 
and  beautiful  Lalla  Rooku,  whom  the  p  «ii 
of  Delhi  had  described  as  more  perfect  than  lh« 
divinest  images  in  the  hotise  of  Asor,*  he  should 
receive  a  pale  and  inanimate  victim,  upon  whoae 
cheek  neither  health  nor  pleasure  bloomed,  and 
from  whose  eyes  Love  had  fled,  — to  hide  him- 
self in  her  heart  ? 

If  any  thing  could  have  charmed  away  the 
melancholy  of  her  spirits,  it  would  have  been 
the  fresh  airs  and  enchanting  scenery  of  that 
Valley,  which  the  Persians  so  justly  called  the 
Unequalled.*  But  neither  the  coolness  of  its 
atmosphere,  so  luxurious  after  toiling  up  these 
bare  and  burning  mountains,  —  neither  the 
splendor  of  the  minarets  and  pagodas,  that 
shone  out  from  the  depth  of  its  woods,  nor  the 
grottoes,  hermitages,  and  miraculoiu  fountains,* 
which  make  every  spot  of  that  region  holy 
ground,  —  neither  the  countless  waterfalls,  that 
rush  into  the  Valley  from  all  those  high  antf 
romantic  mountains  that  encircle  it,  nor  the  fai 
city  on  the  Lake,  whoro  houMfs,  roofed  wth 
flowers,*  appeared  at  a  distance  like  one  vaai 
and  variegated  parterre ;  —  not  all  these  won- 
ders and  glories  of  the  most  lovely  country 
undjr  the  sun  could  steal  her  heart  for  a  min- 
ute from  those  sad  thoughts,  which  but  dark- 
ened,  and  grew  bitterer  every  step  she  advanced. 

The  gay  pomps  and  processions  that  met  hei 


snake  had  formerly^ been  seen  there."  — "During  the  lifi 
time  of  my  father,  1  went  twice  to  this  iountain,  which  k 
about  twenty  coas  from  the  city  of  Cashmere.  The  veaiiges  ol 
places  of  worship  and  sanctity  are  to  be  traced  without  ou» 
ber  amongst  the  ruins  and  the  cavea,  which  are  inleieperaei' 
in  its  neighborhooiL" — Toouk  Mungttrf.—yt.  JUit^  Mf 
vol.  ii. 

There  is  another  account  of  Cashmere  by  Abul-Pazil,  tbi 
author  of  the  Aytn-Acbaree,  "  who,"  says  Majtr  tUnmtt 
"  appears  to  have  caught  some  of  the  enthusiasm  of  the  val 
ley,  by  his  description  of  the  lK>ly  places  in  it." 

»  "  On  a  standing  rouf  of  wood  is  laid  a  coveting  of  fin* 
earth,  which  shelters  the  building  fl«B  Ike  pmt  ^autlttj 
of  snow  tliat  falls  in  the  winter  suiw,  TMs  fawe  eow 
municates  an  equal  warmth  in  winter,  aa  a  nftaakiaff  coot 
neas  in  the  summer  seaaoa,  wbaa  the  to^  ef  Ikr  bowa^ 
whkk  are  pUnled  wttb  a  variety  of  iowesa,  eiWMi  at  f 
distanee  the  spacioua  view  of  a  beautUUIIy  cbecliefod  pm 
ten*.**— #brKar. 


upon  her  entrance  into  the  Valley,  and  the 
magnificence  with  which  the  roads  all  along 
were  decorated,  did  honor  to  the  taste  and  gal- 
lantry of  the  young  King,  It  was  night  when 
they  approached  the  city,  and,  for  the  last  two 
miles,  they  had  passed  under  arches,  thrown 
from  hedge  to  hedge,  festooned  with  only  those 
rarest  roses  from  which  the  Attar  Gul,  more 
piecious  than  gold,  is  distilled,  and  illuminated 
■jr.  rich  and  fanciful  forms  with  lanterns  of  the 
;fipl5-oolored  tortoise  shell  of  Pegu.*  Some- 
times, from  a  dark  wood  by  the  side  of  the  road, 
a  display  of  fireworks  would  break  out,  so  sud- 
den and  so  brilliant,  that  a  Brahmin  might  fan- 
cy he  beheld  that  grove,  in  whose  purple  shade 
the  God  of  Battles  was  born,  bursting  into  a 
llame  at  the  moment  of  his  birth  ;  —  while,  at 
other  times,  a  quick  and  playful  irradiation  con- 
tinued to  brighten  all  the  fields  and  gardens  by 
which  they  passed,  forming  a  line  of  dancing 
lights  along  the  horizon;  like  the  meteors  of 
the  north  a?  they  are  seen  by  those  hunters," 
who  pursue  the  white  and  blue  foxes  on  the 
confines  of  the  Icy  Sea. 

These  arches  and  fireworks  delighted  the 
Ladies  of  the  Princess  exceedingly ;  and,  with 
their  usual  good  logic,  they  deduced  from  his 
taste  for  illuminations,  that  the  King  of  Bucha- 
ria  would  make  the  most  exemplary  husband 
imaginable.  Nor,  indeed,  could  Lalla  Rookh 
herself  help  feeling  the  kindness  and  splendor 
with  which  the  young  bridegroom  welcomed 
her  ;  —  but  she  also  felt  how  painful  is  the  grat- 
itude, which  kindness  from  those  we  cannot 
love  excites  ;  and  that  their  best  blandishments 
come  over  the  heart  with  all  that  chilling  and 
deadly  sweetness,  which  we  can  fancy  in  the 
cold,  odoriferous  wind'  that  is  to  blow  over 
this  earth  in  the  last  days. 

The  marriage  was  fixed  for  the  morning  after 
ner  arrival,  when  she  was,  for  the  first  time,  to 
le  presented  to  the  monarch  in  that  Imperial 
P;ilace  beyond  the  lake,  called  the  Shalimar. 
Though  never  before  had  a  night  of  more  wake- 
ful and  anxious  thought  been  passed  in  the 
Happy  "Valley,  yet,  when  she  rose  in  the  mom- 

•'  Two  hundred  slaves  there  are,  who  have  no  other 
•flice  than  to  Imnt  the  woods  and  marshes  for  triple-colored 
feirtoises  for  the  King's  Vivary.  Of  the  shells  of  these  also 
lanterns  are  made."  —  Vincent  le  Blanc's  Travels. 

2  For  a  description  of  the  Aurora  Borealis  as  it  appears  to 
those  hu  Iters,  v  Encyclopiedia. 

*  ThB   vind,  which  is  to  blow  from  Syria  Dainascena  is. 


ing,  and  her  Ladies  came  around  her,  to  assist 
in  the  adjustment  of  the  bridal  ornaments,  they 
thought  they  had  never  seen  her  look  half  sc 
beautiful.  What  she  had  lost  of  the  bloom  and 
radiancy  of  her  charms  was  more  than  made  up 
by  that  intellectual  expression,  that  soul  beam- 
ing forth  from  the  eyes,  which  is  worth  all  th6 
rest  of  loveliness.  When  they  had  tinged  hei 
fingers  with  the  Henna  leaf,  and  placed  upca 
her  brow  a  small  coronet  of  jewels,  of  the  shape 
worn  by  the  ancient  Queens  of  Bucharia,  they 
flung  over  her  head  the  rose-colored  bridal  veil, 
and  she  proceeded  to  the  barge  that  was  to  convey 
her  across  the  lake ;  —  first  kissing,  with  a  mourn- 
ful look,  the  little  amulet  of  carnelian,  which  hex 
father  at  parting  had  hung  about  her  neck. 

The  morning  was  as  fresh  and  fair  as  the 
maid  on  whose  nuptials  it  rose,  and  the  shining 
lake,  all  covered  with  boats,  the  minstrels  play- 
ing upon  the  shores  of  the  islands,  and  the 
crowded  summer  houses  on  the  green  hills 
around,  with  shawls  and  banners  waving  from 
their  roofs,  presented  such  a  picture  of  animated 
rejoicing,  as  only  she,  who  was  the  ohiect  of  it 
all,  did  not  feel  with  transport.  To  Lalla 
RooKH  alone  it  was  a  melancholy  pageant ;  nor 
could  she  have  even  borne  to  look  upon  the  scene, 
were  it  not  for  a  hope  that,  among  the  crowds 
around,  she  might  once  more  perhaps  catch  a 
glimpse  of  Fekamorz.  So  much  was  her  im- 
agination haunted  by  this  thought,  that  there 
was  scarcely  an  islet  or  boat  she  passed  on  the 
way,  at  which  her  heart  did  not  flutter  with  the 
momentary  fancy  that  he  was  there.  Happy,  in 
her  eyes,  the  humblest  slave  upon  whom  the 
light  of  his  dear  looks  fell !  —  In  the  barge  im- 
mediately after  the  Princess  sat  Fadladeew 
with  his  silken  curtains  thrown  widely  apart, 
that  all  might  have  the  benefit  of  his  august 
presence,  and  with  his  head  full  of  the  speech 
he  was  to  deliver  to  the  King,  "  concerning 
Feeamorz,  and  literature,  and  the  Chabuk,  at 
connected  therewith." 

They  now  had  entered  the  canal  which  leads 
from  the  Lake  to  the  splendid  domes  and  salooni 
of  the  Shalimar,  and  went  gliding  on  through  the 


according  to  the  Mahometans,  one  of  the  signs  of  the  Lail 
Day's  approach. 

Another  of  the  signs  is,  "  Great  distress  in  the  world,  ai 
that  a  man  when  he  passes  by  another's  grave  shall  say 
Would  to  God  I  were  in  his  place  !  "  —  Scle'i  Preliniinar, 
P'srourse. 


PULrriCAL  AND   SATIRICAL  P0E3IS. 


u. 


gardens  that  ascendeil  from  each  bank,  full  of 
dowenng  shrubs  that  made  the  air  all  perfume  ; 
wldle  from  the  middle  of  the  canal  rose  jets  of 
water,  smooth  and  unbroken,  to  such  a  dazzling 
height,  that  they  stood  like  tall  pillars  of  dia- 
mond in  t\e  sunshine.  After  sailing  under  the 
arches  c/  various  saloons,  they  at  length  arrived 
at  '^e  Inst  and  most  magnificent,  where  the 
monarch  awaited  the  coming  of  his  bride  ;  and 
•uch  was  the  agitation  of  her  heart  and  frame, 
that  it  was  with  difficulty  she  could  walk  up  the 
marble  steps,  which  were  covered  with  cloth  of 
gold  for  her  ascent  from  the  barge.  At  the  end 
if  tlie  hall  stood  two  thrones,  as  precious  as  the 
Cerulean  Throne  of  Coolburga,'  on  one  of  which 
«ct  Aliuis,  the  youthful  King  of  Bucharia,  and 
on  the  other  was,  in  a  few  minutes,  to  bo  placed 
the  most  beautiful  Princess  in  the  world.  Im- 
mediately upon  the  entrance  of  Lalla  Rookh 
mto  the  saloon,  the  monarch  descended  from  his 
throne  to  meet  her ;  but  scarcely  had  he  time 
to  take  her  hand  in  his,  when  she  screamed 
•vith  surprise,  and  fainted  at  his  feet.  It  was 
Feu.vmobz  himself  that  stood  before  her !  — 
Feoamobz  was,  himself,  the  Sovereign  of  Bu- 
charia, who  in  this  disguise  had  accompanied 
his  young  bride  from  Delhi,  and,  having  won 

1  "  On  Mahomroed  Shaw's  ratum  to  Koolburga  (the  cap- 
ital of  Dekkan),  be  made  a  great  festival,  and  mounted  tbid 
throne  with  much  pomp  and  magnificence,  callini;  it  Firo- 
teh  or  Cerulean.  I  have  heard  same  old  persons,  who  saw 
the  throne  Firozeb  in  the  reign  of  Sultan  Mamood  Bha- 
menee,  de<!cribe  it.  They  say  that  it  was  in  length  nine 
feet,  and  three  in  breadth ;  made  of  ebony,  covered  with 
plate*  of  pure  goM,  and  set  with  precious  stones  of  immense 
ra/ua.    Every  Dn.ice  of  th«  bouM  of  Bhameneo,  who  pot- 


her love  as  an  humble  miiutrel,  now  amply  da 
served  to  enjoy  it  as  a  King. 

The  consternation  of  Faouisbxx  at  this  dia> 
covery  was,  for  the  moment,  almost  pitiable 
But  change  of  opinion  is  a  resource  toe  coaven- 
ient  in  courts  for  this  experienced  co  .rtior  no< 
to  have  learned  to  avail  himself  of  it.  Ilia 
criticisms  were  all,  of  course,  recanted  iutantly  : 
he  was  seized  with  an  admiration  of  the  King  • 
verses,  as  unbounded  as,  he  begged  him  to 
believe,  it  was  disinterested  ;  and  the  following 
week  saw  him  in  possession  of  an  additional 
place,  swearing  by  all  the  Saints  of  Islam  that 
never  had  there  existed  so  great  a  poet  as  the 
Monarch  Aunis,  and,  moreover,  ready  to  pre- 
scribe his  favorite  regimen  of  the  Chabuk  for 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  that  dared  to 
think  otherwise. 

Of  the  happiness  of  the  King  and  Queen  ol 
Bucharia,  after  such  a  beginning,  there  can  bo 
but  little  doubt ;  and,  among  the  lesser  sj'mp- 
toms,  it  is  recorded  of  Lalla  Rookh,  that,  to 
the  day  of  her  death,  in  memory  of  their  do 
lightful  journey,  she  never  called  the  King  b^ 
any  other  name  than  Febamouz. 

■eaaed  thia  throne,  made  a  point  of  adding  to  it  aome  rkb 
stones ;  io  that  when  in  the  reign  of  Sultan  Mamood  II 
was  talien  to  pieces,  to  remove  some  of  the  Jewels  to  be  SM 
in  vases  and  cups,  the  Jewellers  valued  it  at  one  corore  of 
oons  (nearly  four  millions  sterling).  I  learned  also  that  i 
was  called  Firozeh  from  being  partly  enamelled  of  •  sky 
blue  color,  which  was  in  time  totally  coitcealed  by  the  num 
ber  of  Jewels." — Ferithta. 


POLITICAL    AND    SATIRICAL    POEMS. 


LINES    ON    THE    DEATH    OP    MR. 
P— RC— V— L. 

In  the  dirge  we  sung  o'er  him  no  censure  was 
heard, 
TJnimbitter'd  and  free  di^  *he  teardrop  de- 
scend ; 
We  forgot,  in  that  hour,  hott  *ibt  statesman  hMl 
err'd, 
«     And  wept  for  the  husband,  tbA  't^her,  and 
friend. 

fiS 


O,  proud  was  the  meed  his  integrity  won. 
And  gen'rous  indeed  were  the  tears  that  «^ 
shed. 
When,  in  grief;  we  forgot  all  the  ill  he  had 
done. 
And,  though  wrong'd  by  him,  living,  bewall'd 
him,  when  dead. 


Even  now,  if  one  harsher  emotion  intmde, 
Tis  to  wish  Le  had  chosen  some  lowlier  stata 


(58 


POLITICAL  AND  SATIRICAL  POEMS. 


Bad  known  -what  he  was  —  and,  content  to  be 
good, 
Had  ne'er,  for  our  ruin,  aspir'd  to  be  great. 

80,  left  through  their  own  little  orbit  to  move. 
His  years  might  have  roll'd  inoffensive  away ; 
is  children  might  still  have  been  bless' d  with 

his  love, 
knA.  England  would  ne'er  have  been  cursed 
with  his  away. 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Morning  Chronicle. 
Sir, 
In  order  to  explain  the  following  Fragment, 
11  is  necessary  to  refer  your  readers  to  a  late 
florid  description  of  the  PavUion  at  Brighton, 
in  the  apartments  of  which,  we  are  told,  •'  FuM, 
The  Chinese  Bird  of  Royalty,"  is  a  principal 
om£ment. 

I  am,  Sir,  »ours,  &c. 
Muu. 

FUM   /VND  HUM,  THE  TWO   BIRDS  OF 
ROYALTY. 

One  day  the  Chinese  Bird  of  Royalty,  Fum, 
Thus  accosted  our  o^vn  Bird  of  Royalty,  Hum, 
In  that  Palace  or  China  shop  (Brighton,  which 

is  it  r) 
Where  Fum  had  just  come  to  pay  Hum  a  short 

visit. — 
Near  akin  are  these  Birds,  though  they  differ  in 

nation 
(The  breed  of  the  Hums  is  as  old  as  creation)  ; 
Both,  full-craw'd  Legitimates  —  both,  birds  of 

prey, 
Both,  cackling  and  ravenous  creatures,  half  way 
'Twixt  the  gooFO  and  the  vulture,  like  Lord 

C — ST OH. 

Wliile  Fum  deals  in  Mandarins,  Bonzes,  Bohea, 
Peers,  Bishops,  and  Punch,  Hum,  are  sacred  to 

thee! 
80  congenial  their  tastes,  that,  when  Fum  first 

did  light  on 
The  floor  of  that  grand  China  warehouse  at 

Bright  Dn, 
Ite  lanterns,  and  dragons,  and  things  round  the 

dome 
Were  so  like  what  he  left,  "  Gad,"  says  Fom, 

"  I'm  at  home."  — 
And  when,  turning,  he  saw  Bishop  L ge, 

"  Zooks,  it  is," 
Quoth  the  Bird,  "  Yes  —  I  know  him  —  a  Bonze, 

by  his  piiiz    - 


"  And  that  jolly  old  idol  he  kneels  to  so  low 
"  Can  be  none  but  oujr  roundabout  godhead,  fat 

Fo!" 
It  chanced  at  this  moment,  th'  Episcopal  Prig 
Was  imploring  the  P e  to  dispense  Tvith  hit 

wig,* 
Which  the  Bird,  overhearing,  flew  high  j'er  hu 

head. 
And  some  ToBiT-like  marks  of  his  patronagt 

shed. 
Which  so  dimm'd  the  poor  Dandy's  idolatrous 

eye. 
That,  while  Fum  cried  "  O  Fo  ! "  all  the  court 

cried  "  0  fie  !  " 

But,  a  truce  to  digression ;  —  these  Birds  of  a 

feather 
Thus  talk'd,   t'other  night,  on   State   matters 

together ; 
(The  P E  just  in  bed,  or  about  to  depart 

fort. 
His  legs  full  of  gout,   and  his   arms  full  of 

H — RTF — D,) 

"I  say.   Hum,"   says  Fum  —  Fum,   of   course, 

spoke  Chinese, 
But,  bless  you,  that's  nothing  —  at  Brighton  one 

sees 
Foreign   lingoes  and    Bishops  translated  with 

ease  — 
"  I  say,  Hum,  how  fares  it  with  Royalty  now  ? 
"Is  it  up  f  is  it  prime?  is  it  spooney —  or  how  ? " 
(The  Bird  had  just  taken  a  flash-man's  degree 
Under  B — ku — m — re,  Y th,  and  young 

Master  L e) 

"  As  for  us  in  Pekin  " here,  a  dcv'l  of  a  din 

From  the  bed  chamber  came,  where  that  long 

•   Mandarin, 
C — stl — gh  (whom  Fum  cajus  the  Confucixta  of 

Prose), 
Was  rehearsing  a  speech  upon  Europe's  ra- 

pose 
To  the  deep,  double  bass  of  the  fat  Idol's  nose. 

{Nota  bene  —  his  Lordship   and    L — v — bj— w 

come, 
In  collateral  lines,  from  the  old  Mother  Hum, 
C — STL GH    a    HuM-bug  —  L — V — RP — L    a 

HuM-drum.) 
The     Speech     being     finished,     out     ruslied 

C — STL — GH, 

Saddled  Hum  in  a  hurry,  and,  whip,  spur,  away 


1  In  consequence  of  an  old  promise,  that  he  should  bi    t 
allowed  to  wear  his  own  hair,  whenever  he  might  be  el» 
vated  to  a  Bishopric  by  his  R 1  H sa. 


POLITICAL  AND  SATIRICAL  POEMS. 


4K 


rhrough  the  regions  of  air,  like  a  Snip  on  his 

nobby, 
Ve'er  paused,  till  he  lighted  in  St.  Stephen's 
lobby. 
•  ♦*••• 


rJNES  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  SH— R— D— N. 

fn.jc.p:>j«  placuisse  viris !  —  Hobat. 

?  Es,  grjef  will  have  way  i—  but  the  fiast  falling 
tear 
Shall   be  mingled  with  deep  execrations  on 
tbose, 
Who  could  bask  in  that  Spirit's  meridian  career. 
And  yet  leave  it  thus  lonely  and  dark  at  its 
close  :  — 

Whose  vanity  flew  round  him,  only  while  fed 
By  the  odor  his  fame  in  its  siimmer  time  gave  ; 

Whose  vanity  now,  with  quick  scent  for  the  dead. 
Like  the  Ghole  of  the  East,  comes  to  feed  at 
his  grave. 

XJ,  It  sickens  the  heart  to  see  bosoms  so  hollow. 
And  spirits  so  mean    in  the  great  and  high 
bom  ; 
I'o  think  what  a  long  line  of  titles  may  follow 
The  relics  of  him  who  died  —  friendless  and 
lorn ! 

How  proud  they  can  press  to  the  fun'ral  array 
Of  one,  whom  they  shunn'd  in  his  sickness 
and  sorrow  :  — 
How  bailiffs  may  seize  his  last  blanket,  to-day. 
Whose  pall  shall  be  held  up  by  nobles  to- 
morrow I 

And  Thou,  too,  whose  life,  a  sick  epicure's  dream. 
Incoherent  and  gross,  even  grosser  had  pass'd, 

Were  it  not  for  that  cordial  and  soul-giving  beam. 
Which  his  friendship  and  wit  o'er  thy  noth- 
ingness cast :  — 

Ko,  not  for  the  wealth  of  the  land,  that  supplies 

With  milu.;;i8  to  heap  upon  Foppery's  shrine ; 
^^o,  not  for  the  riches  of  all  who  despise  thee. 
Though  this   would   make  Europe's  whole 
opulence  mine :  — 

Would  I  suffer  what  —  en'n  in  the  heart  that 
thou  hast  — 
411  mean  as  it  is  —  must  h»Te  consciously 
butn'd* 


When  the  pittance,  which  shame  had  wrung 
from  thee  at  last. 
And  which  found  all  his  wants  tt  tn  er-d,  wm 
retum'd !  * 

•♦  Was  thu  then  the  fate,"  —  future  ages  will  say 

"When  tome  names  shall  live  but  in  historr'k 

curse; 

When  Truth  will  be  heard,  and  these  Lords  of 

a  day 

Be  forgotten  as  fools,  or  remcmber'd  as  wcnet 

"  Was  this  then  the  fate  of  that  high- gifted  man, 
"  The  pride  of  the  palace,  the  bower  and  ths 
hall, 
"  The    orator,  —  dramatist,  —  minstrel,  —  who 
ran 
"  Through  each  mode  of  the  IjTe,  and  was 
master  of  all ;  — 

"  Whose  mind  was  an  essence,  compounded 
with  art 
"  From  the  finest  and  best  of  all  other  men's 
powers ;  — 
"  Who  ruled,  like  a  wizard,  the  world  of  the 
heart, 
'<  And  could  call  up  its  sunshine,  or  bring 
down  its  showers;  — 

•*  Whose  humor,  as  gay  as  the  firefly's  light, 
'•  Play'd  round  every  subject,  and  shone  as  it 
play'd ;  — 
••  Whose  wit,  in  the  combat,  as  gentle  as  bright 
<*  Ne'er    carried  a    hcartstain  away  on    its 
blade ;  — 

"  Whose  eloquence  —  bright'ning  whatever  it 
tried, 
"  Whether  reason  or  fancy,  the  gay  or  ths 
grave,— 
"  Was  as  rapid,   as  deep,   and  as  brilliant  a 
tide. 
"  As  ever  bore  Freedom  aloft  on  its  wave  I " 

Yes  —  such  was  the  man,  and  so  wretched  his 
fate;— 
And  thus,  sooner  or  later,  shall  all  hare  ts 
grieve. 
Who  waste  their  mom's  dew  in  the  beams  of  ths 
Great, 
And  expect  'twill  return  to  refresh  them  at  erck 


>  The  lum  wm  two  bandrad  pooads— ^flrtd  wiMt 
Sb — r — d— n  could  no  longer  laks  an/  nslMMBM,  aad  tt 
oliMd,  for  bin,  by  bis  (riemiiL 


160 


POLITICAL  AND  SATIRICAL  POEMS. 


In  the  woods  of  th-O  North  there  are  insects  that 
prey 
On  the  brain  of  the  elk  till  his  very  last  sigh ; ' 
O,  Genius  !  thy  patrons,  more  cruel  than  they, 
First  feed  on  thy  brains,  and  then  leave  thee 
to  die! 


EPISTLE 

FBOM 

TOM  CRIB  TO  BIG  BEN,« 

CMCiBiriiro  soxi  rocL  flat  iir  a  lati  XBAirgACiioir.S 

"  Ahi,  mio  Bsn  ! " — Mjetastasio.* 

What  !  Ben,  my  old  hero,  is  this  your  renown  ? 

Is  this  the  new  go  f  — kick  a  man  when  he's  down ! 

When  the  foe  has  knock'd  under,  to  tread  on 
him  then  — 

By  the  fist  of  my  father,  I  blush  for  thee,  Ben  ! 

•'  Foul !  foul !  "  all  the  lads  of  the  Fancy  ex- 
claim — 

Charley  Shock  is  electrified  —  Belcher  spits 
flame  — 

And  Molyneux  —  ay,  even  Blacky  *  cries 
«•  shame  1 " 

Time  was,  when  John  Bull  little  difference 
spied 

'Twixt  the  foe  at  his  feet,  and  the  &iend  at  his 
side : 

When  he  found  (such  his  humor  in  fighting  and 
eating) 

His  foe,  like  his  beefsteak,  the  sweeter  for 
beating. 

But  this  comes.  Master  Ben,  of  yoiir  curs'd  for- 
eign notions, 

Your  trinkets,  wigs,  thingumbobs,  gold  lace  and 
lotions ; 

1  Naturalists  have  observed  that,  upon  dissecting  an  elk, 
there  was  found  in  its  head  some  large  flies,  with  its  brain 
Uni'fEt  ealen  away  by  them.  —  History  of  Poland. 

*  A  nickname  given,  at  this  time,  to  the  Pr — ce  R — g — t. 

»  Written  soon  after  Bonaparte's  transportation  to  St. 
Velsna. 

t  Tom,  1  lu^pose,  was  "  assisted  "  to  this  Motto  by  Mr. 


Your  Noyaus,  Cura^oas,  and  the  Devil  know 

what  — 
(One  swig  of  Blvie  Ruin^  is  worth  the  whole 

lot!) 
Your  great  and  small  crosses  —  (my  eyes,  what 

a  brood  ! 
A  cross-buttock  from  me  would  do  some  of  them 

good !) 
Which  have  spoilt  you,  till  hardly  a  drop,  my 

old  porpoise. 
Of  pure  Enghsh  claret  is  left  in  your  corpus ; 
And  (as  Jim  says)  the  only  one  trick,  good  or 

bad. 
Of  the  Fancy  you're  up  to,  \s  Jibbing,  my  lad. 
Hence  it   comes,  —  Boxlana,   disgrace  to  thy 

page!  — 
Having  floor' d,  by  good  luck,  the  first  swell  of 

the  age. 
Having  conquer'd  the  prime  one,  that  milVd  us 

all  round. 
You  kick'd  him,  old  Ben,  as  he  gasp'd  on  the 

ground ! 
Ay — just  at  the  time  to  show  spunk,  if  you'd 

got  any  — 
Kick'd  him,  and  jaw'd  him,  and  lagg'd ''  him  to 

Botany ! 
O,  shade  of  the  Cheesemonger,^  you,  who,  alas. 
Doubled  up,  by  the  dozen,  those  Mounsecrs  in 

brass, 
On  that  great  day  of  milling,  when  blood  lay  in 

lakes. 
When  Kings  held  the  bottle,  and  Europe  the 

stakes, 
Look  down  upon  Ben  —  see  him,  dunghill  all  o'er, 
Insult  the  fall'n  foe,  that  can  harm  him  no  more  ! 
Out,  cowardly  spooney !  —  again  and  again, 
By  the  fist  of  my  father,  I  blush  for  thee,  Ben. 
To  show  the  white  feather  is  many  men's  doom. 
But,  what  of  one  feather  ?  —  Ben  shows  a  whale 

Plume. 


Jackson,  who,  it  is  well  known,  keeps  the  most  learned 
company  going. 

t  Names  and  nicknames  of  celebrated  pugilists  at  tiuA 
time. 

«  Gin. 

T  Transported. 

8  A  Life  Guardsman,  one  of  (Ae  Fanq/,  who  distinguished 
itiiuwlf,  and  was  killed  in  the  memonble  sttria  at  Waterlotk 


THE    FUDGE    FAMILY    IN    PARIS. 


I«  Legg:  dpila  Klascbera  richiedono  che  una  pencna  maacberata  non  au  aalutata  per  doom  da  nao  dto  It  i 
ftsgrtdc  I:  auo  travestimenux  — C^iTiauona. 


PREFACE. 

In  what  manner  the  following  Epistles  camo 
into  my  hands,  it  is  not  necessary  for  the  public 
to  know.  It  will  be  seen  by  Mr.  Fudge's  Sec- 
ond Letter,  that  he  is  one  of  those  gentlemen 
■whose  Secret  Services  in  Ireland,  under  the  mild 

ministry  of  my  Lord  C oh,  have  been  so 

amply  and  gratefully  remunerated.  Like  his 
friend  and  associate,  Thomas  Reynolds,  Esq., 
he  had  retired  upon  the  rcAvard  of  his  honest 
industrj' ;  but  has  lately  been  induced  to  ap- 
pear again  in  active  life,  and  superintend  the 
training  of  that  Delalorian  Cohort,  which  Lord 
8 — DM — TH,  in  hia  wisdom  and  benevolence,  haB 
organized. 

Whether  Mr.  Fcdob,  himself,  has  yet  made 
any  discoveries,  does  not  appear  from  the  fol- 
lowing pages.  But  much  may  be  expected  from 
a  person  of  his  zeal  and  sagacity,  and,  indeed, 
to  him.  Lord  S— dm — th,  and  the  Greenland- 
bound  ships,  the  eyes  of  all  lovers  of  ditcoveriet 
are  now  most  anxiously  directed. 

I  regret  much  that  I  have  been  obliged  to 
omit  Mr.  Bob  Fcdoe's  Third  Letter,  concluding 
the  adventures  of  his  Day  with  the  Dinner, 
Opera,  &c.  &c. ;  —  but,  in  consequence  of  some 
remarks  upon  Marinette's  thin  drapery,  which, 
it  was  thought,  might  give  offence  to  certain 
well-meaning  persons,  the  manuscript  was  sent 
back  to  Paris  for  his  revision,  and  had  not  re- 
turned when  the  last  sheet  was  put  to  press. 

It  will  not,  I  hope,  be  thought  presumptuous, 
if  I  take  this  opportunity  of  complaining  of  a 
Tery  serious  injustice  I  have  suffered  from  the 
public.  Dr.  Kixo  wrote  a  treatise  to  prove  that 
Bk»TLET  '  was  not  the  author  of  his  own  book," 
and  a  similar  absurdity  has  been  asserted  of  me, 
in  almost  all  the  best-informed  literary  circles. 
With  the  name  of  the  real  author  staring  them 
ja  the  face,  they  have  yet  persisted  in  attribut- 
ing mj  works  to  other  people ;  and  the  fame 
of  the  Twopenny  Post  Bag  —  such  as  it  is  — 
having  hovered  doubtfully  over  various  persona, 
has  at  last  settled  upon  the  head  of  a  ".ertain 
little  gentleman,  who  wears  it,  I  undemtaid,  as 
romplaceutly  as  if  it  actually  belonged  to  lim ; 


without  even  the  honesty  of  ayowing,  with  "" '» 
own  favorite  author,  (he  will  excuse  the  pun) 

Eyu  f  'O  MaPOZ  apa( 

I  can  only  add,  that  if  any  lady  or  gentleman, 
curious  in  such  matters,  will  take  the  troubla 
of  calling  at  my  lodgings,  245,  Piccadilly,  I  shall 
have  the  honor  of  assuring  them,  in  propriA 
persona,  that  I  am  —  his,  or  her, 
Very  obedient 

And  very  humble  Servant, 
THOMAS  BROWN,  THE  YOUNGER. 
Jifra  17, 1818 


LETTER  L 


TBOlf   mas   BIDDT   FTTDOB   TO  K188  DOBOTHT  » 

OF   CLONKILTT,  IN    UlELAND. 

Arniena. 
Dear  Doll,  while  the  tails  of  our  horses  ara 

plaiting, 

The  trunks  tying  on,  and  Papa,  at  the  door. 

Into  very  bad  French  is,  as  usual,  translating 

His  English  resolve  not  to  give  a  son  more, 

I  sit  down  to  write  you  a  line  —  only  think  I  — 

A  letter  from  France,  with  French  pens  and 

French  ink. 
How  delightful !  though,  would  you  believe  it, 

my  dear ! 
I  have  seen  nothing  yet  very  wonderful  here ; 
No  adventure,  no  sentiment,  far  as  we've  corr^ 
But  the  cornfields  and  trees  quite  as  ddl  aa  al 

home ; 
And  6w/  for  the  postboy,  his  boots  and  lib  roe^ 
I  might  Ju^  as  well  be  at  Clonkilty  with  yon  I 
In  vain,  at  Derbein's,  did  I  take  from  my  trunk 
That  divine  fellow,  Stbrni,  and  fall  readinti 

"  The  Monk  ;  " 
In  vain  did  I  think  of  his  charming  Dead  Am, 
And  remember  the  crust  and  the  wallet — alaal 
No  monks  can  be  had  now  for  love  or  for  uiunej 
(All  0T»-ing,  Pa  8ay^  to  that  infidel  Bombt  i\ 


162 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


And,  though  one  little  Neddy  we  saw  in  our  drive 
Out  of  classical  Nampont,  the  beast  was  alive  ! 

By  the  by,  though,  at  Calais,  Papa  had  a  touch 

Of  romince  on  the  pier,  which  affected  me  much. 

At  the  sight  of  that  spot,  where  our  darling 
DixHurr 

Set  the  first  of  ais  own  dear  legitimate  feet,^ 

(Modell'd  out  so  exactly,  and  —  God  bless  the 
mark ! 

Tis  a  foot,  Dolly,  worthy  so  Grand  a  Monarque), 

He  EAclaim'd,  '•  O,  mon  Roi !  "  and,  with  tear- 
dropping  eye. 

Stood  to  gaze  on  the  spot  —  while  some  Jacobin, 
nigh, 

Mutter'd  out  with  a  shrug  (what  an  insolent 
thing  !) 

"  Ma  foi,  he  be  right  —  'tis  de  Englishman's 
King; 

And  dat  (/ros  pied  de  coclwn  —  bogar,  me  vil  say 

Dat  de  foot  look  mosh  better,  if  turn'd  toder 
way." 

There's  the  pillar,  too  —  Lord  I  had  nearly 
forgot  — 

What  a  charming  idea !  —  rais'd  close  to  the  spot ; 

The  mode  being  now,  (as  you've  heard,  I  sup- 
pose,) 

To  build  tombs  over  legs,"  and  raise  pillars  to  toes. 

This  is  all  that's  occurr'd  sentimental  as  yet ; 
Except,  indeed,  some  little  flow'r  nymphs  we've 

met. 
Who  disturb  one's  romance  with  pecuniary  views, 
Flinging  flow'rs  in  your  path,  and  then  —  bawl- 
ing for  sous ! 
And  some  picturesque  beggars,  whose  miilti- 

tudes  seem 
To  recall  the  good  days  of  the  ancien  rigime, 
All  as  ragged  and  brisk,  you'll  be  happy  to  learn. 
And  as  thui  as  they  were  in  the  time  of  dear 
Sterne. 

Our  party  consists  (in  a  neat  Calais  job) 
Df  Papa  and  myself,  Mr.  Connor  and  Bob. 
Y'ju  remember  how  sheepish  Bob  look'd  at  Kil- 

rindy, 
9  It    Lord  !  he's  quite  alter'd  —  they've  made 

him  a  Dandy ; 
A  thing,  you  know,  whisker' d,  great  coated,  and 

laced. 
Like  an  hourglass,  exceedingly  small  in  the  waist ; 


1  To  conimemorate  the  landing  of  Louis  le  D^siri  from 
England,  tli9  iinii-ession  of  hia  foot  is  marked  out  on  the 


Quite  a  new  sort  of  creatures,  unknown  yet  td 

scholars, 
With  heac^?  so  immovably  stuck  in  shirt  collars, 
That  seats,  like  our  music  stools,  soon  must  be 

found  them, 
To  twirl,  when  the  creatures  may  wish  to  look 

round  them. 
In  short,  dear,  "  a  Dandy  "  describes  what   I 

mean, 
And  Bob's  far  the  best  of  the  genus  I  ve  seen  : 
An  improving  young  man,  fond  of  learning, 
V  ambitious. 

And  goes  now  to  Paris  to  study  French  dishes, 
Whose  names  —  think,  how  quick  !  he  already 

knows  pat, 
A  la  braise,  petits  pAtis,  and  —  what  d'ye  call  tha' 
They  inflict  on  potatoes  ?  —  O,  maitre  d^hdiel  — 
I  assure  you,  dear  Dolly,  he  knows  them  as  weK 
As  if  nothing  else  all  his  life  he  had  eat, 
Though  a  bit  of  them  Bobby  has  never  touch'd 

yet; 
But  just  knows  the  names  of  French  dishes  and 

cooks, 
As  dear  Papa  knows  the  titles  of  authors  ana 

books. 

As  to  Pa,  what  d'ye  think  ? — mind,  it's  all  entn 

nous, 
But  you  know,  love,  I  never  keep  secrets  from 

you  — 
Why,  he's  writing  a  book  —  what !   a  tale  ?  a 

romance  ? 
No,  ye  Gods,  would  it  were  !  —  but  his  Travel* 

in  France ; 
At  the  special  desire  (he  let  out  t'other  day) 
Of  his  great  friend  and  patron,  my  Lord  C — s 

TL — R — GH, 

Who  said,  "  My  dear  FrDOE  " 1  forget  th 

exact  words, 
And,  it's  strange,  no  one  ever  remembers  mj 

Lord's ; 
But  'twas  something  to  say  that,  as  all  must  aflow 
A  good  orthodox  work  is  much  wanting  just  now, 
To  expound  to  the  world  the  new  —  thinguit 

mie  —  science. 
Found   out   by  the  —  what's-its-name  —  HrJy 

Alliance, 
And  prove  to  mankind  that  their  ngi^ts  are  but 

folly, 
Their  freedom  a  joke  (which  it  is,  yo\i  know, 

Dolly), 


pier  at  Calais,  and  a  pillar  with  an  ms.nption  rai?^  oppt 
site  to  the  spot. 
s  Ci-git  la  jambe  de.  See  Sec 


THE  PJDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


46. 


'« There's  none,'    said  his  Lordship,  "  if  /  may  i  But  Paris,  dear  Paris  !  —  O,  there  will  be  joy, 


be  judge, 
Half  so  fit  for  this  great  undertaking  as  Fudoe  !  " 

The  matter's  soon  settled  —  Pa  flies  to  the  Roto 
{The  Jint  stage  your  tourists  now  usually  go), 
Settles    all    for  his    quarto  —  advertisements, 

praises  — 
Starts  post  from  the  door,  with  his  tablets  — 

French  phrases  — 
••Scott's   Visit,"   of  course  —  in  short,   ev'ry 

thing  he  has 
An  author  can  want,  except  words  and  ideas ;  — 
And,  lo  !  the  first  thing,  in  the  spring  of  the  year, 
Is  Phil.  Fuuoe  at  the  front  of  a  Quarto,  my  dear  ! 

But,  bless  me,  my  paper's  near  out,  so  I'd  better 
Draw  fast  to  a  close :  —  this  exceeding  long  letter 
You  owe  to  a  dije&ner  d  la  fourchette, 
Wliich  Bobby  toould  have,  and  is  hard  at  it  yet.  — 
What's  next  ?  O,  the  tutor,  the  last  of  the  party, 
Young  CoNNOB :  —  they  say  he's  so  like  Bona- 

FA.RTB, 

His  nose  and  his  chin — which  Papa  rather 

dreads. 
As  the  Bourbons,  you  know,  are  suppressing  all 

heads 
That  resemble  old  Nap's,  and  who  knows  but 

their  honors 
May  think,  in  their  fright,  of  suppressing  p«or 

CoNWoa's  ? 
Au  reste  (as  we  say),  the  young  lad's  well  enough, 
Only  talks  much  of  Athens,  Home,  virtue,  and 

stuff; 
A  third  cousin  of  ours,  by  the  way  —  poor  as  Job 
(Though  of  royal  descent  by  the  side  of 

Mamma), 
And  for  charity  made  private  tutor  to  Bob  ;  — 
Erttre  nous,  too,  a  Papist  —  how  lib'ral  of  Pa  ! 

Tills  is  all,  dear,  —  forgive  me  for  breaking  off 

thus. 
But  Bob's  diJeHLner'a  done,  and  Papa's  in  a  fuss. 

B.  F. 

P.  S. 
How  provoking  of  Pa !  he  will  not  let  me  stop 
Just  to  run  in  and  rummage  some  milliner'«  shop ; 
And  my  dibul  in  Paris,  I  blush  to  think  on  it, 
Must   now,  Doll,  be  made  in  a  hideous  low 
bonnet. 

1  A  celebrated  mantua  maker  In  Paris. 
TliM  excellent  imitation  of  the  noble  Lord'f  ityle  tbawa 
b<<w  ileeplv  Mr.  "'idge  must  have  xtudled  his  great  originaL  '■ 
I'ikl  'Tatuty,  indeed  abounds  will)  cuch  ■taitling  peculiar-  j 


At..'  romance,  and  high  bonnets,  and  Madams 
LeRoiP 


LETTER  XL 

vbojC  PHIL.  rtmoB,  Esa.  to  thi  loej  ruoom 
C — ST — B — au 

Nik 

At  length,  my  Lord,  I  have  the  bllM 
To  date  to  you  a  line  from  this 
•*  Demoraliz'd  "  mctrdpolis  ; 
Where,  by  plebeians  low  and  scurvy. 
The  throne  was  tum'd  quite  topsy  turry. 
And  Kingship,  tumbled  from  its  seat, 
"  Stood  prostrate  "  at  the  people's  feet ; 
Where  (still  to  use  your  I./)rdship's  tropes) 
The  level  of  obedience  slopes 
Upward  and  downward,  as  the  stream 
Of  hydra  faction  kicks  the  beam !  * 
Where  the  poor  Palace  changes  masters 

Quicker  than  a  snake  its  skin, 
And  Louis  is  roU'd  out  on  castors. 

While  Bonby's  borne  on  shoulders  in :  — 
But  where,  in  every  change,  no  doubt. 

One  special  good  your  Lordship  traces,- 
That  'tis  the  Khigs  alone  turn  out, 

llie  MinisUsrs  still  keep  their  peaces 


How  oft  dear  Viscount  C- 


-GH, 

I've  thought  of  thee  upon  the  way. 
As  in  ray  Job  (what  place  could  bo 
More  apt  to  wake  a  thought  of  thee  ? ) 
Or,  oftener  far,  when  gravely  sitting 
Upon  my  dicky,  (as  is  fitting 
For  him  who  writes  a  Tour,  that  he 
May  more  of  men  and  manners  see,) 
I've  thought  of  thee  and  of  thy  glorict». 
Thou  guest  of  Kings,  and  King  of  Tories  I 
Reflecting  how  thy  fame  has  gro^«-n 

And  spread,  beyond  man's  usual  si  are, 
At  home,  abroad,  till  thou  art  known. 

Like  Major  Sbmple,  every  where  ! 
And  marv'lling  with  what  pow'rs  of  breatL 
Your  Lordship,  having  speech'd  to  death 
Some  hundreds  of  your  fellow-men, 
Next  speech'd  to  Sovereigns'  ears,  —  and  when 
All  Sovereigns  else  were  doz'd,  at  la.<<t 
Speech'd  down  the  Sovereign  '  of  Belfast. 


Mas.    Thua  Um  eloquent  Counaellur  B ,  in  i 

•OHM  hypocritical  pretender  to  charity,  Mid,  **  He  put  hit 

band  in  liis  breecliee  pocket,  lilce  a  crorcdile,  and,"  Ae.  Jfcc 

*  TbetiU«ofttMciii«finasi«rai«arB«UM(.k*f«t  wboa 


I«4 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  EST  PARIS. 


O,  'mid  the  praises  and  the  trophies 
Thou  gain'st  from  Morosophs  and  Sophis  , 
'Mid  all  the  tributes  to  thy  fame, 
There's  one  thou  shouldst  be  chiefly  pleas'd 
at  — 
That  Ireland  gives  her  snuff  thy  name, 

And   C gh's  the    thing    now    sneez'd 

at! 

Bit  hold  my  pen  !  —  a  truce  to  praising  — 

Though  even  your  Lordship  will  allow 
The  theme's  temptations  are  amazing  ; 

But  time  and  ink  run  short,  and  now 
(As  thou  wouldst  say,  my  guide  and  teacher 

In  these  gay  metaphoric  fringes, 
I  must  embark  into  the  feature 

On  which  this  letter  chiefly  hinges  ; '  — 
My  Book,  the  Book  that  is  to  prove — 
And  will,  (so  help  ye  Sprites  above. 
That  sit  on  clouds,  as  grave  as  judges, 
Watching  the  labors  of  the  Fudges  !) 
Will  prove  that  all  the  world,  at  present, 
Is  in  a  state  extremely  pleasant ; 
That  Europe  —  thanks  to  royal  swords 

And    bay'nets,    and    the    Duke    command- 
ing— 
Enjoys  a  peace  which,  like  the  Lord's, 

Passeth  all  human  understanding  : 
That  France  prefers  her  go-cart  King 

To  such  a  coward  scamp  as  Boney  ; 
Though  round,  with  each  a  leading  string. 

There  standeth  many  a  Boyal  crony, 
For  fear  the  chubby,  tottering  thing 

Should  fall,  if  left  there  loney-poney ;  — 
That  England,  too,  the  more  her  debts. 
The  more  she  spends,  the  richer  gets  ; 
And  that  the  Irish,  grateful  nation  ! 

Remember  when  by  thee  reign'd  over, 
And  bless  thee  for  their  flagellation, 

As  Heloisa  did  her  lover  !  *  — 
That  Poland,  left  for  Russia's  lunch 

Upon  the  sideboard,  snug  reposes  : 
While  Saxony's  as  pleased  as  Punch, 

And  Norway  "  on  a  bed  of  roses  !  " 


U«  Iiordship  (with  the  "  sttidium  immane  loquendi "  attrib- 
nted  by  Ovid  to  tliat  chattering  and  rapacious  class  of 
birds,  the  pies)  delivered  sundry  long  and  self-gratulntory 
orations,  on  'ais  return  from  the  Continent,  It  was  at  one 
ri  tliese  Irish  dinners  that  his  gallant  brother,  Lord  S.,  pro- 
posed tile  health  cf  "  The  best  cavalry  officer  in  Europe  — 
<be  Regent !  '* 

1  Verbatim  from  one  of  the  Qoble  Viscount's  Speeches  — 
•.And  now.  Sir,  I  must  embark  into  the  feature  on  which 
Bui  question  chiefly  binges  ' 
i  Sea  her  Lettsn. 


That,  as  for  some  few  miiJio\.  souls, 

Transferr'd  by  contract,  bless  the  clods  ! 
If  half  were  strangled  —  Spaniards,  Poles, 

And   Frenchmen  —  'twouldn't   make   muci 
odds. 
So  Europe's  goodly  Royal  ones 
Sit  easy  on  their  sacred  thrones  ; 
So  Fehdinand  embroiders  gayly,* 
And  Louis  eats  his  salmis*  daily  ; 
So  time  is  left  to  Emperor  Sandy 
To  be  half  Caesar  and  half  Dandy ; 
And  G — GE  the  R — g — t  (who'd  forget 
That  doughtiest  chieftain  of  the  set  ?") 
Hath  wherewithal  for  trinkets  new, 

For  dragons,  after  Chinese  models. 
And  chambers  where  Duke  Ho  and  Soo 

Might  come   and   nine    times    knock    theii 
noddles !  — 
All  this  my  Quarto  '11  prove  —  much  morf> 
Than  Quarto  ever  proved  before  :  — 
In  reas'ning  with  the  Post  I'll  vie. 
My  facts  the  Courier  shall  supply, 
My  jokes  V — ns — t,  P — le  my  sense. 
And  thou,  sweet  Lord,  my  eloquence,! 

My  Journal,  penn'd  by  fits  and  starts. 

On  Biddy's  back  or  Bobby's  shoulder, 
(My  son,  my  Lord,  a  youth  of  parts. 

Who  longs  to  be  a  small  place  holder,) 
Is  —  though  /  say't,  that  shouldn't  Siy— 
Extremely  good ;  and,  by  the  way. 
One  extract  from  it  —  only  one  — 
To  show  its  spirit,  and  I've  done. 
••  Jul.  thirty-first.  —  Went,  after  snack, 

"  To  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Denny  ; 
"  Sigh'd  o'er  the  Kings  of  ages  back, 

•'  And  —  gave  the  old  Concierge  a  penny. 
"  (3fem.  —  Must  see  Rheims,  much  fam'd,  'til 

said, 
"  For  making  Kings  and  gingerbread.) 
«*  Was  shown  the  tomb  where  lay,  so  stately, 
"  A  little  Bourbon,  buried  lately, 
"  Thrice  high  and  puissant,  we  were  told, 
"  Though  only  twenty-four  hours  old !  * 


*  It  virould  be  an  edifying  thing  to  write  a  history  ot  (ba 
private  amusements  of  sovereigns,  tracing  them  down  ttom 
the  fly-sticking  of  Domitian,  the  mole-catching  of  Artaba- 
nus,  the  hog-mimicking  of  Parmenides,  the  horse-currying 
of  Aretas,  to  the  petticoat-embroidering  of  Ferdinand,  and 
the  patience-playing  of  the  P e  R 1 ! 

*  Oxpa  re,  ola  cSovai  Jior/K^ec;  fiaaiXrisi. 

Homer,  Odyst.  3. 

(  So  described  on  the  coffin :  "  u£s-haute  et  puisaudt 
nrincesse,  ag£e  d'un  jour  " 


"  Hear  this,  thought  I,  ye  Jacobins  : 
"  Ye  Burdetts,  tremble  In  your  skins  ! 
"  If  Royalty,  but  aged  a  day, 
•♦  Can  boast  such  high  and  puissant  sway, 
•«  ■\\Tiat  impious  hand  its  pow'r  would  fix, 
"  Full  fledg'd  and  wigg'd  '  at  fifty-six  ?  " 

The  argument's  quite  new,  you  see, 
And  proves  exactly  Q.  E.  D. 
So  now,  with  duty  to  the  R — o — t, 
I  am.  dear  Lord, 

Your  most  obedient. 


P   F. 


HStel  Breteuil,  Rtte  Rivoli. 
Neat  lodgings  —  rather  dear  for  me  ; 
But  Biddy  said  she  thought  'twould  look 
Gentceler  thus  to  date  my  Book  ; 
And  Biddy's  right  —  besides,  it  curries 
Some  favor  with  our  friends  at  Murray's, 
Who  scorn  what  any  man  can  say. 
That  dates  from  Rue  St.  Honore  I  ■ 


LETTER  m. 

FROM   MR.    ROB   FUOOB   TO   RICHARD    ,   BSO. 


O  Dick  !  yon  may  talk  of  your  writing  and 

reading. 
Your  Logic  and  Greek,  but  there's  nothing  like 

feeding ; 
And  this  is  the  place  for  it,  Dickt,  you  dog. 
Of  all  places  on  earth — the  headquarters  of 

Prog! 
Talk  of  England  —  her  famed  Magna  Charta,  I 

Bwear  is, 
A  humbug,  a  flam,  to  the  Carte'  at  old  Vkry's  ; 
And  as  for  your  Juries  —  who  would  not  set 

o'er  'em 
A  Jury  of   Tasters,*    with  woodcocks   before 

'em 


1  Therp  is  a  fulness  and  breadth  in  this  portrait  of  Rojral- 
If ,  wliirli  reminds  us  of  what  Pliny  says,  in  upcakiiiK  nt 
Trajan's  great  qualities  .  —  "  nonne  long*  laXapu  Principem 
C«tentant  ? " 

«  .See  the  Quarterly  Review  for  May,  1816,  where  Mr. 
Ilobhouse  is  acrii!wd  of  having  written  his  book  "  in  a  back 
•trect  of  the  French  capital." 

*  The  Bill  of  Pare.  — Viry,  a  well-known  Restauratear. 

*  Mr.  Rob  alludes  particularly,  1  presnme,  to  the  famous 
Jury  Digiistateur,  which  used  to  assemble  at  the  Hotel  of 
M.  Grimod  de  la  Rpyni6re,  and  of  which  this  modem  Ar- 
ehestratus  bait  given  an  account  ra  bis  Alnanach  des  Gour- 
mands, ciiiqiiiime  annie,  p.  78. 

69 


Give  Cartwrioht  his  Parliaments,  fresh  eieiy 

year; 
But  those  friends  ot  thort  Commona  would  nerm 

do  here ; 
And.  let  Romillt  speak  as  he  will  on  the  iinea- 

tion. 
No  Digest  of  Law's  like  the  Uwi  of  digenloz. . 

By  the  by,  Dicx,  /  fatten  — but  n' imports  ftt 

that, 
'Tis  the  mode  —  your  Legitimates  always  get  fat 
There's  the  R — o — t,  there's  Louis  —  aiid  BuNer 

tried  too. 
But,   though    somewhat    imperial  in  pauncb 

'twouldn't  do  :  — 
He  improv'd,  indeed,  much  in  this  point,  when 

he  wed. 
But  he  ne'er  grew  right  royally  fat  tn  ths  hoad 

Dick,  Dick,  what  a  place  is  this  Pans !  -   but 

stay  — 
Ab  my  raptures  may  bore  you,  I'll  just  sketch  • 

Day, 
As  we  pass  it,  myself  and  some  comrades  I've  got 
All  thorough-bred  Onottict,  who  know  what  it 

what. 

After  dreaming   some  hours   of   the  land  ol 

Cocaigne,* 
That  Elysium  of  all  that  vifriand  and  nice. 
Where  for  hail  they  have  bon-hotia,  and  claret 

for  rain, 
And  the  skaters  in  winter  show  off  on  cream 

ice ; 
Where  so  ready  all  nature  its  ooouery  yields. 
Macaroni  au  parmesan  grows  in  the  fields  ; 
Little  birds  fly  about  with  the  true  pheasacl 

taint, 
And  the  geese  are  all  bom  with  a  li  rer  com 

plaint !  • 
I  rise  —  put  on  neckcloth  —  stiff,  tight,  as  c* 

be  — 
For  a  lad  who  goes  into  the  world,  Dicx,  likr  nt 


*  The  fairyland  of  cookery  and  go^irmanditt '.  "  tt*,  ( » 
le  del  nitte  lea  viandeo  tnuteti  cuites,  et  ou,  coiume  on  ptri* 
lex  aloueites  tombent  foutes  mties.    Du  Latin    otiuera."- 
Duthat. 

•  The  process  by  which  the  liver  of  the  unf<  rttinate  fnoss 
is  enlarged,  in  onler  to  pnxluce  that  richeft  of  all  Uaiiitiea, 
the  f»U  grat,  of  which  such  renowned  piiU*  are  made  ai 
Btnubourg  and  Tnulouae,  is  thus  dmcrflMd  tn  the  Crtrt 
Oattronomi^t .-  —  "  On  deplume  I'eKtomac  des  <iiwi ;  n«  al^ 
tache  ensuile  ce<  animaux  aux  chenoM  d*UM  eJlMiilli4«,  •• 
on  les  nourrit  devant  lo  feu.  La  captivM  at  la  dialMr  4a« 
nent  i  ces  volaliles,  une  maladle  Myttique,  qui  Mi  ynMtas 
leur  foie,"  &.c  p^  9Q6. 


«66 


THE  FUDGE  FASnLY  IN  PARIS. 


Should   have   his   neck   tied  up,  you  know  — 

there's  no  doubt  of  it  — 
Almost  as  tight  as  some  lads  who  go  out  of  it 
"''ith  whiskers  well  oil'd,  and  with  boots  that 

"  hold  up 
'-  The  minor  to  nature  "  —  so  bright,  you  coiild 

sup 
Oif  the  leather  like  china ;  with  coat,  too,  that 

draws  £ 

On  the  tailor,  who  suffers,  a  martyr's  applause  ! 
With  head  bridled  up,  like  a  four-in-hand  leader, 
And  stays  —  de\-il's  in  them  —  too  tight  for  a 

feeder, 
I  strut  to  the  old  naf6  Hardy,  which  yet 
Beats  the  field  at  a  dijeiiner  h  la  fourchette. 
There,  Dick,  what  a  breakfast !  —  O,  not  like 

your  ghost 
Of  a  breakfast  in  England,  your  curs'd  tea  and 

t  toast ;  * 
But  a  sideboard,  you  dog,  where  one's  eye  roves 

about, 
Like  a  Turk'a  iu  the  Harem,  and  thence  singles 

out 
Oh'^'s  pAli  of  larks,  just  to  tune  up  the  throat, 
(^no's  small  limbs  of  chickens,  done  eti  papillate, 
One'a  erudite  cutlets,  dress'd  all  ways  but  plain, 
Ot  one's  kidneys  —  imagine,  Dick  —  done  with 

champagne  ! 
riien,  some  glasses  of  Beaune,  to  dUute  —  or, 

mayhap, 
Ckambertin,^  which  you  knoTr's  the  pet  tipple 

of  Nap, 
And  which   Dnd,   by  the  by,  that  legitimate 

stickler, 
Much  scruples   to  taste,  but  Tm  not  so  par- 

tic'lar.  — 
Your  coffee   comes  next,  by  prescription :  and 

then,  Dick,  's 
The  coffee's  ne'er-failing,  and  glorious  appendix, 

1  la  Air.  Bob  an'are  t^at  his  contempt  for  tea  renders  him 
liable  to  a  cliarge  of  atheism  7  Such,  at  least,  is  the  opinion 
Cited  in  CUristian.  Falsler.  Ammnitat.  Philolog.  —  "  Atheum 
iiterpretabatur  hominem  ad  herba  The  averstim."  He 
would  not,  1  think,  liave  been  so  irreverent  to  this  beverage 
M  sciiolars,  if  ho  had  read  Peter  Petit's  Poem  in  praise  of 
Tea,  a.idressed  to  the  learned  Huet  —  or  the  Epigraphe 
wfuch  PechUnus  wrote  for  an  altar  he  meant  to  dedicate  to 
tuis  herb  —  or  the  Anacreontics  of  Piter  Francius,  in  which 
ite  calls  Tea 

Ocav,  Str/i/,  9caivav. 

Th»  following  passage  from  one  of  these  Anacreon'ics 
Will,  J  have  no  doubt,  be  gratifying  to  all  true  Theists. 
0£O(y,  ^C(i}v  TC  irarpi, 

El/  XP'OCCOIS  (TKV(pOlCl 

AiJol  TO  vcKTap  'H8ri, 

XC  not  6l<lK0V0tVT0 

£cv^a((  cv  /ivppipoiai. 


(K  books  had  but  such,  my  old  Grecian,  de 

pend  on't, 
I'd  swallow  ev'n  W — tk — ns',  for  the  sake  ol 

the  end  on't,) 
A  neat  glass  of  parfait-amour,  which  one  sips 
Just  as  if   bottled  velvet^  tipp'd  over   :ae'» 

lips. 
This  repast  being  ended,  and  faid  for  —  (Ito^r 

odd! 
Till  man's  used  to  paying,  there's  sornethirip 

so  queer  in't !)  — 
The    sun    now  well    out,    and    the  girls    all 

abroad, 
And  the  world  enough  air'd  for  ns,  Nobs,  to 

appear  in't, 
We  lounge    up    the  Boulevards,   where  —  O, 

Dick,  the  phizes. 
The  turnouts,   we   meet  —  what  a   nation  of 

quizes ! 
Here  toddles  along  some  old  figure  of  fun, 
"With  a  coat  you  might  date  Anno  Domini  1. ; 
A  lac'd  hat,  worsted  stockings,  and  —  noble  old 

soul! 
A  fine   ribbon   and  cross  in  his  best  button 

hole; 
Just  such  as  our  Pr ce,  who  nor  reason  nor 

fun  dreac>, 
Inflicts,  without  ev'n  a  court  martial,  on  hun- 
dreds.* 
Here  trips  a  griaette,  with  a  fond,  roguish  eye, 
(Rather  eatable  things  these  grisettes  by    the 

by); 

And  there  an  old  demoiselle,  almost  as  fond, 
In  a  silk  that  has  stood  since  the  time  of  the 

Fronde. 
There  goes  a  French  Dandy  —  ah,  Dick  !  unlike 

«ome  ones 
We've  seen  about  White's  —  the  Mounseers  eru 

but  rum  ones ! 

T(i)  ura^Xei'  ^onrovira. 
KaAui;  x^l'coat  Kovpa< 

Which  may  be  thus  translated : — 

Yes,  let  Hebe,  ever  young, 

High  in  heav'n  her  nectar  hold 
And  to  Jove's  immortal  throng 

Pour  the  tide  in  cups  of  gold  — 
VU  not  envy  heaven's  Princes, 

While,  with  snowy  hands,  for  me- 
K.ATE  the  china  teacup  rinses, 

And  pouia  out  her  best  Bohea ' 

*  The  favorite  wine  o<  Napoleon. 
8  Velours  en  bouteille. 

*  It  was  said  by  Wicquefort,  more  than  a  hundred  yetn 
ago,  "  Le  Roi  d'Angleterre  fait  seul  plus  de  chevaliers  qua 
tous  les  autrea  Rois  de  la  Chretient6  ensemble  "  -  WTuU 
would  he  say  now  i 


THE  FUDGE  FA3IILY  IN   PARIS. 


Ml 


Buch  hats  !  —  fit  for  monkeys  —  I'd  back  Mrs. 
Drapeb 

To  cut  neater  weather  boards  out  of  brown 
paper : 

A.nd  coats  —  how  I  wish,  if  it  wouldn't  dis- 
tress 'em, 

Fhey'd  club  for  old  Be — mm — l,  from  Calais,  to 
dress  'em  ! 

n  3  collar  sticks  out  from  the  neck  such  a  space, 
'Hiat  you'd  swear  'twas  the  plan  of  this  head- 
lopping  nation, 

lb  leave  there  behind  them  a  snug  little  place 
For  the  head  to  drop  into,  on  decapitation. 

In  short,  what  with  mountebanks,  counts,  and 
friseurs, 

Cfome  mummers  by  trade,  and  the  rest  amateurs — 

What  with  captains  in  new  jockey  boots  and 
silk  breeches, 
Old  dustmen  with  s^i-inging  great  opera  hats. 

And  shoeblacks  reclining  by  statues  in  niches. 
There  never  was  seen  such  a  race  of  Jack 
Sprats  1 

From  the  Boulevards  —  but  hearken  !  —  yes  — 
as  I'm  a  sinner, 

The  clock  is  just  striking  the  half  hour  to  dinner ; 

So  HO  more  at  present  —  short  time  for  adorn- 
ing — 

My  Day  must  be  finish'd  some  other  fine 
morning. 

Now,  hey  for  okl  Bbavyiluebs''  larder,  my  boy  I 

And,  once  there,  if  the  Goddess  of  Beauty  and 
Joy 

Were  to  write  "  Come  and  kiss  me,  dear  Bob  1 " 
I'd  not  budge  — 

Not  a  step,  Dick,  as  sure  as  my  name  is 

R.    FUDOE. 


LETTER  IV. 

FROM   PHELIM    CONNOR  TO . 

Return  !  "  —  no,  never,  while  the  withering 

hand 
Of  bigot  power  is  on  that  hapless  land  ; 
While,  for  the  faith  my  fathers  held  to  God, 
Ev'n   in   the  fields  where  free    those  fathers 

trod, 

1  A  celebrated  restaurateur. 

»  '  Tliey  used  to  leave  a  )-nrd  aqiiare  of  the  wall  of  the 
^oiiiie  iinplaitered,  on  which  they  write,  in  larjie  lettei*, 
•ither  the  fi)re-mentioned  ver*e  of  the  Pnalmist  ('  If  I  forget 
<ie«,  O  ier  ixaleni,'  ice.)  or  the  word*  — '  T^ie  memoo'  of 
be  dead  iticii '  "  —  Lto  of  Modmt 


I  am  proscrib'd,  and.  —  like  the  spot  left  bai« 
In  Israel's  halls,  to  tell  the  proud  and  &ir 
Amidst  their  mirth,   that    Slavery   had    be« 

there*  — 
On  all  I  love,  home,  parents,  friends,  I  tnee 
The  mournful  mark  of  bondage  and  disgrao*  I    ■ 
No!  —  let  them  stay,  who  in  their  ooiuitry  • 

pangs 
See  nought  but  food  for  factions  and  hanngaes  \ 
Who  yearly  kneel  before  their  masters'  doom, 
And  hawk   their  wrongs,  as  beggars  do  thit/ 

sores : 
'Stillletyour    •  •  •  •  • 

•  ••••• 

Still  hope  and  suffer,  all  who  can  !  —  but  I, 
Who  durst  not  hope,  and  cannot  bear,  mtist  fly 

But  whither  ?  —  every  where  the  scourge  pur- 
sues —  ^ 
Turn  where  he  will,  the  wretched  wanderec 

views, 
In  the  bright,  broken  hopes  of  all  his  race, 
Countless  reflections  of  th'  Oppressor's  face. 
Every  where  gallant  hearts,  and  spirits  true. 
Are  serv'd  up  victims  to  the  vile  and  few  ;      gg 
While  E — gl — d,  every  where  —  the  general  foa 
Of  Truth  and  Freedom,  wheresoe'er  they  glow — 
Is  first,  when  tyrants  strike,  to  aid  the  blow. 

0\  E — gl — d  !  could  such  poor  revenge  atone 
For  ^vrongs,  that  well  might  claim  the  deadliest 

one ; 
Were  it  a  vengeance,  sweet  enough  to  sate 
llie  wretch  who  flies  from  thy  intolerant  hate. 
To  hear  his  curses  on  such  barbarous  sway 
Echoed,  where'er  he  bends  his  cheerless  way  ;  — 
Could  thU  content  him,  every  lip  he  meets 
Teems  for  his  vengeance  with  such  poisonous 

sweets ; 
Were  this  his  liixury,  never  is  thy  name 
Pronounc'd,  but  he  doth  banquet  on  thy  shame : 
Hears  maledictions  ring  from  every  side 
Upon  that  grasping  power,  that  selfish  pride. 
Which  vaunts  its  own,  and  scorns  all  right* 

beside; 
That  low  and  desperate  envy,  which  to  blast 
A  neighbor's  blessings,  risks  the  few  thou  hast ;  — 
That  monster.  Self,  too  gross  to  be  conceal'd. 
Which  ever  lurks  behind  thy  proffer'd  shield ;  — 

<  I  have  thoacht  it  prudent  to  omit  nnw  part*  <4  M< 
Phelitn  Connor'f  letter.  He  U  erJdeniljr  an  intempMaia 
young  man,  and  ha*  aaMKiated  with  hi*  cuuaiitf,  ^m 
Fudges,  to  very  little  pufvoas. 


It* 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


That  faithless  craft,  which,  in  thy  hour  of  need. 
Can   court  the  slave,  can   swear   he  shall   be 

freed, 
Yet    basely  spurns    him,    when    thy  point    is 

ga=r/d. 
Back  to  his  masters,  ready  gagg'd  and  chain'd  ! 
Worthy  associate  of  that  band  of  Kings, 
Tliat  royal  rav'ning  flock,  whose  vampire  wings 
O'er  sleeping  Europe  treacherously  brood, 
And  fan  her  into  dreams  of  promis'd  good. 
Of  hope,  of  freedom  —  but  to  drain  her  blood  ! 
If  thus  to  hear  thee  branded  be  a  bliss 
liat  Vengeance  loves,  there's  yet  more  sweet 

than  this, 
That  'twas  an  Irish  head,  an  Irish  heart. 
Made  thee  the  fall'n  and  tamish'd  thing  thou 

art ; 
That,  as  the  centaur '  gave  th'  infected  vest 
In  which  he  died,  to  rack  his  conqueror's  breast. 

We  sent  thee  C oh  :  —  as  heaps  of  dead 

Have  slain  their  slayers  by  the  pest  they  spread, 
So  hath  our  land  breath'd   out,  thy  fame  to 

dim. 
Thy  strength  to  waste,  and  rot  thee,  soul  and 

limb. 
Her  worst  infections  all  condens'd  in  him  ! 

When  will  the  world  shake  off  such  yokes  ?  O, 

when 
W^ill  that  redeeming  day  shine  out  on  men. 
That  shall  behold  them  rise,  erect  and  free 
As  Heavr'n  and  Nature  meant  mankind  should 

be! 
When  Reason  shall  no  longer  blindly  bow 
To  the  vile  pagod  things,  that  o'er  her  brow. 
Like  him  of  Jaghemaut,  drive  trampling  now  ; 
Nor  Conquest  dare  to  desolate  God's  earth  ; 
Nor  drunken  Victory,  with  a  Nero's  mirth, 
Strike  her  lewd  harp  amidst  a  people's  groans  ;  — 
But,  built  on  love,  the  world's  exalted  thrones 
Shall  to  the  virtuous  and  the  wise  be  given  — 
riiose  bright,  those  sole  Legitimates  of  Heaven  ! 

TMicn  will  this  be  ?  —  or,  O,  is  it,  in  truth. 
But   cne  of  those  sweet  daybreak  dreams  of 
yiiuth, 

1  Membra  et  Herculeos  toroe 

Urit  lues  Nessea. 
Ille,  ille  victor  vincitur. 

Senec.  Hercul.  (Et. 

'  The  late  Lord  C.  of  Ireland  had  a  curious  theory  about 
names;  —  he  held  that  every  man  with  three  names  was  a 
|acobin^  His  instances  in  Ireland  were  numerous:  —  viz. 
Archibald  Hamilton  Rowan,  Theobald  Wolfe  Tone,  James 
Napper  Tandy,  John  Philpot  Curran,  &c.  &c.,  and,  In  Eng- 
wid,  he  produced  as  examples  Charles  James  Fox,  Richard 


In  which  the  Soul,  as  round  her  morning  springs, 
'Twixt   sleep  and  waking,  sees  such   dazzling 

things  ! 
And  must  the  hope,  as  vain  as  it  is  bright. 
Be  all  resigned  ?  —  and  arc  they  only  right. 
Who  say  this  world  of  thinking  souls  was  mad« 
To  be  by  Kings  partition'd,  truck'd,  and  weigh' d 
In  scales  that,  ever  since  the  world  begun. 
Have  counted  millions  but  as  dust  to  one  ? 
Are  they  the  only  wise,  who  laugh  to  scorn 
The  rights,  the  freedom  to  which  n.an  was  bom  ? 
Who  ♦  ♦       .     *  *  * 

Who,  proud  to  kiss  each  separate  rod  of  po^ve^, 
Bless,  while  he  reigns,  the  minion  of  the  hour  ; 
Worship  each  would-be   God,  that  o'er  them 

moves, 
And  take  the  thundering  of  his  brass  for  Jove's  ! 
If  this  be  wisdom,  then  farewell,  my  books, 
Farewell,  ye  shrines  of  old,  ye  classic  brooks. 
Which   fed   my  soul  with   currents,  pure  and 

fair. 
Of  living  Truth,  that  now  must  stagnate  there !  — 
Instead  of  themes  that  touch  the  lyre  with  light, 
Instead  of  Greece,  and  her  immortal  fight 
For  Liberty,  which  once  awak'd  my  strings, 
Welcome  the  Grand  Conspiracy  of  Kings, 
The  High  Legitimates,  the  Holy  Band, 
Who,  bolder  ev'n  than  He  of  Sparta's  land, 
Against  whole  millions,  panting  to  be  free. 
Would  guard  the  pass  of  right-line  tyranny. 
Instead  of  him,  th'  Athenian  bard,  whose  blade 
Had  stood  the  onset  which  his  pen  portray' d. 
Welcome     •            ♦            •            •            » 
•            •            «             *            •            * 
And,  'stead  of  ARisnnEs  —  woe  the  day 
Suchnames  should  mingle !  — welcome  C gh! 

Here  break  we  off,  at  this  unhallow'd  name  * 
LBce' priests  of  old,  when  words  ill  omen'd  came 
My  next  shall  tell  thee,  bitterly  fnall  tell, 
Thoughts  that       «  «  •  ♦ 

*•♦••• 
Thoughts  that  —  could  patience  hold  —  'twen 

wiser  far 
To  leave  still  hid  and  burning  where  they  are 

Brinsley   Sheridan,  John    Home   Tooke,   Francis   Burdett 
Jones,  &c.  &c. 
The  Romans  called  a  thief  "homo  trium  literanim  " 

Tun'  triuni  literanim  homo 
Me  vituperas.'    Fur.* 

Plautui,  Aulvdar     Act  ii.  Scene  4. 


*  Dismldeue  supposes  this  word  to  be  a  gloimema: —  ihai  ls,h« 
thinks  "  Fur"  has  made  his  escape  from  the  margin  itto  the  text 


THE   FIjDGE  family  IN  PARIS. 


lOb 


LEITER  V. 
**ou  uaa  BioiJY  tvdqe  to  miss  dobotht . 

Wbat  a  lime  since  I  wrote !  —  I'm   a  Md, 

naught)  girl  — 
for,    though,   like    a    tetotum,  I'm    all  in  a 

twirl ;  — 
Vet  ev'n  (as  you  wittil)  say)  a  tetotum 
Between   all  its  twirls  gives  a  Uu«r  to   note 

'em. 
Rut,  Lord,  such  a  place  f  and  then,  Dollt,  my 

dresses. 
My  gowns,  so  divine  !  —  there's  no  language 

expresses. 
Except  just  the  two  words  "  superbe,"  "  mag- 

niiique," 
The  trimmings  of  that  which  I  had  home  last 

week ! 
It  is  call'd  —  I  forget  —  i  la  —  something  which 

sounded 
Like  alicampane  —  but  in  truth,  I'm  confounded 
And  bothcr'd,  ray  dear,  'twixt  that  troublesome 

boy's 
(Bob's)    cookery    language,   and    Madame    lb 

Roi's : 
What  with  fillets  of  roses,  and  fillets  of  veal. 
Things  gotmi  with  lace,  and  things  garni  with 

eel, 
Une's  hair  and  one's  cutlets  both  en  papiUote, 
And  a  thousand  more  things  I  shall  ne'er  have 

by  rote, 
J  can  scarce  tell  the  difTrente,  at  least  as  to 

phrase. 
Between  beef  (t  la  P$yche  and  curls  h  la  braUe.  — 
But,  in  short,  dear,  I'm  trick'd  out  quite  tL  la 

Franqaise, 
With  my  bonnet  —  so  beautiful !  —  high  up  and 

poking. 
Like  things  that  are  put  to  keep  chimneys  firom 

smoking. 

Where  shall  I  begin  with  the  endless  delights' 
Of  this  Eden  of  milliners,  monkeys,  and  sights  — 
Fhis  dear   busy   place,  where   there's  nothing 

transacting 
But  dressing  and  dinnering.  dancing  and  acting  ? 
[mprimis,  the  Opera  —  mercy,  my  ears  ! 
Brother  Bousy's  remark,  t'other  night,  was  a 

true  one ;  — 
This  mtut  be  the  music,"  said  he,  *'  of  the 

tpears, 
♦♦  For  I'm  curs'd  if  ea«h  note  of  it  doesn't  run 
through  one  !  " 


Pa  says  (and  you  know,  love,  his  Book's  t« 

make  out 
'Twas  the  Jacobins    brought   erery  ntiseluAf 

about) 
That  this  passion  for  roaring  has  oome  in  of 

late, 
Since  the   rabble  all  tried  for  a  w>m«  in  th< 

State.— 
What  a  frightful  idea,  one's  mind  to  o'erwhela  ! 
What  a  chorus,  dear  Dou.y,  would  soun  ba 

let  loose  of  it, 
Ifi  when  of  age,  every  man  in  the  realm 

Had   a  voice  like  old   LaIs,'   and  chose  to 

make  use  of  it ! 
No  —  never  was  known  in  this  riotous  sphere 
Such  a  breach  of  the  peace  as  their  singing,  mj 

dear. 
So  bad  too,  you'd  swear  that  the  God  of  both 

arts. 
Of  Music  and  Physic,  had  taken  a  frolic 
For  setting  a  loud  fit  of  asthma  in  parts. 
And  composing  a  fine  rumbling  base  to  a 

colic  ! 

But,  the  dancing  —  ah  parhz-moi,   Dollt,   tk 

fa  — 
There,  indeed,  is  a  treat  that  charms  all  but 

Papa. 
Such  beauty  —  such  grace  —  O  ye  sylphs  of 
romance  ! 
Fly,  fly  to  TiTANiA,  and  ask  her  if  she  has 
One  light-footed  nymph  in  her  train,  that  cai 
dance 
Like  divine  Bioottini  and  sweet  Fanutt  Bias  ! 
Faknt  Bias  in  Floha  —  dear  creature  !  —  you'd 
swear, 
When  her  delicate  feet  in  the  dance  twinkia 
round. 
That  her  steps  are  of  light,  that  her  home  iff 
the  air. 
And  she   only  par  complaitcmce  t  mches  tha 
ground. 
And  when  Bioottini  in  Pstchb  dishevels 
Her  black  flowing  hair,  and   by  demooa  h 
driven, 
O,  who  does  not  envy  those  rude  little  duvili, 
That  hold  her  and  hug  her,  and  keep  hM 
from  heaven  } 
Then,  the  music  —  so  softly  its  cadences  die. 
So  divinely  —  O,  Dolly  !  between  you  and  I, 
It's  as  well  for  my  peace  that  there's  nobodj 
nigh 

1  Tb«  oldert,  mcwt  celebrated,  and  uMk  «<4qr  of  Iks  *ig 
•n  at  Uie  French  Opera. 


CO 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


To  make  love  to  me  then  —  you've  a  soul,  and 

can  judge 
What  a  crisis  'twould  be  for  your  friend  Biddy 

Fudge ! 

The  next  place  (which  Bobby  has  near  lost 

1  s  heart  in) 
ITiey  call  it  the  Playhouse  —  I  think  —  of  St. 

Martin ; ' 
Quite  charming  —  and  very  religious  — what  folly 
To  say  that  the  French  are  not  pious,   dear 

Dolly, 
When  here  one  beholds,  so  correctly  and  rightly, 
The  Testament  turn'dinto  melo-drames  nightly;* 
And,  doubtless,  so  fond   they're   of  scriptural 

facts, 
They  will  soon  get  the  Pentateuch  up  in  five  acts. 
Here  Daniel,  in  pantomime,'  bids  bold  defiance 
To  Nebuchadnezzab  and  aU  his  stufi'd  lions. 
While  pretty  young  Iraelites  dance  round  the 

Prophet, 
In  very  thin  clothing,  and  but  little  of  it ;  — 
Here  Beorand,*  who  shines  in  this  scriptural 

path. 
As  the  lovely  Susanna,  without  ev'n  a  relic 
Of  drapery  round  her,  comes  out  of  the  bath 
In  a  manner  that,  Bob   says,  is   quite   Eve- 
angelic  I 
But  in  short,  iear,  'twould  take  me  a  month  to 

recite 
All  the  exquisite  places  we're  at,  day  and  night ; 
And,  besides,  ere  I  finish,  I   think  you'll  be 

glad 
Just  to  hear  one  delightful  adventure  I've  had. 

Last  night,  at  the  Beaujon,*  a  place  where —  I 

doubt 
If  its  charms  I  can  paint  —  there  are  cars,  that 

set  out 
From  a  lighted  pavilion,  high  up  in  the  air. 
And  ratile  you  down  Doll  —  you  hardly  know 

where. 

1  The  ThASltre  de  la  Porte  Sl  Martin,  which  was  built 
Wbsn  the  Opera  House  in  the  Palais  Royal  was  burned 
down,  in  1781. —  A  few  days  after  this  dreadful  fire,  which 
ORted  more  than  a  week,  and  in  which  several  persons  per- 
tBbed,  the  Parisian  ilegantes  displayed  flame-colored  dresses, 
"couleurde  feu  d'Opera!"—  Dulaure,  Curiosites  de  Paris. 

*  "  The  Old  Testament,"  says  the  theatrical  Critic  in  the 
Gazette  de  France,  "  is  a  mine  of  gold  for  the  managers  of 
Dur  small  playhouses.  A  multitude  crowd  round  the  Thel- 
ire  de  la  Gaiety  every  evening  to  see  the  Passage  of  the  Red 
Bea." 

Ji  the  playbill  of  one  of  these  sacred  melo-dramea  at 
rienna,  we  find  "  The  Voice  of  G— d,  by  M.  Schwartz." 

»  A  piece  very  popular  last  year,  called  "  Daniel,  ou  La 
Fniite  aux  Lii  ns."    The  following  scene  will  give  an  idea 


These  vehicles,   mind  me,   in   which  you   gc 

through 
This     delightfully    dangerous    journey,     hold 

two. 
Some  cavalier  asks,  with  humility,  whether 
You'll  venture  down  with  him  —  you  sinila— 

'tis  a  match  ; 
In  an  instant  you're  seated,  and  down  both  tfi- 

gether 
Go  thund'ring,  as  if  you  went   post   to   oid 

scratch  !  * 
Well,   it  was   but  last  night,  as  I  stood  and 

remark'd 
On  the  looks  and  odd  ways  of  the  girls  w  1  o 

embark'd. 
The  impatience  of  some  for  the  perilous  flight. 
The  forc'd  giggle  of  others,  'twixt  pleasure  and 

fright,  — 
That  there  came  up  —  imagine,  dear  Doll,  if 

you  can  — 
A  tine   sallow,   sublime,   sort  of  Werter-fac'd 

man. 
With  mustachios  that  gave  (what  we  read  of  so 

oft) 
The  dear  Corsair  expression,  half  savage,  half 

soft. 
As  Hyenas  in  love  may  be  fancied  to  look,  or 
A  something  between  Abelakd  and  old  Blucher! 
Up  he  came,  Doll,  to  me,  and,  uncovering  his 

head, 
(Rather  bald,  but  so  warlike  !)  in  bad  English 

said, 
"  Ah  !   my  dear  —  if  Ma'mselle  vil  he  so  very 

good  — 
Just  for  von  littel  course  "  —  though  I  scarce 

understood 
What  he  wish'd  me  to  do,  I  said,  thank  him,  1 

would. 
Off  we  set  —  and,  though  'faith,  dear,  I  hardly 

knew  whether 
My  head  or  my  heels  were  the  uppermost 

then, 

of  the  daring  Sublimity  of  these  scriptura  rtntomimss. 
"  Scene  20.  —  La  foumaise  devient  un  beicea'  de  nuage« 
azures,  au  fond  duquel  est  un  groupe  do  nua^es  plus  lu- 
mineux,  et  au  milieu  'Jehovah'  au  centre  d'un  cerclo  de 
rayons  brillans,  qui  annonce  la  presence  de  I'Eternel." 

*  Madame  B^grand,  a  finely-formed  woman,  who  acts  in 
"  Susanna  and  the  Elders,"  -«'  L'Ainour  et  la  Folie,"  ice 

&.C 

6  The  Promenades  Aeri<innes,  or  French  Mountams..- 
See  a  description  of  this  singular  and  fantastic  place  of 
amusement  in  a  pamphlet,  truly  worthv  of  it,  by  "  P  F 
Cotterel,  M^decin,  Docteur  de  Ja  Faculty  d«  Paris."  &« 
&c 

«  According  to  Dr.  Cotterel  the  cars  go  at  fhe  rate  ol  ix 
ty-eight  miles  an  hour. 


For  'twas  like  heav'n  and  earth,  Dolly,  coming 
together,  — 

Tet,  spito  of  the  danger,  we  dared  it  again. 
And  O,  as  I  gaz'd  on  the  features  and  air 

Of  the  man,  who  for  mc  all  this  peril  defied, 
I  coa.3  fancy  almost  he  and  I  were  a  pair 

Of  ueI  appy  young  lovers,  who  thus,  side  by 
side. 
Were  taking,  instead  of  rope,  pistol,  or  dagger,  a 
LdspTatc  dash  down  the  falls  of  Niagara  I 

1  hia  achiev'd,  through  the  gardens  *  we  saun- 
ter'd  about, 
Saw  the  fireworks,  cxclaim'd  "  magnifique  I " 
at  each  cracker. 
And,  when  'twas  all  o'er,  the  dear  man  saw  us 
out 
With  the  air  I  ioill  say,  of  a  Prince,  to  our 

Now,  hear  me  —  this  Stranger  —  it  may  be  mere 

foUy  — 
But  who  do  you  think  we  all  think  it  is,  Dollt  ? 
Why,  bless  you,  no  less  than  the  great  King  of 

Prussia, 
Who's  hero  now  incog.*  —  he,  who  made  such 

a  fuss,  you 
Remember,    in    London,  with    Bluchsb   and 

Platoff, 
When   Sal  was   neai   kissing  old    Blvchbb's 

cravat  off! 
Pa  says  he's  come  here  to  look  after  his  money, 
(Not  taking  things  now  as  he  us' d  under  Boney.) 
Which  suits  with  our  friend,  for  Bob  saw  him, 

he  swore, 
L'uking    sharp  to  the    silver    recciv'd  at  the 

door. 
Besides,  too,  they  say  that  his  grief  for  his  Queen 
(Which  was  plain  in  this  sweet  fellow's  face  to 

be  seen) 
Requires  such  a  stimulant  dose  as  this  car  is, 
Vs  d  three  times  a  day  with  young  ladies  in  Paris, 
bomu  Doctor,  indeed,   has  declar'd  that  such 

grief 
Should  —  unless  'twould  to  utter  despairing 

its  folly  push  — 
Fij  to  the  Beaujon,  and  there  seek  relief 
By  rattling,  as  Bob  saya,  **  like  shot  through  a 

holly  bush." 


In  Um  Caft  attached  to  tb«M  gardMU  than  an  to  b«  (a« 
Doctor  Cotterel  in/orms  lu)  "  douza  nigiM,  tri*-aJ«rta>,  qui 
notnileroni  par  I'^Mne  de  leur  peau  avec  le  teint  de  U«  M 
<•  RMM  de  noa  belle*.    Lea  glacea  et  laa  aorbela,  aarvia  par 


I  must  now  bid  adieu ; — only  think,  Dolly,  tlunk 
If  this  Bhouid  be  the  King  —  I  hare  acarre  tlepl 

a  wink 
With  imagining  how  it  will  sound  jx  the  papery 
And  how  all  the  Misses  my  good  luck  wiD 

grudge. 
When  they  read  that  Count  Rt.t»iM.  to  drlr* 

away  vapors. 
Has  gone  down  the^ Beaujon  with  Mis*  Ontoi 

Fudge.  , 

Nota  Bene.  •—'PtL'p&'t  almost  certain  'tis  he  — 
For  he  knowe  the  Legitimate  cut,  and  could  aea, 
In  the  way  he  went  poising  and  manag'd  to  lowei 
So  erect  in  the  car,  the  true  Balance  of  PiAoer 


LETTER  VI. 

TJLOU   PHIL.   rUDOB,    BSO.   TO   HIS    BOOTH  BIX  Til* 
FUDOB,    BSO.    BAUUSTBU   AT   LAW. 

YouHS  of  the  12th  receiv'd  just  now  — 

Thanks  for  the  hint,  my  trusty  brother  • 
'Tis  truly  pleasing  to  sec  how 

We,  Fudges,  stand  by  one  another. 
But  never  fear  —  I  know  my  chap. 
And  he  knows  me  too  —  verbum  tap. 
My  Lord  and  I  are  kindred  spirita. 
Like  in  our  ways  as  two  young  ferrets ; 
Both  fashion'd,  as  that  supple  race  is. 
To  twist  into  all  sorts  of  places  ;  — 
Creatures  lengthy,  lean,  and  hungering. 
Fond  of  blood  and  it«TOu>-mongering. 

As  to  my  Book  in  91, 

Call'd   "  Down  with  Kings,  or.  Who'd  ha«« 
thought  it  ? " 
Bless  you,  the  Book's  long  dead  and  gone,  — 

Not  ev'n  th'  Attorney  General  bought  il 
And,  though  some  few  seditious  tricks 
I  play'd  in  95  and  6, 
As  you  remind  me  in  your  letter. 
His  Lordship  likes  me  all  the  better ;  — 
We  proselytes,  that  come  with  news  full. 
Are,  as  he  says,  so  vastly  useful ! 

Reynolds  and  I —  (you  know  Tom  Rbymolm  — 
Drinks  his  claret,  keeps  his  chaise  — 


una  main  bien  noire,  fcra  daTanUga  reaaoitir  I'alUlfa  4m 
braa  arrondis  de  cellea-ci." —  P.  23. 

i  Hia  Majerty,  wlio  wai  at  Parii  under  th«  tra«aUia| 
name  of  Count  Riippin,  u  known  to  have  |>na  doWM  tkf 
BaaiUnn  veiy  freguentlv. 


t72 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PAKIS. 


Lucky  the  dog  that  first  unkennels 

Traitors  and  Luddites  nowadays ; 
Or  who  can  help  to  bag  a  few, 

When  S — d th  wants  a  death  or  two  ;) 

Reynolds  and  I,  and  some  few  more, 

All  men,  like  us,  of  information. 
Friends,  whom  his  Lordship  keeps  in  store, 

Ail  Mjjrfer-saviors  of  the  nation  '  — 
Hire  form'd  a  Club  this  season,  where 
His  Lordslvlp  sometimes  takes  the  chair, 
And  givysus  many  a  bright  oration 
In  praise  of  our  sublime  vocation  ; 
Tracing  it  up  to  great  King  Midas, 
Who,  though  in  fable  typified  as 
A.  royal  Ass,  by  grace  divine 
And  right  of  ears,  most  asinine, 
Was  yet  no  more,  in  fact  historical, 

Than  an  exceeding  well-bred  tyrant ; 
And  these,  his  ears,  but  allegorical, 

Meaning  Informers,  kept  at  high  rent  *  — 
Gem'men,  who   touch'd  the  Treasury  glisten- 

ers. 
Like  us,  for  being  trusty  listeners ; 
And  picking  up  each  tale  and  fragment, 
For  royal  Midas's  Green  Bag  meant. 
"  And  wherefore,"  said  this  best  of  Peers, 
"  Should  not  the  R — g — t  too  have  ears,^ 
"  To  reach  as  far,  as  long  and  wide  as 
"  Those  of  his  model,  good  King  Midas  ?  " 
This  speech  was  thought  extremely  good. 
And  (rare  for  him)  was  understood  — 
Instant  we  drank  "  The  R — g — t's  Ears," 
With  three  times  three  illustrious  cheers. 

Which  made  the  room  resound  like  thunder  — 
"  The  R — 0 — t's  Ears,  and  may  he  ne'er 
"  From  foolish  shame,  like  Midas,  wear 

"  Old  paltry  wigs  to  keep  them  under  !  "  * 
This  touch  at  our  old  friends,  the  Whigs, 
Made  us  as  merry  all  as  grigs. 
In  short  (I'll  thank  you  not  to  mention 

These  things  again),  we  get  on  gayly ; 


1  Lord  C.'s  tribute  to  the  character  of  his  friend.  Mr.  Rey- 
ooJds,  will  long  be  remembered  with  equal  credit  to  both. 

2  This  interpretntion  of  the  fable  of  Midas's  ears  seems 
the  must  probable  of  any,  and  is  thus  stated  in  Hoffmann:  — 
'  Hie  alleg.iria  significatum,  Midam,  utpote  tyrannum,  sub- 
luscultatores  dimittere  solitum,  per  quos,  quiecunque  per 
emiiem  regioneni  vel  fierent,  vel  dicerentur,  cognosceret, 
bimiruin  illis  utens  aurium  vice." 

8  Brossette,  in  a^note  on  this  line  of  Boileau, 

"  Midas,  le  Roi  Midas,  a  des  oreilles  d'Ane," 

islls  us,  that  "  M.  Perrault  le  M6decin  voulut  fairs  i  notre 
tuieur  iin  crime  d'6tat  de  ce  vers,  comme  d'une  maligne 
lUusion  au  Roi."  I  trust,  however,  that  no  one  will  sus- 
pect the  line  in  the  text  of  any  such  indecorous  allusion. 


And,  thanks  to  pension  and  Suspension 
Our  little  Club  increases  daily. 

Castles,  and  Olivek,  and  such, 
Who  don't  as  yet  full  salary  touch. 
Nor  keep  their  chaise  and  pair,  nor  buy 
Houses  and  lands,  like  Tom  and  I, 
Of  course  don't  rank  with  us,  aalvatorf, 
But  merely  serve  the  Club  as  waiters. 
Like  Knights,  too,  we've  our  collar  days, 
(For  us,  I  own,  an  awkward  phrase,) 
When,  in  our  new' costume  adorn'd, — 
The  R — G — T's'buff-and-blue  coats  turn'd-^ 
We  have  the  honor  to  give  dinners 

To  the  chief  Rats  in  upper  stations  ;  ' 
Your  W T8,  V Ns,  —  half-fledg'd  sinneil 

Who  shame  us  by  their  imitations  ; 
Who  turn,  'tis  true  —  but  what  of  that  ? 
Give  me  the  useful  peaching  Rat ; 
Not  things  as  mute  as  Punch,  when  bought, 
Whose  wooden  heads  are  all  they've  brought  \ 
Who,  false  enough  to  shirk  their  friends. 

But  too  faint  hearted  to  betray, 
Are,  after  all  their  twists  and  bends, 

But  souls  in  Limbo,  damn'd  half  way. 
No,  no,  we  nobler  vermin  are 
A  ge7tus  useful  as  we're  rare  ; 
'Midst  all  the  things  miraculous 

Of  which  your  natural  histories  brag. 
The  rarest  must  be  Rats  like  us, 

W^ho  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag. 
Yet  still  these  Tyros  in  the  cause 
Deserve,  I  own,  no  small  applause  , 
And  they're  by  us  received  and  treated 
With  all  due  honors  —  only  seated 
In  th'  inverse  scale  of  their  reward, 
The  merely  promis'd  next  my  Lord  ; 
Small  pensions  then,  and  so  on,  down. 

Rat  after  rat,  they  graduate 
Through  job,  red  ribbon,  and  silk  gowii. 

To  Chanc'llorship  and  Mariuisate. 


*  It  was  not  under  wigs,  but  tiarab,  that  King  MK'af  (a 
deavored  to  conceal  these  appendages  - 

Tempera  purpureis  tentat  velare  Lnris. 

0»ID. 

The  Noble  Giver  of  the  toast,  however,  had  evidently,  w  tt 
his  usual  clearness,  confounded  King  Midns,  Mr  ListiTi 
and  the  P e  R— g— t  together. 

5  Mr.  Fudge  and  his  friends  ought  to  go  by  this  name  - 
as  the  man  who,  some  years  since,  saved  the  late  Righ^ 
Hon.  George  Rose  from  drowning,  was  evei  after  called 
Salvator  Rosa, 

«  This  intimacy  between  tlie  Rats  and  Informers  is  jtut 
as  it  should  be  —  "  \erb  dulce  sodalitium." 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PAIUS. 


it4 


rhis  serves  to  nurse  the  ratting  spirit ; 
rhe  less  the  bribe  the  more  the  merit. 


Our  music's  good,  you  may  be  sure  ; 
My  Lord,  you  know,  's  an  amateur  '  — 
Takes  every  part  with  perfect  ease, 

Though  to  the  Base  by  nature  suited  ; 
And,  form'd  for  all,  as  best  may  please, 
For  whips  and  bolts,  or  chords  and  keys. 
Turns  from  his  victims  to  his  glees, 

And  has  them  both  well  executed.* 
H T D,  who,  though  no  Hat  himself 

Delights  in  all  such  liberal  arts, 
Drinks  largely  to  the  House  of  Guclph, 

And  superintends  the  Conii  parts. 
VNTiile  C — XX — o,'  who'd  hc/irst  by  choice, 
Conients  to  take  an  under  voice  ; 
And  Ge — V — s,*  who  well  that  signal  knows. 
Watches  the  VoUi  Subitoa.* 

In  short,  as  I've  already  hinted* 

"We  take,  of  late,  prodigiously  ; 
But  as  our  Club  is  somewhat  stinted 

For  Gentlemen,  like  Tom  and  me, 
We'll  take  it  kind  if  you'll  provide 
A  few  Squireens*  from  'tother  side ;  — 
Some  of  those  loyal,  cunning  elves 

(We  often  tell  the  tale  with  laughter), 
Who  us'd  to  hide  the  pikes  themselves, 

Then  hang  the  fools  who  found  them  after. 
I  doubt  not  you  could  find  us,  too, 
Borne  Orange  Parsons  that  might  do  ; 
Among  the  rest,  we've  heard  of  one, 
The  Iteverend  —  something  —  Hamilton, 
Wlio  stufTd  a  figure  of  himself 

(Delicious  thought !)  and  had  it  shot  at, 
To  bring  some  Papists  to  the  shelf. 

That  couldn't  other\vise  be  got  at  — 
If  he'll  but  join  the  Association, 
We'll  vote  him  iu  by  acclamation. 

A.nd  now,  my  brother,  guide,  and  friend, 
fhis  somewhat  tedious  scrawl  must  end. 


1  flis  Lordship  during  one  or  the  busiest  periods  of  hi* 
Uiiilsteiial  careri  took  lessons  three  times  a  week  (rom  ■ 
Ulebraled  music  master,  in  glee  singing. 

*  IIow  amply  ihese  t«vo  prcpensiiies  of  the  Noble  Lonl 
Mrould  have  been  graiifled  among  that  ancient  people  of 
Etniria,  who,  as  Arisuitle  tells  us,  used  to  whip  their  slave* 
jtirt  t  vear  to  the  sound  ofttutes! 

*  This  Right  Hon.  Gentleman  ought  to  give  up  his  pres- 
•nt  nllinnce  with  Lord  C,  if  upon  no  otJier  principle  than 
tliat  n  liich  in  inculcated  in  the  following  arrangement  be- 
■veen  two  l.adies  of  Faiihiun  :  — 

60 


I've  gone  into  this  long  detail. 

Because  I  saw  your  nerves  wer«  shaken 
With  anxious  fears  lest  I  should  fail 

In  this  new,  loyal  course  I've  taken. 
But,  bless  your  heart !  you  need  not  doubt 
We,  Fudges,  know  what  we're  about. 
Look  rotind,  and  say  if  yuu  can  see 
A  much  more  thriving  family. 
There's  Jack,  the  Doctor —  night  and  -iay 

Hundreds  of  patients  so  besiege  him, 
You'd  swear  that  all  the  rich  and  gay 

Fell  sick  on  purpose  to  oblige  him. 
And  while  they  think,  the  preciotis  ninnies. 

He's  counting  o'er  tlieir  puLae  so  steadj, 
The  rogue  but  counts  how  many  guineas 

He's  fobb'd,  for  that  day's  work,  already. 
I'll  ne'er  forget  th'  old  maid's  alann, 

When,  feeling  thus  Miss  Sukcy  Flirt,  he 
Said,  as  he  dropp'd  her  shrivell'd  arm, 

♦'  Damn'd  bad  this  morning  —  only  thirty  ' ' 

Your  dowagers,  too,  every  one. 

So  generous  arc,  when  they  call  him  in. 
That  he  might  now  retire  upon 

The  rheumatisms  of  three  old  women. 
Then,  whatsoe'er  your  ailments  are. 

He  can  so  learnedly  explain  ye  'em  — 
Your  cold,  of  course,  is  a  catarrh. 

Your  headache  is  a  hemi-cranium  .  — 
His  skill,  too,  in  young  ladies'  lungs. 

The  grate  with  which,  most  mild  of  men. 
He  begs  them  to  put  out  their  tongues. 

Then  bids  them  —  put  them  in  again : 
In  short,  there's  nothing  now  like  Jack  !  — 

Take  all  your  doctors  great  and  small. 
Of  present  times  aitd  ages  back. 

Dear  Doctor  Fudge  is  worth  them  all 

So  much  for  physic — then,  in  law  too, 
Counsellor  Tim,  to  thee  we  bow ; 

Not  one  of  us  gives  more  eclat  to 
Th'  immortal  name  of  Fudge  than  thou. 

Not  to  expatiate  on  the  art 

With  which  you  play'd  the  patriot't  part, 


Bays  Clarinda,  "  though  tears  it  m.iy  cost, 
It  is  time  we  should  part,  my  dear  Sue ; 

For  your  cliaracter's  totally  lost, 
And  /  have  not  sufficient  fbttwof 

*  The  rapidity  of  this  Noble  Lord's  transCmnatioa,  at  IM 
same  insunt,  into  a  Lord  of  the  Bed  Clumber  and  •■  Ofp» 
nent  of  the  Catholic  Claims,  was  truly  n-iraculottfc 

»  T^irn  iiutanlly  —  a  frequent  direct  on  in  OMtle  f 

•  Tbe  Iriah  diminutive  of  Sgaire. 


t74 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  EST  PARIS. 


rill  something  good  and  sn  Jg  should  offer ;  — 

Like  one,  who,  by  the  way  he  acts 
Th'  enlight'niiig  part  of  candle-snuffer, 

The  manager's  keen  eye  attracts, 
And  is  promoted  thence  by  him 
To  strut  in  robes,  like  thee,  my  Tim  !  — 
Wttc  shall  describe  thy  powers  of  face 
^hy  well-feed  zeal  in  every  case, 
t  )r  TVTong  or  right  —  but  ten  times  warmer 
As  siiits  thy  calliijg)  in  the  former  — 
ITiy  glorious,  lawyer-like  delight 
[n  puzzling  all  that's  clear  and  right, 
Which,  though  conspicuous  in  thy  youth, 

Improves  so  with  a  wig  and  band  on, 
That  all  thy  pride's  to  waylay  Truth, 

And  leave  her  not  a  leg  to  stand  on. 
Thy  patent,  prime,  morality,  — 

Thy  cases,  cited  from  the  Bible  — 
Thy  candor,  when  it  falls  to  thee 

To  help  in  trouncing  for  a  libel ;  — 
'  God  knows,  I,  from  my  soul,  profess 

'«  To  hate  all  bigots  and  benighters  ! 
"  God  knows,  I  love,  to  ev'n  excess, 
"  The  sacred  Freedom  of  the  Press, 

"  My  only  aim's  to  —  crush  the  writers." 
These  are  the  virtues,  Tim,  that  draw 

The  briefs  into  thy  bag  so  fast ; 
And  these,  O  Tim  —  if  Law  be  Law  — 

Will  raise  thee  to  the  Bench  at  last. 

1  olush  to  see  this  letter's  length  — 

But  'twas  my  wish  to  prove  to  thee 
How  full  of  hope,  and  wealth,  and  strength, 

Are  all  our  precious  family. 
And,  should  affairs  go  on  as  pleasant 
As,  thank  the  Fates,  they  do  at  present  — 
Should  we  but  still  enjoy  the  sway 

Of  S — DM — H  and  of  C gh, 

I  hope,  ere  long,  to  see  the  day 

When  England's  wisest  statesmen,  judges, 

Lawyers  peers,  wUl  all  be  —  Fudges! 

Hood  br  —  my  paper's  out  so  nearly, 

V\e  o.vly  room  for  Yours  sincerely. 

LETTER  Vn. 

PKOM   PHELIM    CONNOB  TO   . 


Bbfosb  we  sketch  the  present  —  let  us  cast 
h.  few,  short,  rapid  glances  to  the  Past. 


1  ''Whilst  the  Congress  was  reconstructing  Europe  — 
not  according  to  rights,  natural  affiances,  language,  habita, 
or  laws  ;  but  by  tables  of  finance,  which  divided  and  subdi- 
*id*d  her  rKipulation  into  rouir,  demi-soidt,  and  even  firac- 


When  he,  who  had  defied  all  Europe's  strength 
Beneath  his  own  weak  rashness  sunk  at  length 
When,  loos'd,  as  if  by  magic,  from  a  chain 
That  seem'd  like  Fate's,  the  world  was  free  again, 
And  Europe  saw,  rejoicing  in  the  sight, 
The  cause  of  Kings, /or  once,  the  cause  of  right ; 
Then  was,  indeed,  an  hour  of  joj'  to  those 
Who  sigh'd  for  justice  —  liberty  —  repose. 
And  hop'd  the  fall  of  one  great  vulture's  nest 
Would  ring  its  warning  round,  and  scare  lie 

rest. 
All  then  was  bright  with  promise ;  —  Kings 

began 
To  own  a  sjTupathy  with  suffering  Man, 
And  Man  was  grateful ;  Patriots  of  the  South 
Caught  wisdom    from    a   Cossack    Emperor's 

mouth. 
And  heard,  like  accents  thaw'd  in  Northern  air, 
Unwonted  words  of  freedom  burst  forth  there  ! 

WTio  did  not  hope,  in  that  triumphant  time, 
When  monarchs,  after  years  of  spoil  and  crime 
Met   round   the   shrine  of  Peace,  and  Heav'n 

look'd  on,  — 
Who  did  not  hope  the  lust  of  spoil  was  gone ; 
That  that  rapacious  spirit,  which  had  play'd 
The  game  of  Pilnitz  o'er  so  oft,  was  laid  ; 
And  Europe's  Rulers,  conscious  of  the  past, 
Would  blush,  and  deviate  into  right  at  last ! 
But  no — the  hearts,  that  nurs'd  a  hope  so  fair, 
Had  yet  to  learn  what  men  on  thrones   caa 

dare; 
Had  yet  to  know,  of  all  earth's  ravening  thing* 
The  only  quite  untamable  are  Kings  !^ 
Scarce  had  they  met  when,  to  its  nature  true, 
The  instinct  of  their  race  broke  out  anew ; 
Promises,  treaties,  charters,  all  were  vain. 
And  "  Rapine  !  rapine  !  "  was  the  cry  again. 
How  quick  they  carv'd  their  victims,  and  how 

well. 
Let  Saxony,  let  injur'u  Genoa  tell ;  — 
Let  all  the  human  stock  that,  day  by  day, 
Was,  at  that  Royal  slave  mart,  truck' d  away, 
The  million  souls  that,  in  the  face  of  h^iaven, 
Were  split  to  fractions,'  barter' d,  sold,  or  giTea 
To  swell  some  despot  Power,  too  huge  before, 
And  weigh  down  Europe  with  one  Mammoth 

more. 
How  safe  the  faith  of  Kings  let  France  decide  ; 
Her  charter  broken,  ere  its  ink  had  dried ;  — 


tiojis,  according  to  a  scale  of  the  direct  duties  or  t&xet 
which  could  be  levied  by  the  acquiring  state,"  &c.  —  Sketek 
qf  Ou  Military  and  Political  Poieer  of  Rutsia.  The  WotiM 
on  the  piotocol  are  Ames,  demi-&me»,  tec 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


«7i 


Her  Press  inthrall'd  —  her  Reason  raock'd  again 
With  all  the  monkery  it  had  spurn'd  in  vain; 
Hei  crown  disgrae'd  by  one,  who  dar'd  to  own 
He   thank'd  not  France  but  England  for  his 

throne ; 
Her  triumphs  cast  into  the  shade  by  those, 
Wli"  hui  grown  old  among  her  bitterest  foes, 
And   no^    retum'd    beneath    her    conquerors' 

shields, 
taiblushing  slaves  !  to  claim  her  heroes'  fields  ; 
I'o  tread  down  every  trophy  of  her  fame, 
A.nd  curse  that  glory  which  to  them  was  shame  ! 
IxM  these  —  let  all  the  damning  deeds,  that  then 
\Vcre  dar'd  through  Europp,  cry  aloud  to  men, 
With  voice  like  that  of  crashing  ice  that  rings 
Round  Alpine  huts,  the  perfidy  of  Kings ; 
And  tell  the  world,  when  hawks  shall  harmless 

bear 
The  shrinking  dove,  when  wolves  shall  learn  to 

spare 
ITie  helpless  victim  for  whose  blood  they  lusted, 
Then,  and  then  only,  monarchs  may  be  trusted. 

It  could  not  last  —  these  horrors  could  not  last, 
France  would  herself  have  ris'n,  in  might,  to 

cast 
Ch'  uiFulters  off —  and  O,  that  then,  as  now, 
Chain'd  to  some  distant  islet's  rocky  brow, 
Napolkon  ne'er  had  come  to  force,  to  blight. 
Ere  half  matur'd,  a  cause  so  proudly  bright;  — 
To  palsy  patriot  arts  with  doubt  and  shame. 
And  -write  on  Freedom's  flag  a  despot's  name ; 
To  rush  into  the  lists,  unask'd,  alone. 
And  make  the  stake  of  all  the  game  of  one  ! 
Then  would  the  world  have  seen  again  what 

power 
A  people  can  put  forth  in  Freedom's  hour  ; 
Then  would  the  fire  of  France  once  more  have 

blaz'd ;  — 
For  every  single  sword,  reluctant  rais'd 
In  the  stale  cause  of  an  oppressive  throne, 
\Iillions  would  then  hav.e  leap'd  forth  in  her 

o^\-n; 
And  never,  never  had  th'  unholy  stain 
Of  Bourbon  feet  disgrae'd  her  shores  again. 

But  fate  decreed  not  so  —  th'  Imperial  Bird, 
That,  in  his  neighboring  cage,  unfear'd,  un- 

stirr'd, 
Had  seem'd  to  sleep  with  head  beneath  his  wing, 
Yet  watch'd  the  moment  for  a  daring  spring ;  — 

I  <•  L'aigle  Tolera  de  clocher  en  cloclMr,  Juaqu'aux  toun 
1m  Notre  Uaiue."— Napoleon's  Prodamatioa  on  hmding 
%aiB£lba. 


Well  might  \e  watch,  when  deeds  were  don« 

that  made 
His  own  transgressions  whiten  in  their  shad*  \ 
Well  might  he  hope  a  world,  thus  trampled  o'm 
By  clumsy  tyrants,  would  be  his  once  more ;  — 
Forth  from  his  cage  the  eagle  burst  to  light. 
From  steeple  on  to  steeple'  wing'd  his  flight. 
With  calm  and  easy  grandeur,  to  that  thiont 
From  which  a  Royal  craven  just  had  flown ; 
And  resting  there,  as  in  his  eyry,  furl'd 
Those  wings,  whoee  very  rustlings  shook  th« 

world ! 

"NVTiat  was  your  fury  then,  ye  crown'd  ait.iy. 
Whose  feast  of  spoil,  M'hose  plundering  holidaf 
Was  thus  broke  up,  in  all  its  greedy  mirth, 
By  one  bold  chieftain's  stamp  on  Gallic  earth  1 
Fierce  was  the  cry,  and  fulminant  the  ban,  — 
"  Assassinate,  who  wll  —  enchain,  who  can, 
"The  vile,  the   faithless,   outlaw'd,  low-bom 

man  ! " 
"  Faithless  !  "  —  and  this  from  you  —  from  you, 

forsooth. 
Ye  pious  Kings,  pure  paragons  of  truth. 
Whose  honesty  all  knew,  for  all  had  tried  ; 
Whose  true  Swiss  zeal  had  serv'd  on  every  side 
'Whoso   fame  for   breaking  faith  so  long  war 

known. 
Well  might  ye  claim  the  craft  as  all  your  unn. 
And  lash  your  lordly  tails,  and  fume  to  see 
Such  low-bom  apes  of  Royal  perfidy  1 
Yes — yes  —  to  you  alone  did  it  belong 
To  sin  forever,  and  yet  ne'er  do  wrong. 
The  frauds,  the  lies  of  Lords  legitimate 
Are  but  fine  policy,  deep  strokes  of  state ; 
But  let  some  upstart  dare  to  soar  so  high 
In  Kingly  craft,  and  "outlaw  "  b  the  cry! 
What,  though  long  years  of  mutual  treachery 
Had  peopled  full  your  diplomatic  shelves 
With  ghosts  of  treaties,  murdcr'd  'mong  youi 

selves ; 
Though  each  by  turns  was  knave  and  dupe  — 

what  then  ? 
A  Holy  League  would  set  all  straight  again  x 
Like  Juno's  virtue,  which  a  dip  or  two 
In  some  blcss'd  fountain  made  as  good  as  new ' 
Most  faithful  Russia  —  faithful  to  whce  cr 
Could  plunder  best,  and  give  him  amplest  ahmi 
Who,  ev'n  when  vanquish' d,  sure  to  gain  hit 

ends. 
For  want  of  foe*  to  rob,  made  free  with  frwrnda,^ 

t  eDniuIU  annia  in  qaodam  Attica  fcnta  lou  virgliilH— 
r«cuper&aM  flnfitiu. 

•  At  the  PMce  of  Tilait,  where  he  abw>4aa«d  ais  ally 
FltMria.  to  France,  and  receivwl  a  poillHi  of  iMr  ttfitoo 


i76 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


And,  deepening  still  by  amiable  gradations, 
tVhen  foes  were  stripp'd  of  all,  then  fleec'd  re- 
lations ! ' 
Most  mild  and  saintly  Prussia — steep' d  to  th' 

ears 
[n  persecuted  Poland's  blood  and  tears, 
And  now,  with  aU  her  harpy  wings  outspread 
O'er  sever'd  Saxony's  devoted  head ! 
Pure  Austria  too  —  whose  hisfry  nought  repeats 
But  broken  leagues  and  subsidiz'd  defeats  ; 
Whose  faith,   as  Prince,  extingmsh'd  Venice 

shows,  . 
Whose  faith,  as  man,  a  widow'd  daughter  knows ! 
And  thou,  O  England  —  who,  though  once  as 

shy 
As  cloister'd  maids,  of  shame  or  perfidy. 
Art  now  broke  in,  and,  thanks  to  C gh, 


In  all  that's  M-orst  and  falsest  lead'st  the  way  ! 

Such  was  the  pure  divan,  whose  pens  and  wits 
Th'  escape  from  Elba  frighten'd  into  fits  ;  — 
Such  were  the  saints,  who  doom'd  Napoleon's 

Ufe, 
In  virtuous  frenzy,  to  th'  assassin's  knife. 
Disgusting  crew !  —  who  would  not  gladly  fly 
To  open,  downright,  bold-fac'd  tyranny, 
To  honest  guilt,  that  dares  do  all  but  lie. 
From  the  false,  juggling  craft  of  men  like  these. 
Their  canting  crimes  and  varnish' d  villanies ;  — 
These  Holy  Leaguers,  who  then  loudest  boast 
Of  faith  and  honor,  when  they've  stain'd  them 

most ; 
From  whose  affection  men  should  shrink  as  loath 
As  from  their  hate,   for  they'll  be  fleec'd  by 

both; 
Who,  ev'n  while  plund'ring,  forge  Religion's 

name 
To  frank  their  spoil,  and,  without  fear  or  shame. 
Call  Jown  the  Holy  Trinity  *  to  bless 
Pan-tion  leagues,  and  deeds  of  devilishness  ! 
But  hold  —  enough  —  soon  would  this  swell  of 

rage 
O'crdow  the  boundaries  of  my  scanty  page  ;  — 
So,  here  I  pause  —  farewell  —  another  day, 
IReturn  we  to  those  Lords  of  pray'r  and  prey, 
Whose  loathsome  cant,  whose  frauds  by  right 

divine 
Deserve  a  lash  —  O,  weightier  far  than  mine  ! 


1  The  seizure  of  Finland  from  his  relative  of  Sweden. 

*  The  usual  preamble  of  these  flagitious  compacts.  In 
the  same  spirit,  Catherine,  after  the  dreadful  massacre  of 
M^arsaw,  ordered  a  solemn  "  thanksgiving  to  God  in  all  the 
ihurclies,  for  the  blessings  conferred  upon  the  Poles  ; "  and 
wmmanded  that  each  of  them  should  "  swear  fidelity  and 
vytlty  to  her,  aid  to  shed  in  her  defence  the  last  drop  of 


LETTER  Vin. 


FBOH  UB.  BOB  FUDOB  TO  BICHABD 


ESO. 


Deab  Dick,  while  old  Donaldson's  '  mendii;^ 

my  stays,  — 
Which  I  knew  would  go  smash  with  me  one  oi 

these  days. 
And,  at  yesterday's  dinner,  when,  full  to  ti.1 

throttle. 
We  lads  had  begun  our  dessert  with  a  bottle 
Of  neat  old  Constantia,  on  my  leaning  back 
Just  to  order  another,  by  Jove  I  went  crack  !  — 
Or,  as  honest  Tom  said,  in  his  nautical  phrast*, 
"  D — n  my  eyes.  Bob,  in  dovbllng  the  Cape  you'  vo 

miss'd  stays."  * 
So,  of  course,  as  no  gentleman's  seen  out  with 

out  them. 
They're   are  now  at  the   Schneider's  *  —  and, 

while  he's  about  them. 
Here  goes  for  a  letter,    post  haste,  neck  and 

crop. 
Let  us  see  —  in  my  last  I  was  —  where  did  I 

stop? 
O,  I  know  —  at  the  Boulevards,  as  motley  a 

road  as 
Man    ever    would   wish    a    day's    lounging 

upon; 
With  its  cafes  and  gardens,  hotels  and  pagodas. 
Its  founts,  and  old  Counts  sipping  beer  in  th« 

sun  ; 
With  its  houses  of  all  architectures  you  please, 
From  the  Grecian  and  Gothic,  Dick,  down  by 

degrees 
To  the  pure  Hottentot,  or  the  Brighton  Chinese ; 
Where  in  temples  antique  you  may  breakfast  or 

dinner  it, 
Lunch  at  a  mosque,  and  see  Punch  from  a  min- 
aret. 
Then,  Dick,  the  mixture  of  bonnets  and  bowers, 
Of  foliage  and  frippery,  ^aere«  and  flowers, 
Green    grocers,    green    gardens — one    hardly 

knows  whether 
'Tis  country  or  town,  they're  so  mess'd  up  !w 

gether  ! 
And  there,  if  one  loves  the  romantic,  one  '■eea 
Jew  clothesmen,  like  shepherds^  reclin'd  under 

trees ; 


their  blood,  as  they  should  answer  for  it  to  God,  and  his  ter- 
rible judgment,  kissing  the  holy  word  and  cross  of  their  Sa 
vior ! " 

s  An  English  tailor  at  Paris. 

*  A  ship  is  said  to  miss  stays,  when  she  does  not  obey  hei 
helm  in  tacking. 

i  The  dandy  term  Cor  a  tailor. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


471 


Or  Quidnuncs,  on  Sunday,  just  fresh  from  the 
barber's, 

fcnjoying  their  news  and  groteiUe^  in  those  ar- 
bors ; 

While  gayly  their  'wigs,  like  the  tendrils,  are 
curling, 

And  founts  of  red  currant  juice '  round  them 
arc  purling. 

Here,  Dick,  arm  in  arm  as  we  chattering  stray. 
Aid  receive  a  few  civil  •*  God  dems  "  by  the 

way,  — 
For,  'tis  odd,  these  mounseers,  —  though  we've 

wasted  our  wealth 
And  our  strength,  till  we've  thrown  ourselves 

into  a  phthisic, 
To  cram  down  their  throats   an  old  King  for 

their  health. 
As  we  whip  little  children  to  make  them  take 

physic  ;  — 
Yet,  spite  of   our    good-natur'd    money   and 

slaughter. 
They  hate  us,  as  Beelzebub  hates  holy  water ! 
But  who  the  deuse  cares,  Dick,  as  long  as  they 

nourish  us 
Neatly  as  now,  and  good  cookery  flourishes  — 
Long  as,  by  bay'nets  protected,  we,  Nattios, 
May  have  our  full  fling  at  their  «a/mM  and  p&tia  T 
And,  truly,  I  always  declar'd  'twould  be  pity 
To  burn  to  the  ground  such  a  choice-feeding  city. 
Had  Dad  but  his  way,  he'd  have  long  ago  blown 
The  whole  batch  to  old  Nick —  and  the  people,  I 

own. 
If  for  no  other  cause  than  their  curs'd  monkey 

looks. 
Well  deserve  a  blow  up  —  but  then,  damn  it, 

their  Cooks  ! 
As  to  Marshals,  and  Statesmen,  and  all  their 

whole  lineage. 
For  aught  that  /  care,  you  may  knock  them  to 

spinach  ; 
But  think,  Dick,  their  Cooks  —  what  a  loss  to 

mankind  ! 
What  a  void  in  the  world  would  ttieir  art  leave 

behind ! 


>  "  Iinmonade  and  ea*-de-greititt»  are  meamred  ont  at 
■Trry  corrtr  of  every  street,  fmm  fantamic  vcasrln.  Jingling 
With  bell:4,  to  tliimty  tradeamen  or  wraried  iiiesscngprx."  — 
Bee  Lady  MorKiinN  lively  (teMcri|itinii  of  the  streets  of  Paris, 
ka  her  very  amiifiini;  work  upon  France,  book  vi. 

*  Tbe«e  gay,  portable  fiwntain*,  fmm  which  the  groaeille 
Irater  Is  administered,  are  among  the  moat  characteristic 
nmamentf!  of  the  rtrc*>ts  of  Paris, 

•  "  Cette  men-eilleiise  Marmlte  Perpituelle,  sur  le  feu 
•Duls  ( res  d'un  siirle ;  qui  a  dunii    V  jour  4  plus  de  300,000 


Their  chronometer  spits  —  their   intenks  taU 

manders  — 
Their  ovens  —  their  pots,  that  can  aofter.  nk 

ganders. 
All  vanish'd  forever  —  their  miraclea  o'er, 
And  the  Marmite  PerpituelU  *  bubbling  no  mora 
Forbid  it,  forbid  it,  ye  Holy  Allies  ! 
Take  whatever  ye  fancy  —  take  statuea,  takt 

money  — 
But  leave  them,  O  leave  them,  their  Pcrigueux 

pics. 
Their  glorious  goose  livers,  and  high-pickleJ 

tunny !  ♦ 
Though   many,  I  own,  are   the  oril*  they're 

brought  us. 
Though  Royalty's  here  on  her  very  last  leg*, 
Yet,  who  can  help  loving  the  land  thai  haa 

taught  us 
Six  hundred  and  eighty-five  ways  to  dreM 

egg»?» 

You  see,  Dick,  in  spite  of  their  cries  of  "  God 

dam," 
"  Coquin  Anglais,"  et  cct'ra  —  how  generous 

I  am  ! 
And  now  (to  return,  once  again,  to  my  "  Day,' 
Which  will  take  us  all  night  to  get  through  in 

this  way,) 
From  the  Boulevards  we  saunter  through  many 

a  street. 
Crack  jokes  on  the  natives  —  mine,  all  very 

neat  — 
Leave  the  Signs  of  the  Times  to  political  fop*, 
And  find  trcice  as  much  fun  in  the  Signs  of  the 

Shops ; — 
Here,  a  Louis  Diz-huit  —  there,  a  Martinmas 

goose, 
(Much  in  vogue  since  your  eagles  are  g^ne  out 

of  use) — 
Henri  Quatres  in  shoals,  and  of  Gods  a  greai 

many. 
But  Saints  are  the  most  on  hard  duty  of  any :  - 
St  Tow,  who  used  all  temptations  to  spurn. 
Here  hangs  o'er  a  beer  shop,  and  temptJ  !q  *  u 

turn; 

chapona."  — dflnuni.  dt  Oturmmdt,  Quatritn*  Ann4«,  i 
138. 

4  Le  tlxm  marin<,  one  of  the  most  favorite  and  iDdifMA 
ble  hor$-4'ruvra.  Thie  Ash  is  taken  chiefly  in  the  Ooifc  4* 
Lyon.  "  I^  tti«  et  le  dcaaous  du  ventre  nnt  les  partiw  l« 
plus  recberchiea  des  gourmets." —  Qmn  Oisdsnsarifat,  f 
SSQ. 

'  *  The  exact  number  menttoned  bjr  IL  de  la  Reyni^re- 
"  On  connoit  en  France  OSS  maniiiw  dinnates  d'arcxMb 
moder  le*  «Eufs  ;  sana  compter  cell**  qiM  mm  mnm  mai^ 
nent  chaque  Jour  " 


178 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


While  there  St,  Venej.  i '   sits  hemming  and 

frilling  her 
Holy  mouchoir  o'er  the  di  lor  of  some  milliner :  — 
Saint  Austin's  the  ••  out  vard  and  visible  sign 
"Of  an  inward"  cheaj>  dinner,   and  pint  of 

small  wine ; 
While  St.  Denxs  hangs  out  o'er  sorcji  hatter  of 

ton, 
A  rid  possessing,  good  bishop,  n  j  aoad  of  his 

own,* 
Takes  an  infretd  in  Dandies  "yToo've  got — next 

to  none ! 
Then  we  stare  into  shops  ••    /ead  the  evening's 

qfficlies  — 
Or,  if  some,  who're  Lothar'os  in  feeding,  shoxxld 

wish 
Just  to  flirt  with  a  luncheon,  (a  devilish  bad 

trick, 
As  it  takes  off  the  bloom  of  one's  appetite,  Dick,) 
To  tho  Passage  des  —  what  d'ye  call't  —  des  Pa- 
noramas ' 
We  quicken  our  pace,  and  there  heartily  cram 

as 
Seducing  young  pdtis,  as  ever  could  cozen 
One  out  of  one's  appetite,  do>vn  by  the  dozen. 
We  varj^  of  course  — petits  pdtds  do  one  day. 
The  tiext  we've  our  lunch  with  the  Gauff"rier 

Hollandais,* 
Thai  popular  artist,  who  brings  out,  like  Sc — tt, 
His   delightful  productions  so  quick,  hot  and 

hct; 
Not  the  worst  for  the  exquisite  comment  that 

follows,  — 
Divine  maresquino,  which  —  Lord,  how  one  swal- 
lows ! 

1  Veronica,  the  Saint  of  the  Holy  Handkerchief,  is  also, 
under  the  name  of  Venisse  or  Venecia,  the  tutelary  saint 
of  milliners, 

2  St.  Denis  walked  three  miles  after  his  head  was  cut  off. 
The  mot  of  a  woman  of  wit  upon  this  legend  is  well  known  : 
~"Je  le  crois  bien  ;  en  pareil  cas,  il  n'y  a  que  le  premier 
pas  qui  cdflte." 

3  Off  the  Boulevards  Italiens. 

♦  (r  the  Palais  Royal  ;  successor,  I  believe,  to  the  Fla- 
^iiaiid.  so  long  celebrated  for  the  mo'illeux  of  his  Gaufres. 

4  ft.ctor  Cotterel  recommends,  for  this  purpose,  the  Beau- 
jiin  or  French  Mountains,  and  calls  them  "  une  medecine 
«*t!et>ne,  couleur  de  rose  ; "  but  I  own  I  prefer  the  author- 
ity of  Mr.  Bob,  who  seems,  from  the  following  note  found 
in  his  own  handwriting,  to  have  studied  all  these  moun- 
tains very  carefully :  — 

Memoranda  —  The  Swiss  little  notice  deserves. 
While  the  fall  at  Ruggieri's  is  death  to  weak  nerves  ; 
And  (whate'er  Doctor  Cott'rcl  may  write  on  the  question) 
The  turn  at  the  Beaujon's  too  sharp  for  digestion. 

doubt  whether  Mr.  Bob  is  quite  correct  in  accenting  the 
tecond  syllable  of  Ruggieri. 

•  A  dish  so  indigestible,  that  a  late  novelist,  at  the  end  of 


Once  more,  then,  we  saunter  forth  after  otu 

snack,  or 
Subscribe  a  few  francs  for  the  price  of  a  fiacre. 
And  drive  far  away  to  the  old  Montagues  Russes, 
Where  we  find  a  few  twirls  in  the  car  of  much 

use 
To  regen'rate  the  hunger  and  tliirst  of  us  sinners, 
Who've  laps'd  into   snacks  —  the  pe  rdition  of 

dinners. 
And  here,  Dick  —  in  answer  to   one  of  your 

queries. 
About  which  we,  Gourmands,  have  had  much 

discussion  — 
I've  tried  all  these  mountains,  Swiss,  French, 

and  Ruggieri's, 
And  think,  for  digestion,^  there's  none  like  tha 

Russian  ; 
So  equal  the  motion  —  so  gentle,  though  fleet  — 
It,  in  short,  such  a  light  and  salubrious  scam- 
per is. 
That  take  whom  you  please  —  take  old  L — a 

D — XH — T, 

And  stuff"  him  —  ay,  up  to  the  neck  —  with 
stew'd  lampreys,* 

So  wholesome  these  Mounts,  such  a  solvent  I've 
found  them. 

That,  ,let  me  but  rattle  the  Monarch  well  down 
them, 

TTie  fiend.  Indigestion,  would  fly  far  away, 

And  the  regicide  lampreys '  be  foiled  of  their 
prey ! 

Such,  Dick,  are  the  classical  sports  that  content 
us. 

Till  five  o'clock  brings  on  that  hour  so  mo- 
mentous,' 

his  book,  could  imagine  no  more  summary  mode  of  getting 
rid  of  all  his  heroes  and  heroines  than  by  a  hearty  suppei 
of  stewed  lampreys 

'  They  killed  Henry  I.  of  England:  —  "a  food  (says 
Hume,  gravely,)  which  always  agreed  better  with  his  palate 
than  his  constitution." 

Lampreys,  indeed,  seem  to  have  been  always  a  favonte 
dish  with  kings  —  whether  from  some  congeniality  betwetn 
them  and  that  fish,  I  know  not;  but  Dio  Cassius  tells  UJ 
that  Pollio  fattened  his  lampreys  with  human  Hood.  St 
Louis  of  France  was  particularly  fond  of  them.  —  See  tb« 
anecdote  of  Thomas  Aquinas  eating  up  his  majesty's  lam- 
prey, in  a  note  upon  Rabelais,  liv.  iii.  chap.  2. 

8  Had  Mr.  Bob's  Dinner  Epistle  been  inserted,  I  was  pre- 
pared with  an  abundance  of  learned  matter  to  illustrate  if, 
for  which,  as,  indeed,  for  all  my  "  scientia  pfipiniE,"  *  I  am 
indebted  to  a  friend  in  the  Dublin  University,  —  whose 
reading  formerly  lay  in  the  ma<ric  line  ;  but,  in  consequence 
of  the  Provost's  enlightened  alann  at  such  studies,  he  hai 
taken  to  the  authors,  "  de  re  cibarid."  instead  ;  and  has  lefl 
Bodin,  Remigiua,  Agrippa  and  his  little  dog  Filioliu,  ihl 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


4)« 


.  1*1181  epoch but  w  oa  !  my  lad  —  here  comes 

the  Schneider, 
And,  curse  him,  has  made  the  stays  three  inches 

wider  — 
Too  wide  by  an  inch  and  a  half —  what  a  Guy  ! 
But,   no   matter  —  'twill  all    be  set  right   by 

and  by. 
As  we've  Massinot's  '  eloquent  carte  to  eat  still 

up, 
Ar  inch  and  a  halfs  but  a  trifle  to  fill  up. 
Bo    -  not  to  lose  time,  Dick  ■  -  here  goes  for  the 

task; 
Au  retoir,  my  old  boy  —  of  the  Gods  I  but  ask, 
ITiat  my  life,  like  "  the  Ijej»p  of  the  German,"  • 

may  be, 
«  Du  lit  &  la  table,  ae  in  table  au  lit ! ' 

R.  F. 


LFTiTR  rX. 

FBOM    PHIl.    F'jP'JB,  itf.Q.   TO   THB   LOKD  TISCOUMT 
0— *f OH. 

Mt  liord,  ♦h'  lritruc*aorj»,  brought  to-day, 
"I  shall  'n  8*'  my  best  obey." 
Your  Lordsh'p  talks  and  writes  so  sensibly  . 
And  —  whatsoe'er  some  wags  may  say — 
O.  not  at  all  incomprehensibly. 

1  feel  th  inquiries  in  your  letter 

About  my  health  and  French  most  flattering ; 
riiank  ye,  my  French,  though  somewhat  better. 

Is,  on  the  whole,  but  weak  and  smattering :  — 
pfothing,  of  course,  that  can  compare 
With  his  who  made  the  Congress  stare 
(A  certain  Lord  we  need  not  name), 
•     ^^'ho  ev'n  in  French,  would  have  his  trope, 
And  talk  of  "  btUir  un  systime 

"  Sur  ViqxiHibre  de  I'Europe  !  " 
Sweet  metaphor  !  —  and  then  th'  Epistle, 
Which  bid  the  Saxon  King  go  whistle,  — 
rhat  tender  letter  to  •'  Mon  Prince,"  • 
Which  show'd  alike  thy  French  and  sense  •  — 
O  no,  my  Lord  —  there's  none  can  do 
Or  say  un-English  things  like  you  ; 
And,  if  the  schemes  that  fill  thy  breast 

Could  but  a  vent  congenial  seek, 

Bpteau,  Mantua,  and  that  mnst  learned  and  aavofy  jeanit, 
Bulatxerut, 

>  A  famnufi  Rertaiirateiir  — now  Dupont 

*  An  old  French  saying ;  —  "  Faire  le  laut  de  I'AllemaiHl, 
<u  lit  A.  la  t.tble  rt  cte  la  tahle  atuliL" 

s  The  celebrntpd  letter  to  Prince  (lardenbuffch  (written, 
towevrr,  I  believe,  originally  in  Engli«h,)  in  which  hi* 
Lotdnhip   profesiing  to  see  "no  moral  or  poMt'caJ  oMee- 


And  use  the  tongue  that  suits  them  l.est, 

"NVhat  charming  Turkish  wouldst  thou  «pe«k 
But  as  for  me,  a  Frenchlcss  grub, 

,At  Congress  never  bom  to  stammer. 
Nor  learn  like  thee,  my  Lord,  to  snub 

Fall'n  Monarchs  out  of  Cuambaitd's  gram 
mar  — 
Bless  yon,  you  do  not,  eatmot  know 
How  far  a  little  French  will  go ; 
For  all  one's  stock,  one  need  but  draw 

On  some  half  dozen  words  like  theM  -^ 
Cbmme  fa  —  par-la  —  lA-baa  —  ah  ha  ! 

They'll  take  you  all  through  France  with  mm 

Tour  Lordship's  praises  of  the  scraps 

I  sent  you  from  my  Journal  lately, 
(Enveloping  a  few  lac'd  caps 

For  Lady  C),  delight  me  greatly. 
Her  flattering  speech  —  •'  What  pretty  tlingi 

"  One  finds  in  Mr.  Fi'doe's  pages  I " 
Is  praise  which  (as  some  poet  sings) 

W^ould  pay  one  for  the  toils  of  ages. 

Thus  flatter'd,  I  presume  to  send 
A  few  more  extracts  by  a  friend  ; 
And  I  should  hope  they'll  be  no  loss 
Approv'd  of  than  my  last  MS.  - 
The  former  ones,  I  fear,  were  creas'd. 

As  Biddy  round  the  caps  xcould  pin  them  ; 
But  these  will  come  to  hand,  at  least 

Unrumpled,  for  there's  —  nothing  in  them. 


ExtraeU  from  Mr.  Fudge' i  Journal,  addreued  i% 

LordC. 

Aug.  10.  , 

Went  to  the  Madhouse  —  saw  the  man,* 

Who  thinks,  poor  ^vretch,   that,  while  th« 
Fiend 
Of  Discord  here  full  riot  ran, 

Hf,  like  the  rest,  was  guillotin'd ;  — 
But  that  when,  under  Bonet's  reign, 

(A  more  discreet,  though  quite  as  strong  one,"* 
The  heads  were  all  restor'd  again. 

He,  in  the  scramble,  got  a  %erong  one. 
Accordingly,  he  still  cries  out 

This  strange  head  fits  him  most  unplca<>ant.')  , 

tion  "  to  the  dinmenibennent  of  Saxony,  deno«inr<«d  the  iii»- 
fortunate  King  an  "  not  only  the  moot  deroled,  but  the  moM 
favored  of  Bonaparte's  vaaBais." 

«  Thia  extraordinary  madman  J«,  I  believe,  In  the  BicSfKk 
He  imagines,  exactly  as  Mr.  Fudge  (tales  it,  that,  wban  Uw 
beada  of  thotie  wlio  had  been  giiillolliie«<  were  f>«tni«4,  fcs 
by  mintake  got  some  other  pertmn's  'nMe*l  «f  Ma  <w» 


180 


THE  FUDGE  FAMDiY  IN  PARIS. 


And  always  runs,  poor  dev'l,  about, 

Inquiring  for  his  own  incessantly  ! 
WTiile  to  his  case  a  tear  I  dropp'd. 

And  sauntcr'd  home,  thought  I  —  ye  Gods  1 
How  many  heads  might  thus  be  swopp'd, 

And,  after  all,  not  make  much  odds  ! 
For  instance,  there's  V — s — rr — t's  head  — 
("  Tam  carum  "  '  it  may  well  be  said) 
If  liy  some  ciirious  chance  it  came 

To  settle  on  Bill  Soames's  '  shoulders, 
Th'  effect  would  turn  out  much  the  same 

On  all  respectable  cash  holders  : 
Except  that  while,  in  its  nexo  socket. 

The  head  was  planning  schemes  to  win    

A  zigzag  way  into  one's  pocket, 

The  hands  would  plunge  directly  in. 

Good  Viscount  S — dm — h,  too,  instead 
Of  his  own  grave,  respected  head, 
Might  wear  (for  aught  I  see  that  bars) 

Old  Lady  Wilhelmina  Fbump's  — 
So  while  the  hand  sign'd  Circulars, 

The  head  might  lisp  out  "  What  is  trumps  ?" 
The  R — G — t's  brains  could  we  transfer 
To  some  robust  man-milliner. 
The  shop,  the  shears,  the  lace,  and  ribbon 
Would  go,  I  doubt  not,  quite  as  glib  on  ; 
And,  vice  versd,  take  the  pains 
To  give  the  P — ce  the  shopman's  brains. 
One  only  change  from  thence  ffould  flow, 
Ribbons  would  not  be  wasted  so. 

'Twas  thus  I  ponder'd  on,  my  Lord  ; 

And,  ev'n  at  night,  when  laid  in  bed, 
I  found  myself,  before  I  snor'd. 

Thus  chopping,  swopping  head  for  head. 
At  length  I  thought,  fantastic  elf ! 
How  such  a  change  would  suit  myself. 
'Twixt  sleep  and  waking,  one  by  one. 

With  various  pericraniums  saddled. 
At  last  I  tried  your  Lordship's  on. 

And  then  I  grew  completely  addled  — 
Forgot  all  other  heads,  od  rot  'em  ! 
And  slept,  and  dreamt  that  I  was  —  Bottom. 

1  Tam  cari  capitis.  —  Hobat. 

«  A  celebrated  pickpocket 

s  The  only  cliange,  if  I  recollect  right,  is  the  substitution 
of  lilies  for  bees.  This  war  upon  the  bees  is,  of  course,  uni- 
versal ;  "  exitium  misere  apibus,"  like  the  angry  nymphs  in 
Virgil:  —  but  may  not  new  swarms  arise  out  of  the  victims 
cf  Legitimacy  yet  ? 

4  I  am  afraid  that  Mr,  Fudge  alludes  here  to  a  very  awk- 
ward accident,  which  is  well  known  to  have  happened  to 
poor  L — s  le  D — s — 6,  some  years  since,  at  one  of  the 
R — g— t's  Fetes.  He  was  sitting  next  our  gracious  Q.ueen 
It  tl)«  nm«. 


Aug.  SI 

Walk'd  out  with  daughter  Bid  —  was  shown 
The  House  of  Commons,  and  the  Throne, 
Whose  velvet  cushion's  just  the  same  ' 
Napoleon  sat  on  —  what  a  shame ! 
O,  can  we  wonder,  best  of  speechers, 

When  Louis  seated  thus  we  see, 
That  France's  "  fundamental  features  " 

Are  much  the  same  they  us'd  to  be  ? 
However,  —  God  preserve  the  Throne, 

And  cushion  too  —  and  keep  them  free 
From  accidents,  which  have  been  known 

To  happen  ev'n  to  Royalty  !  * 

Aug.  2& 
Read,  at  a  stall  (for  oft  one  pops 
On  something  at  these  stalls  and  shops, 
That  does  to  quote,  and  gives  one's  Book 
A  classical  and  knowing  look.  — 
Indeed  I've  found,  in  Latin,  lately, 
A  course  of  stalls  improves  me  greatly)  • 
'Twas  thus  I  read,  that,  in  the  East, 

A  monarch's/a^'s  a  serious  matter ; 
And  once  in  every  year,  at  least. 

He's  weigh' d  —  to  see  if  he  gets  fatter  :• 
Then,  if  a  pound  or  two  he  be 
Increas'd,  there's  quite  a  jubilee  !  ' 
Suppose,  my  Lord  —  and  far  from  me 
To  treat  such  things  with  levity  — 
But  just  suppose  the  R — o — t's  weight 
Were  made  thus  an  affair  ol  state  ; 
And,  ev'ry  sessions,  at  the  close,  — 

'Stead  of  a  speech,  which,  all  can  see,  u 
Heavy  and  dull  enough,  God  knows  — 

We  were  to  try  how  heavy  he  is. 
Much  would  it  glad  all  hearts  to  hear 

That,  while  the  Nation's  Revenue 
Loses  so  many  pounds  a  year. 

The  P E,  God  bless  him  !  gains  a  few. 

With  bales  of  muslin,  chint/es,  spices, 
I  see  the  Easterns  weigh  their  Kings ;  — 

But,  for  the  R — o — t,  my  advice  is, 

We  should  throw  in  much  heavier  things : 

5  "  The  third  day  of  the  Feast  the  King  causeth  him?eb 
to  be  weighed  with  great  care."  —  F.  Bernier^s  Voyage  U 
Sural,  &.C. 

8  "  I  remember,"  sas's  Bemier,  "  that  all  the  Omrahs  ex- 
pressed great  joy  that  the  King  weighed  two  pounds  mor« 
now  than  the  year  preceding."  —  Another  author  tells  m 
thai  "  Fatness,  as  well  as  a  verj'  large  head,  is  considered, 
throughout  India,  as  one  of  the  most  precious  gifts  of  heaven. 
An  enormous  skull  is  absolutoly  revered,  and  the  happy 
owner  is  looked  up  to  as  a  superior  being.  To  a  Princ*  a 
joulter  head  ia  invaluable." — Oriental  Field  SporU 


THE   FUDGE   FAMILY   IN    PARIS. 


«tl 


-s  quarto  volumes, 


For  instance  - 

Wliich,  though  not   spices,   servo  to  •wrap 
them  ; 
Dominie  St — dd — x's  Daily  columns, 

♦'  Prodi^ous !  "  —  in,   of   course,   we'd    clap 
tbem  — 
Lotters,  that  C — rtw — t's  '  pen  inditaa. 

In  which,  with  logical  confusion. 
The  Major  like  a  Mittor  writes. 

And  never  comes  to  a  Conclusion  :  — 
Lord  S — M — as'  pamphlet  —  or  his  head  — 
(Ah,  that  were  worth  its  weight  in  lead !) 
Along  with  which  we  in  may  whip,  sly. 
The  Speeches  of  Sir  John  C — x  H — pp — slt  ; 
That  Baronet  of  many  words, 
"Who  loves  so,  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
To  whisper  Bishops  —  and  so  nigh 

Unto  their  wigs  in  whisp'ring  goes, 
That  you  may  always  know  him  by 

A  patch  of  powder  on  his  nose !  — 
If  this  won't  do,  we  in  must  cram 
The  •*  Ileasons  "  of  Lord  B — ck — oh — m  ; 
(A  Book  his  Lordship  means  to  write. 

Entitled  "  Reasons  for  my  Ratting : ") 
Or,  should  these  prove  too  small  and  light. 

His  r p's  a  host  —  we'll  bundle  UuU  in  ! 

And,  still  should  all  these  masses  fail 
To  stir  the  R — a — t's  ponderous  scale. 
Why  then,  my  Lord,  in  heaven's  name. 

Pitch  in,  without  reserve  or  stint. 
The  whole  of  R— ol — y's  beauteous  Dame  — 

If  that  won't  raise  him,  devil's  in  it ! 

Aug.  31. 
Consulted  Murpht's  Tacitus 

About  those  famous  spies  at  Rome,' 
Whom  certain  \Vhig8  —  to  make  a  fuss  -  - 
Describe  as  much  resembling  us,* 

Informing  gentlemen,  at  home. 
But,  bless  the  fools,  they  can't  be  serious. 
To  say  Lord  S — dm — th's  like  Tiberius  ! 
■NVhat !  he,  the  Peer,  that  injures  no  man, 
Like  that  severe,  bloodthirsty  Roman  !  — 


1  M»jor  CartwriRht. 

*  The  name  of  the  flrrt  worthy  who  «et-up  th«  trade  of 
bfurmer  nt  Knme  !Ui  whom  our  Olivers  and  Castleaes  ought 
to  errrt  a  stntiie)  was  Romanux  Hu>po;  —  "qui  fiirmain  vitc 
iniil,  qiiain  postea  celcbretn  miaeria  lemporum  et  audacke 
bominiiin  fcrenitiL"  —  Tacit.  JInnaL  I.  74. 

*  They  certainly  poaaeaaed  the  aame  art  of  inttigating 
their  virtim.a,  whirh  the  Report  of  tlie  Secret  Committee  a^ 
tributes  to  Lord  Sidmoutb'a  agenta:  — '*««etK«(sayaTacitiw 
of  one  of  Uiem)  libtdinum  et  neceaaitatiim,  f««  plmniusm- 
iiciis  inligartt." 

*  "  Nequf  tamen  id  Serene  toxwt  fuit,  tucti  odtam  fuhli- 
tiMi  tMtiortn  faeieiat.    Nam  ut  quia  diatrictior  accusalor  *«- 

61 


Tis  true,  the  Tyrant  lent  an  ear  to 
All  sorts  of  spies  —  so  doth  the  Peer,  too, 
'Tis  true  my  Lord's  Elect  tell  fibs. 
And  deal  in  petj'ry  —  ditto  Tib's. 
'Tis  true  the  Tyrant  screen'd  and  hid 
His  rogues  from  justice* —  ditto  Sid. 
Tis  true  the  Peer  is  grave  and  glib 
At  mortal  speeches  —  ditto  Tib,* 
'Tis  true,  the  feats  the  Tyrant  did 
Were  in  his  dotage — ditto  Sid. 

So  far,  I  own,  the  parallel 

'Twixt  Tib  and  Sid  goes  vastly  well ; 

But  there  are  points  in  Tib  that  strike 

My  humble  mind  as  much  more  like 

Yourself,  my  dearest  Lord,  or  him. 

Of  th'  India  Board  —  that  soul  of  whim  I 

Like  him,  Tiberius  lov'd  his  joke,* 

On  matters,  too,   where  few  can  boar  ont  t 
E.  g.  a  man,  cut  up,  or  broke 

Upon  the  wheel  —  a  devilish  fair  one  1 
Your  common  fractures,  wounds,  and  fits. 
Are  nothing  to  such  wholesale  wits  ; 
But,  let  the  sufTrer  gasp  for  life. 

The  joke  is  then  worth  any  money; 
And,  if  he  writhe  beneath  a  knife,  — 

O  dear,  that's  something  quite  too  funriT 
In  this  rcpcct,  my  Lord,  you  see, 
The  Roman  wag  and  ours  agree : 
Now  as  to  your  rfesemblance  —  mum  — 

This  parallel  we  need  not  follow ;  ' 
Though  'tis,  in  Ireland,  said  by  some 

Your  Lordship  beats  Tiberius  hollow ; 
Whips,  chains  —  but  these  are  things  too  serioui 

For  me  to  mention  or  discuss ; 
Whene'er  your  Lordship  acts  Tiberitts. 

Phil.  Fudge's  part  is  Tacitus  ! 

Was  thinking,  had  Lord  S — dm — th  go< 
Any  good  decent  sort  of  Plot 
Against  the  winter  time  —  if  not, 
Alas,  alas,  our  ruin's  fated  ; 
All  done  up,  and  spijlicated ' 


lut  saentmctms  eraL"—JlnHeL  lib.  >.  86.— Or,  u  il  » 
tramilated  by  Mr.  Fudge's  friend,  Murphy  :  —  '  Thi»  dai  ag 
accuser  had  the  eurstt  of  tJie  proplt,  and  the  ftrouetitn  o(  tlM 
F.wtperoT.  Informtr;  in  pn>purtion  as  tliey  rum  m  guilt,  V 
eamt  Docred  eharattert." 

*  Mur)>l>y  even  ctmfen*  upon  one  of  hia  apeeches  the  api 
thet  "  constitutionnl."    Mr.  Fudge  might  have  added  to  hm 
parallel,  tliat  Tiberius  waa  a  foeJ  prnmu  cJiara  ta» 
"egregium  vitl  bmiunt  quoaJ  friratut." 

*  "  Ludibria  itriii  pemii»cere  Mtlitua." 

'  There  is  one  point  of  reaemblance  betwaen  lihafk.t 
and  Lord   C.  wliirh   Mr.  Fudge  mtg  I  ha»» 
"  tutptnsa  temper  et  oitcura  verta." 


if>2 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


Miiii5tor8  and  all  their  vassals, 

Do^^Ti  from  C — TL OH  to  Castles,  — 

Unless  we  can  kick  up  a  riot, 

Ne'er  can  hope  f-^r  peace  or  quiet ! 

What's  to  be  done  ?  —  Spa-Fields  was  clever  ; 

But  even  that  brought  gibes  and  mockings 
Upon  our  heads  —  so,  mem.  —  must  never 

Keep  ammunition  in  old  stockings  ; 
For  fear  some  wag  should  in  his  curs'd  head 
Take  it  to  say  our  force  was  worsted. 
Mem.  too  —  when  Sid  an  army  raises. 
It  must  not  be  "  incog."  like  Bayes's  : 
Nor  must  the  General  be  a  hobbling 
Professor  of  the  art  of  cobbling; 
Lest  men,  who  perpetrate  such  puns, 

Should  say,  with  Jacobinic  grin, 
He  felt,  from  soling  Wellingtons,'^ 

A  Wellington  s  great  soul  within  ! 
Nor  must  an  old  Apothecary 

Go  take  the  Tower,  for  lack  of  pence, 
With  (what  these  wags  would  call,  so  merry,) 

Physical  force  and  phial-ence  ! 
No  —  no  —  our  Plot,  my  Lord,  must  be 
Next  time  contriv'd  more  skilfully. 
John  Bull,  I  grieve  to  say,  is  growing 
So  troublesomely  sharp  and  knowing. 
So  wise  —  in  short,  so  Jacobin  — 
'Tis  monstrous  hard  to  take  him  in. 

•  Sept  6. 

Heard  of  the  fate  of  our  Ambassador 

In  China,  and  was  sorely  nettled  ; 
But  think,   my    Lord,   we   should  not  pass   it 
o'er 

Till  all  this  matter's  fairly  settled  ; 
And  here's  the  mode  occurs  to  me :  — 
As  none  of  our  Nobility, 
Though  for  their  otc?i  most  gracious  King 
(They  would  kiss  hands,  or —  any  thing), 
Can  be  persuaded  to  go  through 
This  farce-like  trick  of  the  Ko-tou; 
And  as  these  Mandarins  won't  bend, 

Without  some  mumming  exhibition, 
Suppose,  my  2  .'.rd,  you'were  to  send 

Grimaldi  to  them  on  a  mission : 
-^  Legate,  Joe  could  plaj  his  part, 
And  if,  in  diplomatic  art. 
The  •*  volto  sciolto  "  *  's  meritorious, 
liBt  J  OE  but  firrin,  he  has  it,  glorious . 


1  Shr>rt  hoots,  so  called. 

*  Tliei  open  countenance,  recommended  by  Lord  Chesfer- 
Ueld. 

»  Mr.  Fudge  is  a  little  mistaken  here.  It  wss  not  Gri- 
malli,  but  some  very  inferior  performer,  who  played  this 
|«it  Of      Lord  Morley  "  in  Jie  pantomime,  —  so  much  to 


A  title  for  him's  easily  made  ; 

And,  by  the  by,  ono  Christmas  time» 
If  I  remember  right,  he  play'd 

Lord  MoRLEY  in  some  pantomime  ; '-  • 
As  Earl  of  M — rl — y  then  gazette  him, 
K  t'other  Earl  of  M— rl— y  '11  let  him, 
(And  why  shoidd  not  the  world  be  b.est 
With  two  such  stars,  for  East  and  West  ?) 
Then,  when  before  the  Yellow  Screen 

He's  brought  —  and  sure,  the  very  ess*"n^» 
Of  etiquette  would  be  that  scene 

Of  Joe  in  the  Celestial  Presence  ! 
He  thus  should  say  :  —  "  Duke  Ho  and  Soo, 
"  I'll  play  what  tricks  you  please  for  yo'a, 
"  If  you'll,  in  turn,  but  do  fT  me 
"  A  few  small  tricks  you  now  shall  see 
"  If  I  consult  your  Emperor's  liking, 
"  At  least  you'll  do  t^c  same  for  my  King.* 
He  then  should  give  them  nine  such  grins. 
As  would  astound  ev'n  Mandarins  ; 
Ajid  throw  such  somersets  before  / 

The  picture  of  King  Geoeqe  (God  bless  hisn '_ 
As,  should  Duke  Ho  but  try  them  o'er. 

Would,  by  Confucius,  much  disti  ess  him ! 

I  start  this  merely  as  a  hint, 
But  think  you'll  find  some  wisdom  in't : 
And,  should  j-ou  follow  up  the  job. 
My  son,  my  Lord  (you  ktiow  poor  Bob), 
Would  in  the  suite  be  glad  to  go 
And  help  his  Excellency,  Joe  ;  — 
At  least,  like  noble  Amh — kst's  son, 
The  lad  will  do  to  practise  on..* 


LETTER  X. 

FROM   MISS   BIDDY  FUDGE  TO   MIS8   DOEOTHT . 

Well,  it  isn't  the  King,  after  all,  my  dear  crea- 
ture ! 
"Byxtdon't  you  go  laugh,  now  —  there's  n'lthing 
to  quiz  in't  — 
For  grandeur  of  air  and  for  grimness  of  r-etinre, 
He  might  be  a  King,  Doll,  though,  hang  hini, 
he  isn't. 
At  first,  I  felt  hurt,  for  I  wish'd  it,  I  own. 
If  for  no  other  cause  but  to  vex  Miss  Malone,- 


the  horror  of  the  distinguished  Earl  of  that  name.    The  e\ 
postulatory  letters  of  the  Noble  Earl  to  Mr.  H — rr — s,  upo» 
this  vulgar  profanation  of  his  spick-and-span  new  title,  wil.' 
I  trust,  some  time  or  other,  be  given  to  the  world. 
*  See  Mr.  Ellis's  account  of  tbp  Embassy. 


I 


niE  FUDGE  FA3IILY  IN  PARIS. 


M] 


( Ihe  great  heiress,  you  know,  of  Shandangan, 

who's  here, 
Showing  off  with  such  airs,  and  a  real  Cashmere,' 
While  mine's  but  a  paltry,  old  rabbit  skin,  dear  I) 
Put  Pa  says,  on  deeply  consid'ring  the  thing, 
•'  I  am  just  as  well  pleaa'd  it  should  not  be  the 

King; 
"  As  I  think  for  my  Biodt,  so  gentilU  and  jolie, 
*'  Whose  charms  may  their  price  in  an  honest 

way  fetch, 
"  That  a  Brandenburgh  "  —  (what  u  a  Branden- 

burgh,  Dolly  ?J  — 
"  Would  be,  after  all,  no  such  very  great  catch. 
'•Kthe  R— o — T  indeed,"  added  he,  looking  sly  — 
You  remember  that  comical  squint  of  his  eye) 
But  I  Btopp'd  him  with  "  La,  Pa,  how  can  you 

say  so, 
••  When  the  R — a — t  loves  none  but  old  women, 

you  know  !  " 
Which  is  fact,  my  dear  Dolly  —  we,  girls  of 

eighteen, 
4nd  so  slim  —  Lord,  he'd  think  us  not  fit  to  be 

seen ; 
And  would  like  \is  much  better  as  old  —  ay, 

as  old 
As  that  Countess  of  Desmond,  of  whom  I've 

been  told 
That  she  liv'd  to  much  more   than  a  hundred 

and  ten, 
And  was  kill'd  by  a  fall  from  a  cherry  tree  then ! 
What  a  frisky  old  girl !  but  —  to  come  to  my 

lover, 
Wlio,  though  not  a  King,  is  a  hero  I'll  swear,  — 
tTou  shall  hear  all  that's  happen' d,  just  briefly 

run  over. 
Since   that  happy  night,  when  we  whisk'd 

through  the  air  ! 

Let  me  see  —  'twas  on  Saturday — yes,  Dolly, 
yes  — 
From  that  evening  I  date  the  first  dawn  of  my 
bliss ; 

I  See  Lady  Morgaa'a  "  France  "  for  the  anecdote,  told 
kt;  by  Madame  de  GenlU,  of  (he  young  gentleman  wlioxe 
ir-T«  w-as  cured  by  finding  tliat  bis  mi«tress  wore  a  tkmel 
•*  penu  d«  lapin." 

>  Ihe  cant,  on  the  return, are  dragged  up  alowly  by  a 
ehain. 

s  Mr.  Bob  need  not  be  ashamed  of  hia  cookery  Joke*, 
Rrhen  he  is  kept  in  countenance  by  cuch  men  aa  Cicero,  SL 
/iuf^ustinc,  and  tliat  Jovial  binliop,  yenantiu*  Forttinalut. 
TIm  pun  of  the  great  orator  upon  the  "Jus  Verrinum," 
nrhicli  he  caila  bad  kof  broth,  from  a  play  upon  both  the 
trordii,  la  well  known  ;  ^ud  the  Saint's  puns  upon  the  con- 
ersioii  of  Lot's  wife  into  salt  are  equally  ingenious:  — "  In 
•alfin  ronvcrsa  nominibus  ddelibus  quoddaoi  orcstirit  con. 
diatenlum,  que  wptaiit  aliquid,  uode  iUud  caveaiui  exem- 


When  we  both  rattled  off  in  that  dear  littlt 

carriage. 
Whose  journey,  Bob  aaya,  is  so  like  Lore  and 

Marriage, 
"  Beginning  gay,  desperate,  daahing,  down-hilly 
"  And  ending  as  dull  as  a  six-inside  Dilly  I "  • 
Well,  scarcely  a  wink  did  I  ileep  the  nighl 

through ; 
And,  next  day,  having  scribbled  my  leltei  t< 

.     you. 
With  a  heart  full  of  hope  this  sweet  fellow  to 

meet, 
I  set  out  with  Papa,  to  sec  Louis  Dix-bcit 
Make  his  bow  to  some  half  dozen  women  and 

boys. 
Who  get  up  a  small  concert  of  thrill  Hm  I0 

Jiois  — 
And  how  vastly  genteeler,  my  dear,  even  this 

is. 
Than  vulgar  Pall  Mall's  oratorio  of  hisses  ! 
The   gardens  secm'd  full  — so,  of  course,  we 

walk'd  o'er  'em, 
'Mong  orange  trees,  clipp'd  into  town-bred  de> 

coriun, 
And  daphnes,  and  vdses,  and  many  a  statue 
There  staring,  with  not  ev'n  a  stitch  on  them, 

at  you  ! 
The  ponds,  too,  we  view'd  —  stood  a  while  on 

the  brink 
To  contemplate  the  play  of  those  pretty  gold 

fislies  — 
"  Live  bullion,"  says  merciless  Bob,  *•  which,  1 

think, 
"  Would,  if  coin'd,  with  a  little  mint  sauce,  be 

delicious ! "  ' 

But  what,  Dolly,  what,  is  the  gay  orange 

grove. 
Or  gold  fishes,  to  her  that's  in  search  of  her  love  • 
In  vain  did  I  wildly  explore  every  chair 
Where  a  thing  like  a  man  was  —  no  lover  »»M 

there  ! 

plum."—  De  CiviUi.  Dei,  lib.  xvi.  cap.  3a— Tlie  Joke*  d 
the  pious  favorite  of  Queen  Radagunda,  the  ccntivtal  HMi 
op  FenaiUius,  may  be  found  among  his  pueois,  in  some  linai 
against  a  cook  who  had  robbed  him.  The  fulluwing  'm  limt- 
ilar  to  Cieero't  pun  :  — 

PluajusuUa  Coci  quam  mea  jitra  rmlenL 

See  bit  poem*,  Ovrpiu  Poetar.  Latin,  torn.  ii.  p.  1732. 
Of  the  same  kind  was  Montmaur'*  Joke,  when  a  dUh  wa4 
split  over  him  —  "  ■unimum  Jus,  siimma  injuria ; "  and  Ha 
same  celebrated  parasite,  in  ordering  a  sole  to  b«  placad  b» 
fore  bim,  said,  — 

Eligi  cnl  dieas,  tu  mihi  «•/«  place*. 

The  reader  may  likewise  aee,  ainong  a  food  deal  of  tm 
then  enidition,  Ihe  learned  Uftima'i  iokm  <m  cottef  IW  • 
capon  in  bu  SotanMl.  SmMib  Ubb  tt.  cafb  ti 


184 


THE  FUDGE   FAMILY  IN   PARIS. 


In  vain  my  fond  eyes  did  I  eagerly  cast 

At  the  whiskers,  mustachios,  and  i^'igs  that  went 

past, 
To  obtain,  if  I  could,  but  a  glance  at  that  curl,  — 
A  glimpse  of  those  whiskers,  as  sacred,  my  girl. 
As  the  lock  that,  Pa  5 ays,'  is  to  Musselmen  giv'n, 
For  the  angel  to  hold  by  that  "  lugs  them  to 

heaven  !  " 
Alas,  there  went  by  me  full  many  a  quiz, 
And  mustachios  in  plenty,  but  nothing  like  his ! 
Disappointed,  I  found  myself  sighing  out  "  well- 

aday,"  — 
Thought  of  the  words  of  T — m  M — ee's  Irish 

Melody, 
Something  about  the  '•  green  spot  of  delight "  ' 
Which,  you  know.  Captain  Mackintosh  sung 

to  us  one  day)  : 
Ah  Dolly,  my  "  spot "  was  that  Saturday  night. 
And  its  verdure,  how  fleeting,  had  wither'd 

by  Sunday ! 
We  din'd  at  a  tavern  —  La,  what  do  I  say  ? 

If  Bob  was  to  know  !  —  a  Restaurateur's,  dear ; 

■Where  your  propei-ast  ladies  go  dine  every  day. 

And  drink  Burgundy  out  of  large  tumblers, 

like  beer. 
Fine  Bob  (for  he's  really  grown  supertixve') 
Condescended,  for  once,  to  make  one  of  the 

party; 
Of  course,  though  but  three,  we  had  dinner  for 

nine. 
And  in  spite  of  my  grief,  love,  I  own  I  eat 

hearty. 
Indeed,  Doll,  I  know  not  how  'tis,  but,  in  grief, 
I  have  always  found  eating  a  wondrous  relief ; 
And  Bob,  who's  in  love,  said  he  felt  the  same, 

quite  — 
«•  My  sighs,"  said  he,  ••  ceas'd  with  the  first 

glass  I  drank  you  ; 
••The  lamb  made  me  tranquil,  the  puffs  made 

me  light, 
"  And  —  now  that  all's  o'er  —  why,  I'm  — 

pretty  well,  thank  you  !  " 

1  for  this  scrap  of  knowledge  "  Pa  "  was,  I  suspect,  in- 
Inbted  to  a  note  upon  Volney's  Ruins ;  a  book  which  usual- 
j  forms  part  of  a  Jacobin's  librar)',  and  with  which  Mr. 
Fudge  muEt  have  been  well  acquainted  at  the  time  when 
be  wrote  his  "Down  with  Kings,"  &c.  The  note  in  Vol- 
My  is  as  follows :  —  "It  is  by  this  tuft  of  hair  (on  the  crown 
of  the  head),  worn  by  the  majority  of  Mussulmans,  that  the 
4ngel  »f  the  Tomb  is  to  take  the  elect  and  carry  them  to 
i^aradise." 

*  The  young  lady,  whose  memory  is  not  very  correct, 
Htat  tUude,  I  think,  to  the  following  lines  :  — 
O  that  fairy  form  is  ne'er  forgot. 

Which  First  Love  traced  ; 
Still  it  ling'ring  haunts  the  greenest  spot 
On  Memory's  waste ! 


To  my  great  aimoyance,  we  sat  rather  Is  te  ; 
For  Bobby  and  Pa  had  a  furious  debate 
About  singing  and  cookery  —  Bobby,  of  cours^ 
Standing  up  for  the  latter  Fine  Art  in  fuil  force ; 
And   Pa   saying,  "  God   only  knows  which  i| 

worst, 
"  The  French  Singers  or  Cooks,  but  I  wish  tif 

well  over  it  — 
"  What  with  old  LaIs  and  V^hy,  I'm  curs' d 
"  If  my  head  or  my  stomach  will  ever  recovej 

it!" 

'Twas  dark,  when  we  got  to  the  Boulevards  to 
stroll. 
And  in  vain  did  I  look  'mong  the  street  Mac- 
aronis, 
When,  sudden  it  struck  me  —  last  hope  of  my 
soul  — 
That  some  angel  might  take  the  dear  man  to 

TORTONI'S  !  * 

We  enter' d,  —  and,  scarcely  had  Bob,  with  an 
air, 
For  a  grappe  d  lajardiniire  call'd  to  the  wait- 
ers, 

When,  O  Doll  !  I  saw  him  —  my  hero  was  there 
(For  I  knew  his  white  small  clothes  and  brown 
leather  gaiters), 

A  group  of  fair  statues  from  Greece  smiling  o'er 
him,* 

And  lots  of  red  currant  juice  sparkling  before 
him ! 

O  Dolly,  these  heroes  —  what  creatures  they 
are  ; 
In  the  boudoir  the  same  as  in  fields  full  of 
slaughter ! 

As  cool  in  the  Beaujon's  precipitous  car. 

As  when  safe  at  Toktoni's,  o'er  ic'd  currant 
water ! 

He  join'd  us  —  imagine,  dear  creature,  my  ec- 
stasy — 

Join'd  by  the  man  I'd  have  broken  ten  necks  to 
see  ! 

8  Cookery  ims  been  dignified  by  the  researches  of  a  Bnctn , 
(see  his  Jfatural  History,  Receipts,  &c.)  and  takes  its  statloa 
as  one  of  the  Fine  Arts  in  the  following  passage  of  Mr.  Dvl 
gald  Stewart:  —  "Agreeably  to  this  view  of  the  subject, 
sweet  may  be  said  to  be  intrinsically  pleasing,  and  bitter  U 
be  relatively  pleasing ;  which  both  are,  in  manv  cases, 
equally  essential  to  those  efl%cts,  whicil,  in  the  art  of  cook- 
ery, correspond  to  that  composite  beauty,  which  it  is  the  ob- 
ject of  the  painter  and  of  the  poet  to  create."  —  Philosirpkied 
Essays. 
*  A  fashionable  cafe  glacier  on  the  Italian  BouIevard«L 
8  "  You  eat  your  ice  at  Tortonils,"  says  Mi.  Scott,  "  a 
der  a  Grecian  group." 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


484 


0(VB  wish'd  to  treat  him  vnth  Punch  d  la  glace. 
But  the  sweet  fellow  swore  that  my  beauti,  my 

grace, 
And  my  je-tie-*ai$-quoi  (then  his  whiskers  he 

twirl'd) 
Weie,  to  Aim,  "  on  de  top  of  all  Fonch  in  de 

vorld."  — 
Qow  pretty !  —  though  oft  (as,  of  course,  it  must 

be) 
Both  his  French  and  his  English  are  Greek, 

Doll,  to  mo. 
But,  in  short,  I  felt  happy  as  ever  fond  heart 

did; 
And  happier  still,  when  'twas  fix'd,  ere  we  parted. 
That,  if  the  n<^xt  day  should  be  pastoral  weather, 
We  all  would  set  off,  in  French  buggies,  together. 
To  see  Montmorency  —  that  place  which,  you 

know. 
Is  so  famous  for  cherries  and  Jsan  Jacques 

Rousseau. 
His  cord  then  he  gave  us  —  the  nanu,  rather 

creas'd  — 
But  'twas  Calicot  —  something  —  a  Colonel,  at 

least ! 
After  which  —  sure  there  never  was  hero  so 

civil  —  he 
Saw  us  safe  home  to  our  door  in  Rxu  Rivoli, 
Where  his  last  words,  as,  at  parting,  ho  threw 
A  soft  look  o'er  his  shoulders,  were  —  "  How 

do  you  do ! "  • 

Bat,  lord,  — there's  Papa  for  the  post  —  I'm  so 

vex'd  — 
Montmorency  must  now,  love,  be  kept  for  my  next. 
That  dear  Sunday  night !  —  I  was  charmingly 

dress' d. 
And  —  so  providential '  —  was  looking  my  best ; 
Such  a  sweet  muslin  gown,  with  a  flounce  — 

and  my  frills, 
You've  no  notion  how  rich  —  (though  Pa  has 

by  the  bills) 
And  you'd  smile  had  you  seen,  when  we  sat 

rather  near, 
Colonel  Calicot  eying  the  cambric,  my  dear. 
Ihen  the  flow'rs  in  my  bonnet  —  but,  la,  it's  in 

vain  — 
So,  good  by,  my  sweet  Doll  —  I  shall  soon 

write  again.  B.  F. 

Nota  bent  —  our  love  to  all  neighbors  about-— 
Your  Papa  in  particular  —  how  is  his  gout  ? 

>  Not  an  ununial  mistake  with  forei^erR. 
*  See  /Elian,  lib.  v.  cap.  39  — who  tella  im  that  thew 
rtmt  from  a  cooK'ouaBMS  zt  tbeir  own  kiqiucitjr,  tlwajr* 


P.  S.  —  I've  just  open'd  my  letter  to  say. 

In  your  next  you  mu*t  tell  me,  (now  da,  Dou  », 

pray. 
For  I  hate  to  ask  Bob,  he's  so  ready  to  quia. 
What  sort  of  a  thing,  dear,  a  BnuuieHhirgk  s 

LETTER  XL 

FBOX   rUELIM   OONMOa  TO . 

Yes,  'twas  a  cause,  as  noble  and  as  great 
As  ever  hero  died  to  vindicate  — 
A  Nation's  right  to  speak  a  Nation's  voice. 
And  own  no  power  but  of  the  Nation's  choice 
Such  was  the  grand,  the  glorious  caiue  that  non 
Hung  trembling  on  Napoleon's  single  brow  ; 
Such  the  sublime  arbitrament,  that  pour'd. 
In  patriot  eyes,  a  light  around  his  sword, 
A  hallowing  light,  which  never,  since  the  day 
Of  his  young  victories,  had  illum'd  its  way  1 

O  'twas  not  then  the  time  for  tame  debates. 
Ye  men  of  Gaul,  when  chains  were  at  youi 

gates; 
When  he,  who  late  had  fled  your  Chieftain's  tj% 
As  geese  from  eagles  on  Mount  Taurus  fly,* 
Denounc'd  against  the  land,  that  spurn'd  his 

chain. 
Myriads  of  swords  to  bind  it  fast  again  — 
Myriads  of  fierce  invading  swords,  to  track 
Through  your  best  blood  his  path  of  vengeance 

back ; 
When  Europe's  Kings,  that  never  yet  combin'd 
But  (like  those  upper  Stars,  that,  when  conjoin'dj 
Shed  war  and  pestilence,)  to  scourge  mankind, 
Gather'd  aroimd,  with  hosts  from  every  shore, 
Hating  Napoleon  much,  but  Freedom  more. 
And,  in  that  coming  strife,  appall'd  to  see 
The  world  yet  left  one  chance  for  liberty  !  — 
No,  'twas  not  then  the  time  to  weave  a  net 
Of  bondage  round  your  Chief;  to  curb  and  fhrt 
Your  veteran  war  horse,  pa>ting  for  the  fight. 
When  every  hope  was  in  his  speed  and  might  — 
To  waste  the  hour  of  action  in  dispute. 
And  coolly  plan  how  freedom's  bought  shoikld 

shoot. 
When  your  Invader's  axe  was  at  tt*  root/ 
No,  sacred  Liberty  I  that  God,  who  throws, 
Thy  light  around,  like  his  own  sunshine,  knows 
How  well  I  love  thee,  and  how  deeply  hate 
AU  tyrants,  upstart  and  Legitimate  — 


croM  Mount  Taunti  with  tumt*  in  th*ir  bill*,  to  |it*VM 
any  unlucky  cackl*  froin  betraying  tJMm  Ui  ttw  aaalw- 
iuMfTQiirMt  ttuwitirrtf 


t86 


THE  FUDGE   FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


Yet,  in  that  hour,  were  France  my  native  land, 
I  would  have  follow'd,  with  quick  heart  and 

hand, 
Napolfon,  Nero  —  ay,  no  matter  whom  — 
To  snatch  my  country  from  that  damning  doom. 
That   deadliest   curse   that   on   the    conquer'd 

waits  — 
A  Conqueror's  satrap,  thron'd  within  her  gates ! 

True,  he  was  false  —  despotic  —  all  you  please  — 
Had  trampled  down  man's  holiest  liberties  — 
Had,  by  a  genius,  form'd  for  nobler  things 
Than  lie  within  the  grasp  of  vulgar  Kings, 
But  rais'd  the  hopes  of  men —  as  eaglets  fly 
With  tortoises  aloft  into  the  sky  — 
To  dash  them  down  again  more  shatteringly  ! 
All  this  I  own  —  but  stUI  >     •         •        * 


LETTER  XII. 

mOM  MISS   BIDDY  FUDOB   TO  MISS   DOROTHY . 

At  last,  Dolly,  —  thanks  to  a  potent  emetic. 
Which  Bobby  and  Pa,  with  grimace  sympa- 
thetic. 
Have  swallow'd  this  morning,  to  balance  the 

bliss. 
Of  an  eel  matelote  and  bisque  d'icrevisses  — 
I've  a  morning  at  home  to  myself,  and  sit  down 
To  describe  you  our  heavenly  trip  out  of  town. 
How  agog  you  must  be  for  this  letter,  my  dear ! 
Lady  Jane,  in  the  novel,  less  languish'd  to  hear 
If  that  elegant  cornet  she  met  at  Lord  Nev- 
ille's 
Was  actually  djing  with  love  or  —  blue  devils. 
But  Love,  Dolly,  Love  is  the  theme  /  pursue ; 
With  Blue  Devils,  thank  heav'n,  I  have  noth- 
ing to  do  — 
Except,  indeed,  dear  Colonel  Calicot  spies 
Any  imps  of  that  color  in  certain  blue  eyes, 
vVhich  he  stares  at  till  /,  Doll,  at  his  do  the 

same ; 
Then  he  simpers  —  I  blush  —  and  would  often 

exclaim. 
If  I  knew  but  the  French  for  it,  «'  Lord,  Sir,  for 
shame  ! " 

Well,  the  morning  was  lovely  —  the  trees  in 
full  dress 
For  the  happy  occasion  —  the  sunshine  express, 

I  Somebody  (Fontenelle,  I  believe,)  hag  said,  that  if  lie 
oad  his  hand  full  uf  truths,  he  would  open  but  one  finger  at 
a  tiir.e  ;  and  the  same  sort  of  reserve.  I  find  to  be  necessary 
Ttth  Tt^iiec/ to  Ml  C'^nnor's  very  plain-spoken  letters.    The 


Had  we  ordered  it,  dear,  of  the  best  poet  g<Hng. 
It  scarce  could  be  furnish'd  more  golden  and 

glowing. 
Though  late  when  we  started,  the  scent  of  the 

air 
Was  like   Gatoe's  rose  water,  —  and,   blight^ 

here  and  there. 
On  the  grass  an  odd  dewdrop  was  glitteriufi 

yet. 
Like  my  aunt's  diamond  pin  on  hf*  green  tab- 

binet ! 
While  the  birds  seem'd  to  warbU   as  blest  on 

the  boughs. 
As  if  each  a  plum'd  Calicot  had  for  her  spouse  ; 
And  the  grapes  were  all  blushing  and  kissing 

in  rows. 
And  —  in  short,  need  I  tell  you,  wherever  one 

goes 
With  the  creature  one  loves,  'tis  all  couleur  dt 

rose ; 
And,  ah,  I  shall  ne'er,  liv'd  I  ever  so  long,  see 
A  day  such  as  that  at  divine  Montmorency  ! 

There  was  but  one  drawback  —  at  first  when  wo 

started. 
The  Colonel  and  I  were  inhumanly  parted ; 
How  cruel  —  young  hearts  of  such  moments  to 

rob! 
He  went  in  Pa's  buggy,  and  I  went  with  Bob  ; 
And,  I  own,  I  felt  spitefully  happy  to  know 
That  Papa  and  his  comrade  agreed  but  so  so. 
For  the  Colonel,  it  seems,  is  a  stickler  of  Ho- 
ney's — 
Served  with  him  of  course  —  nay,  I'm  sure  they 

were  cronies. 
So  martial  his  features !  dear  Doll,  you  can 

trace 
Ulm,  Austerlitz,  Lodi,  as  plain  in  his  face 
As  you  do  on  that  pillar  of  glory  and  brass,' 
Which  the  poor  Due  de  B — iii  must  hate  so  to 

pass ! 
It  appears,  too,  he  made  —  as  most  foreigners 

do  — 
About  English  affairs  an  odd  blunder  or  too. 
For  example  —  misled  by  the  names,  I  dare  say 
He  confounded  Jack  Castles  with  Lord  C— 

—  OH ; 
And  —  sure  such  a  blunder  no  mortal  hit  evei 

on  — 
Fancied  the  present  Lord  C — md — n  the  ckver 

one  ! 

remainder  of  this  Epistle  is  so  full  of  unsafe  matter-of-f  ic, 
that  it  must,  for  Uie  present  at  least,  be  witliield  from  tlu 
public. 
a  The  column  in  the  Place  Venddm*. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


481 


But    politics    ne'er    were   the    sweet    fellow's 

trade ; 
Twas  for  war  and  the  ladies  my  Colonel  was 

made. 
And,  O,  had  you  heard,  as  together  yre  walk'd 
Fhrough  that  beautiful  forest,  how  sweetly  he 

talk'd : 
And  how  perfectly  well  he  appear'd,  Dou.,  to 

know 
A12   fho  llfo  and  adventures  of  Jean  Jacques 

ROUSSKAC  !  — 

"  'Twas  there,"  said  he  —  not  that  his  loorda  I 

can  state  — 
Twas  a  g.bb'rish  that  Cupid  alone  could  trans- 
late ;  — 
But  •'  there,"  said  he,  (pointing  where,,  small 

and  remote. 
The  dear  Hermitage  rose,)  "  there  his  Julie  he 

wrote,  — 
"  Upon  paper  gilt  edg'd,'  without  blot  or  era- 

oure; 
••  Then  sanded  it  over  with  silver  and  azure, 
"  And  —  O,   what  will  genius  and  fancy  not 

do? 
'*  Tied  the  leaves  up  together  with  nompareiUe 

blue !  " 
What  a  trait  of  Rousseau !    what  a  crowd  of 

emotions 
From  sand  and  blue  ribbons  are  conjur'd  up 

here ! 
Alas,  that  a  man  of  such  exquisite  *  notions 
Should  send  his  poor  brats  to  the  Foundling, 

my  dear ! 

••  'Twas  here,  too,  perhaps,"  Colonel  Caucot 

said  — 
As  down  the  small  garden  he  pensively  led  — 
(^Though  once  I  could  see  his  sublime  forehead 

wrinkle 
With  rage  not  to  find    there   the  lov'd  peri- 
winkle) ' 

1  "  Emplojrint  pour  cela  l«  pliu  b«au  papier  Aatt,  i^hant 
t'^criture  avec  de  la  poudre  d'azur  et  d'argent,  el  cousant 
%i-n  cahlera  a\rec  de  la  nompareille  bleue."  —  Lu  Conft*- 
nouji,  [Murt  ii.  liv.  9. 

*  Tliii  word,  "  cxquiiite,"  U  evidently  a  favorite  of  Mia» 
Fudge's ;  and  I  understand  she  was  not  a  little  angiy  when 
ber  brother  Bob  committed  a  pun  on  tbe  laRt  two  ■} Umblet 
•f  It  in  the  following  couplet  :  — 

"  I'd  fain  praise  your  Poem  —  b  it  tell  me,  how  U  it 
When  / cry  out  "  Exquisite,"  EtJke  eriee  quit  Ul" 

*  The  flower  which  Rousseau  brought  into  such  fashion 
tmong  the  Parisians,  by  exclaiming  one  day,  "  Ah,  voili  de 
a  pervcnche ! " 

*  "Man  ours,  voiM  votie  asyle  — et  vous,  nton  nrt,  n« 
rieiidrez  voi  s  pas  suasi  ?  "  —  Jcc  &c 


"  'Twas  hero  he  receiv'd  firom  the  fair  D'ErarAl 
"  ^Vho  call'd  him  so  sweetly  her  Bear,*  every 

day,) 
"That    dear  flannel    petticoat,    pull'd  off   to 

form 
•'  A  waistcoat,  to  keep  the  enthusiast  warm  ! "  * 

Such,  Doll,  were  the  sweet  rocollectiont  »< 

ponder' d, 
As,  full  of  romance,  through  that  valley   we 

wander' d. 
The  flannel  (one's  train  of  ideas,  how  odd  it  is !) 
Led  us  to  talk  about  other  commodities. 
Cambric,  and  silk,  and  —  I  ne'er  shall  forget. 
For  the  sun  was  then  hast'ning  in  pomp  to  its 

set. 
And  full  on  the  Colonel's  dark  whiskers  shone 

down, 
When    he   ask'd  me,   with  eagerness,  —  who 

made  my  gown  ? 
The  question  confus'd  me  — for,  Doll,  you  must 

know, 
And  I  ouffhi  to  have  told  my  best  Mend  long 

ago. 
That,  by  Pa's  strict  command,  1  no  longer  ei» 

ploy* 
That  enchanting  eouturiire,  Madame  lb  Rot ; 
But  am  forc'd  now  to  have  Victouxb,  who  — 

deusc  take  her  !  — 
It  seems  is,  at  present,  the  King's  mantua  maker, 
I  mean  of  his  party  —  and,  though  much  the 

smartest, 
Le  Roi  is  condemn'd  as  a  rank  Bonapartist.' 
Think,  Doll,  how  confounded   I   look'd  —  so 

well  knowing 
The  Colonel's  opinions  —  my  cheeks  were  quite 

glowing ; 
I  stammcr'd  out  something  —  nay,  even  half 

nam'd 
The  legitimate  seamstress,  when,  *oud,  he  ez- 

daim'd. 


(  "  Un  Jour,  qu'il  geloit  trta  fort,  en  ouvrant  Oii  pa(.im 
qu'elle  m'envoyoit,  Je  trouvai  un  petit  Jup(*o  Je  daiiill* 
d'Angleterre,  qu'elle  me  marquoit  avoir  porti,  et  doni  (Ik 
vouloit  que  Je  me  fisse  falre  un  pileL  C«  auin,  plus  qu'ami 
cal,  me  parut  si  tendre,  comme  kI  ell*  M  (Qt  (Mpouill^  |icul 
me  vetir,  que,  dans  mon  Amotion,  J«  baini  ringt  luis  em 
pleurant  le  billet  et  le  Jutmn." 

•  Miss  Biddy's  notions  of  French  pronunciatioo  may  be 
perceived  in  the  rhyniM  wbicli  the  alwaya  aelacts  Cir  •*  £4 
Rci." 

I  L«  Hoi,  who  was  the  Coutttriirt  of  the  i:niptvOT  Maiu 
Louisa,  is  at  present,  of  courne,  out  of  fashion,  and  is  tut 
ceeded  in  ber  sution  by  the  Boyaiist  mantua  maker.  V.* 
Toai.'fit. 


i88 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


•  Yes,  yes,  by  the  stitching  'tis  plain  to  be  seen 
'•  It  was  made  by  that  Bourbonite  b h,  Vic- 

TOKINE  !  " 

What  a  word  for  a  hero  !  —  but  heroes  will  err, 
And  I  thought,  dear,  I'd  tell  you  things  Just  as 

they  were. 
Besides,  though  the  word  on  good  manners  in- 

tisnch, 
I  assure  you  'tis  not  JuUf  so  shocking  in  French. 

But    this    cloud,    though    embarrassing,    soon 

pass'd  away. 
And  the  bliss  altogether,  the  dreams  of  that 

day, 
rhe  thoughts  that  arise,  when  such  dear  fellows 

woo  us,  — 
rhe  nothings^  that  then,  love,  are  every  thing  to 

us  — 
That  quick  correspondence  o^  glances  and  sighs. 
And  what  Bob  calls  the  "  Twojienny  post  of 

the  Eyes  "  — 
Ah,  Doll  !  though  I  know  you'v<»  «  heart,  'tis 

in  vain 
To  a  heart  so  unpractis'd  these  things  t"  explain. 
They  can  only  be  felt,  in  their  fulness  divine. 
By  her  who  has  wander'd,  at  evening's  decline, 
Through  a  vaUey  like  that,  with  a  Colonel  likt 

niinel 

But  here  I  must  finish  —  for  Bob,  my  dear 

DOLLT, 

Whom  physic,  I  find,  always  makes  melancholy, 
Is  seiz'd  with  a  fancy  for  churchyard  reflections ; 
And,  full  of  all  yesterday's  rich  recollections. 
Is  just  setting  off  for  Montmartre  —  "for  there  is," 
Said  he,  looking  solemn,  "  the  tomb  of  the  Ve- 

EYS  !  ' 
"  Long,  long  have  I  wish'd,  as  a  votary  true, 
"  O'er  the  grave  of  such  talents  to  utter  my 

moans ; 
"  And,  to-day —  as  my  stomach  is  not  in  good 

cue 
'•  For  the  flesh  of  the  Vebys  —  I'll  visit  their 

hones  I " 
lie  insists  upon  my  going  with  him  —  how 

teasing  ! 
Tliis  letter,  however,  dear  Dolly,  shall  lie 
Onseal'd  in  my  draw'r,  that,  if  any  thing  pleas- 
ing 
Occurs  while  I'm  out,  I  may  tell  you  —  good 

Ly.  B.  F. 


•  It  is  the  brotAer  of  the  present  excellent  Restaurateur 
irho  lies  intombed  so  magnificently  in  the  Cimetiire  Mont- 
oartre.    7'he  inscription  on  the  'olunin  at  tlie  head  of  the 


Four  o'clock 
O,  Dolly,  dear  Dolly,  I'm  ruin'd  forever  — 
I  ne'er  shall  be  happy  again,  Dolly,  never ! 
To  think  of  the  wretch  —  what  a  victim  was  1 
'Tis  too  much  to  endure  —  I  shall  die,  I  sha! 

die  — 
My  brain's  in  a  fever  —  my  pulses  beat  quick  — 
I  shell  die,  or,  at  least,  be  exceedingly  sick! 
O,  what  do  you  think  ?  after  all  my  romancing, 
My  visions  of  glory,  my  sighing,  my  glancing. 
This  Colonel  —  I  scarce  can  commit  it  to  paper. 
This    Colonel's    no  more    than    a    vile    linen 

draper ! 
'Tis  true  as  I  live —  I  had  coax'd  brother  Bob  so, 
(You'll  hardly  make  out  what  I'm  writing,  I 

sob  so,) 
For  some  little  gift  on  my  birthday  —  Septem- 
ber 
The  thirtieth,  dear,  I'm  eighteen,  you  remem- 
ber— 
That  Bob  to  a  shop  kindly  order'd  the  coach, 
(Ah,  little  I  thought  who  the  shopman  would 

prove,) 
To  bespeak  me  a  few  of  those  mouchoirs  de  pochs, 
Which,  in  happier  hours,  I  have  sigh'd  lor, 

my  love  — 
(The   most  beautiful  things  —  two  Napoloona 

the  price  — 
Anc"  one's  name  in  the  comer  embroider'd  so 

rice  !) 
"Well,  with  heart  full  of  pleasure,  I  enter' d  the 

shop 
But  —  ye  God?  what  a  phantom !  —  I  thought 

I  should  drop  — 
There  he  stood,  my  dear  Polly  —  no  room  for 

a  doubt  — 
There,   behind  the  vile  counter,  these  eyes 

saw  him  stand, 
"With  a  piece  of  French  cambric,  before  hua 

roU'd  out. 
And  that  horrid  yard  measure  uprais'd  in  his 

hand  ! 
O  —  Papa,  all  along,  knew  the  secret,  'tis  clear, 
'Twas  a  sJiopman  he  meant  by  a  "Brandenburg,' 

dear  ! 
The  man,  whom  I  fondly  had  fancied  a  King, 
And,  when  that  too  delightful  illusion  was 

past. 
As  a  hero  had  worshipp'd  —  vile,  treacherou» 

thing  — 
To  turn  out  but  a  low  linen  draper  at  last ! 


tomb  concludes  with  the  following  words :  —  "  'J « ute  sa  « M 
fut  coasaccte  auz  arU  vXiUa." 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLLINCE. 


4N 


My  head  swam  around  —  the  wretch  smil'd,  I 

believe, 
But  his  smiling,  alas,  could  no  longer  deceive  — 
I  fell  back  on  Bob  —  my  whole  heart  seom'd  to 

wither  — 
And,  pale  as  a  ghost,  I  was  carried  back  hither  ! 
I  only  rcK  3mber  that  Bob,  as  I  caught  him, 
With  cruel  fjacetiousness  said,  "  Curse  the 

Kiddy ! 
'<  A  stanch  Revolutionist  always  I've  thought 

him, 
"Bat  now  I  find  out  he's   a   Counter  one, 

Biddy  ! " 

Only  think,  my  dear  creature,  if  this  shoiild 
be  known 
To  that  saucy,  satirical  thinaj,  Miss  Maloxe  ! 
What  a  story  'twill  be  at  Shandangan  forever ! 
What  laughs  and  what  quizzing  she'll  have 
with  the  men ! 


It  will  spread  through  the  country  —  and  nerar 

O,  never 
Can  BiDDT  be  seen  at  Kihrandy  again ! 
Farewell  —  I  shall  do  something  dcsp'rate,  I 

fear  — 
And,  ah  !  if  my  fate  ever  reaches  your  ear, 
One  tear  of   compassion    my   Doll  will  not 

grudge 
To  her  poor—  broken-hearted  —  young  fnend, 

BiDDT  FUDQB. 


Nota  bene  —  I  am  sure  you  will  hear,  with  d»< 

light, 
That  we're  going,  all  three,  to  see  Brvmbt  to« 

night. 
A    laugh    will    revive    me  —  and    kind    Mr. 

Cox 
(Do  you  know  him })  has  got  as  the  Ooveraor't 

box. 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


Tn  Regibua  alaa 

ViBoiL,  Oeorg.  Iflfc  I  v. 
— — —  Clip  the  winga 
or  Umbo  bigb-flying  arbitrary  Kings. 

DsTOBn*!  Tnoidation. 


DEDICATION 

TO    LORD    BYRON. 

Dear  Lord  Bthox, 
Thodou  this  Volume  should  possess  no 
other  merit  in  your  eyes,  than  that  of  remind- 
ing you  of  the  short  time  wc  passed  together  at 
^  cnicc,  when  some  of  the  trifles  which  it  con- 
tains were  written,  you  will,  I  am  sure,  receive 
.he  dedication  of  it  with  pleasure,  and  believe 
that  I  am, 

My  dear  Lord, 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 
T.  B. 


PREFACE. 

Thouoh  it  was  the  wish  of  the  Members  of 

the  Poco-curante  Society  (who  have  lately  done 

me  the  honor  of  electing  me  their  Secretary) 
03 


that  I  should  prefix  my  name  to  the  folio  ring 
Miscellany,  it  is  but  fair  to  them  and  to  m}-aelf 
to  state,  that,  except  in  the  ••  painful  preemi- 
nence "  of  being  employed  to  transcribe  theii 
lucubrations,  my  claim  to  such  a  distinction  in 
the  title  page  is  not  greater  than  that  of  any 
other  gentleman,  who  has  contributed  his  share 
to  the  contents  of  the  volume. 

I  had  originally  intended  to  take  this  opj-tor- 
tunity  of  giving  some  account  of  the  origin  and 
objects  of  our  Institution,  the  names  and  chs;» 
acters  of  the  diff"erent  members,  &c.  &c.  —  but, 
as  I  am  at  present  preparing  for  the  press  th« 
First  Volume  of  the  ••  Transactions  of  the  Poco 
curante  Society,"  I  shall  reser»'e  for  that  occ*- 
sion  all  further  details  upon  the  subject ;  and 
content  myself  hero  with  referring,  for  a  gen- 
eral insight  into  our  tenets,  to  a  Song  which 
will  be  fotmd  at  the  end  of  this  work.  ta4 


which  Ls  sung  to  us  on  the  first  day  of  every 
month,  by  one  of  our  oldest  members,  to  the 
tune  of  (as  far  as  I  can  recollect,  being  no 
musician,)  either  "  Nancy  Dawson "  or  "  He 
ttole  away  the  Bacon." 

It  may  oe  as  well  also  to  state,  for  the  in- 
formation of  those  critics,  who  attack  with  the 
hope  of  being  answered,  and  of  being,  thereby, 
brought  into  notice,  that  it  is  the  rule  of  this 
Society  to  return  no  other  answer  to  such  as- 
sailants, than  is  contained  in  the  three  words 
"Non  curat  Hippoclides,"  (meaning,  in  Eng- 
lish, "  Hippoclides  does  not  care  a  fig,")  which 
were  spoken  two  thousand  years  ago  by  the 
first  founder  of  Poco-curantism,  and  have  ever 
since  been  adopted  as  the  leading  dictum  of 
the  sect. 

THOMAS  BROWN. 


FABLE  L 

THF   UISSOLirnON   OF  THE   HOLT  ALLIANCE. 

A  DREAM. 

I've  had  a  dream  that  bodes  no  good 

Unto  the  Holy  Brotherhood. 

I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  confess  — 

As  far  as  it  is  right  or  lawful 
For  one,  no  conjurer,  to  guess  — 

It  seems  to  mc  extremely  awful. 

Methought,  upon  the  Neva's  flood 

A  beautiful  Ice  Palace  stood, 

A  dome  of  frostwork,  on  the  plan 

Of  that  once  built  by  Empress  Anne,' 

Which  shone  by  moonlight  —  as  the  tale  is  - 

Like  ai:  Aurora  Borealis. 

In  this  said  Palace,  furnish'd  all 

And  lighted  as  the  best  on  land  are, 
I  dreiat  there  was  a  splendid  Ball, 

Gi-?'n  by  the  Emperor  Alexander, 
To  entertain  with  all  due  zeal. 

Those  holy  gentlemen,  who've  shown  a 
Regard  so  kmd  for  Europe's  weal. 

At  Troppau,  Laybach,  and  Verona. 


1 "  It  is  well  known  that  the  Empress  Anne  built  a  pal- 
let of  ice  on  the  Neva,  in  1740,  which  was  fifty-two  feet  in 


The  thought  M'as  happy  —  and  design'd 
To  hint  how  thus  the  human  Mind 
May,  like  the  stream  imprison'd  there. 
Be  check'd  and  chill'd,  till  it  can  bear 
The  heaviest  Kings,  that  ode  or  sonnet 
E'er  yet  beprais'd  to  dance  upon  it. 

And  all  were  pleas'd,  and  cold,  and  stateij; 

Shivering  in  grand  illumination  — 
Admir'd  the  superstructure  greatly. 

Nor  gave  one  thought  to  the  foundation. 
Much  too  the  Czar  himself  exulted. 

To  all  plebeian  fears  a  stranger. 
For,  Madame  Krudencr,  when  consulted. 

Had  pledg'd  her  word  there  was  no  danger. 
So,  on  he  caper'd,  fearless  quite. 

Thinking  himself  extremely  clever, 
And  waltz'd  away  with  all  his  might. 

As  if  the  Frost  would  last  forever. 

Just  fancy  how  a  bard  like  me. 

Who  reverence  monarchs,,  must  have  trem- 
bled 
To  see  that  goodly  company. 

At  such  a  ticklish  sport  assembled. 

Nor  were  the  fears,  that  thus  astounded 
My  loyal  soul,  at  all  unfounded — 
For,  lo  !  ere  long,  those  walls  so  massy 

Were  seiz'd  with  an  ill-omen'd  dripping. 
And  o'er  the  floors,  now  growing  glassy. 

Their  Holinesses  took  to  slipping. 
The  Czar,  haK  through  a  Polonaise, 

Could  scarce  get  on  for  downright  stumbling  | 
And  Prussia,  though  to  slippery  ways 

Well  us'd,  was  cursedly  near  tumbling. 

Yet  still  'twas,  Icho  could  stamp  the  floor  most, 
Russia  and  Austria  'mong  the  foremost.  — 
And  now,  to  an  Italian  air. 

This  precious  brace  would,  hand  in  hand,  go  i 
Now  —  while  old  Louis,  from  his  chair, 
Entreated  them  his  toes  to  spare  — 

Call'd  loudly  out  for  a  Fandango. 

And  a  Fandango,  'faith,  :hey  had. 
At  which  they  all  set  to,  like  mad  ! 
Never  were  Kings  (though  small  th'  expense  ii 
Of  wit  among  their  Excellencies)  ' 

So  out  of  all  their  princely  senses. 
But,  ah,  that  dance  —  that  Spanish  dance  — 
Scarce  was  the  luckless  strain  begun. 


length,  and  when  illunsinated  had  a  surprising  effect.*  - 

PiNKEBTON. 


FABLES  FOR  THE 

HOLY  ALLIANCE.                                     M 

When,  glaring  red,  as  'twere  a  glance 

Kings,  Fiddlers,  Emperors,  all  were  gone 

Shot  from  an  angry  Southern  sun, 

And  nothing  now  was  seen  or  neard 

A.  light  through  all  the  chambers  flam'd. 

But  the  bright  river,  rushing  on. 

Astonishing  old  Father  Frost, 

Happy  as  an  enfranchis'd  bird, 

Who,  bursting  into  tears,  cxclaim'd. 

And  prouder  of  that  natural  ray. 

"  A  thaw,  by  Jove  —  we're  lost,  we're  lost ! 

Shining  along  its  chainlcss  way  — 

Run,  France  —  a  second  Waterloo 

More  proudly  happy  thus  to  glide 

»  Is  come  to  drown  you  — $auve  qui  pent !  " 

In  simple  grandeur  to  the  sea. 

Than  when,  in  sparkling  fetters  tied. 

MTiy,  why  will  monarchs  caper  so 

Twas  deck'd  with  nil  that  kingly  pride 

In  palace*  without  foundations  ?  — 

Could  bring  to  light  its  slavery ! 

Instantly  all  was  in  a  flow. 

Crowns,  fiddles,  sceptres,  decorations  — 

Such  is  my  dream  —  and,  I  confess. 

Those  Uoyal  Arms,  that  look'd  so  nice, 

I  tremble  at  its  awfulness. 

Cut  out  in  the  resplendent  ice  — 

That  Spanish  Dance  —  that  southern  beam  — 

l"hose  Eagles,  handsomely  provided 

But  I  say  nothing  —  there's  my  dream  — 

With  double  heads  for  double  dealings  — 

And  Madame  Krudener,  the  she-prophet, 

How  fast  the  globes  and  sceptres  glided 

May  make  just  what  she  pleases  of  it. 

Out  of  their  claws  on  all  the  ceilings  ! 

Proud  Prussia's  double  bird  of  prey 

Tame  as  a  spatch  cock,  slunk  away  ; 

FABLE  n. 

While  — just  like  France  herself,  when  she 

Proclaims  how  great  her  naval  skill  is  — 

THE   LOOKING   OT.ASAE8. 

Poor  Louis'  drowning  fleurs-de-lis 

Imagin'd  themselves  viater  lilies. 

PROEM. 

Where  Kings  have  been  by  mob  electionii 

And  not  alone  rooms,  ceilings,  shelves. 

Rais'd  to  the  throne,  'tis  strange  to  see 

But  —  still  more  fatal  execution  — 

What  different  and  what  odd  perfections 

iTie  Great  Legitimates  themselves 

Men  have  requir'd  in  Royalty. 

Seem'd  in  a  state  of  dissolution. 

Some,  liking  monarchs  large  and  plumpy. 

Th'  indignant  Czar — when  just  about 

Have  chos'n  their  Sovereigns  by  the  weight ;  — 

To  issue  a  sublime  Ukase, 

Some   wish'd  them    tall,   some  thought  yow 

•  Whereas  all  light  must  be  kept  out  "  — 

dumpy. 

Dissolv'd  to  nothing  in  its  blaze. 

Dutch-built,  the  true  Legitimate.* 

Next  Prussia  took  his  turn  to  melt. 

The  Easterns  in  a  Prince,  'tis  said, 

And,  while  his  lips  illustrious  felt 

Prefer  what's  call'd  a  joltcr  head  :  • 

The  influence  of  this  southern  air, 

Th'  Egyptians  wer'n't  at  all  partic'lar, 

Some  word,  like  "  Constitution  "  —  long 

So  that  their  Kings  had  not  red  hair  — 

Congeal'd  in  frosty  silence  there  — 

This  fault  not  ev'n  the  greatest  stickler 

Came  slowly  thawing  from  his  tongue. 

For  the  blood  royal  well  could  bear. 

While  Louis,  lapsing  by  degrees. 

A  thousand  more  such  illustrations 

And  sighing  out  a  faint  adieu 

Might  be  adduc'd  from  various  nations. 

To  truttlcs,  salmis,  toasted  cheese 

But,  'mong  the  many  tales  they  tell  us, 

And  smoking  yb>M^i«,  quickly  grew, 

Touching  th'  acquir'd  or  natural  right 

Himself,  into  n/ondu  too  ;  — 

Wliich  some  men  have  to  rule  their  fellows. 

Or  like  that  goodly  King  they  make 

There's  one,  which  I  shall  here  recite : 

Of  sugar  for  a  Twelfth-night  cake. 

When,  In  some  urchin's  mouth,  alas. 

FABLE. 

U  melts  into  a  shapeless  mass  ! 

There  was  a  land  —  to  name  the  place 

Is  neither  now  my  wish  nor  duty  — 

In  ftuort,  I  scarce  could  count  a  minute, 

Where  rcign'd  a  certain  Royal  race. 

Ere  the  bright  dome,  and  all  within  it, 

By  right  of  their  superior  beauty. 

t  X>*i  Qoths  had  a  law  to  cbooM  always  a  sbart,  thick 

«  "In  a  Prince  a  Jolter  head  if  invaluable."— (Mm(« 

aaa  for  their  King  —  Muifitsa,  Oumog.  lib.  iii.  p.  164. 

FiddSporU, 

192                                     FABLES  FOR  THE 

HOLY  ALLLA.NCE. 

What  was  the  cut  legitimate 

However  this  might  be,  the  freight 

Of  these  great  persons'  chins  and  noses, 

Was  landed  without  fees  or  duties ; 

By  right  of  which  they  rul'd  the  state, 

And  from  that  hour  historians  date 

No  history  I  have  seen  discloses. 

The  downfall  of  the  Race  of  Beauties. 

But  80  it  was  —  a  settled  case  — 

The  looking  glasses  got  about. 

Some  Act  of  Parliament,  pass'd  snugly, 

And  grew  so  common  through  the  land, 

Had  voted  them  a  beauteous  race. 

That  scarce  a  tinker  could  walk  out. 

Aiid  all  their  faithful  subjects  ugly. 

Without  a  mirror  in  liis  hand. 

As  rank,  indeed,  stood  high  or  low, 

Comparing  faces,  morning,  noon. 

Some  change  it  made  in  visual  organs  ; 

And  night,  their  constant  occupation  — 

Your  Peers  were  decent  —  Knights,  so  so  — 

By  dint  of  looking  glasses,  soon, 

But  all  your  common  people,  gorgons  ! 

They  grew  a  most  reflecting  nation. 

Of  course,  if  any  knave  but  hinted 

In  vain  the  Court,  aware  of  errors 

That  the  King's  nose  was  turn'd  awry, 

In  all  the  old,  establish' d  mazards, 

Or  that  the  Queen  (God  bless  her  ! )  squinted — 

Prohibited  the  use  of  mirrors. 

The  judges  doom'd  that  knave  to  die. 

And  tried  to  break  them  at  all  hazards  :  - 

But  rarely  things  like  this  occurr'd. 

In  vain  —  their  laws  might  just  as  well 

The  people  to  their  King  were  duteous, 

Have  been  waste  paper  on  the  shelves ; 

And  took  it,  on  his  Royal  word. 

That  fatal  freight  had  broke  the  spell ; 

That  they  were  frights,  and  He  was  beau- 

People  had  look'd  —  and  knew  themselves* 

teo\is. 

If  chance  a  Duke,  of  birth  sublime, 

The  cause  whereof,  among  all  classes, 

Presum'd  upon  his  ancient  face, 

Was  simply  this  —  these  island  elves 

(Some  calf-head,  ugly  from  all  time,) 

Had  never  yet  seen  looking  glasses, 

They  popp'd  a  mirror  to  his  Grace :  — 

And,  therefore,  did  not  ktiow  themselves. 

Just  hinting,  by  that  gentle  sign. 

Sometimes,  indeed,  their  neighbors'  faces 

How  little  Nature  holds  it  true. 

Might  strike  them  as  more  full  of  reason, 

That  what  is  call'd  an  ancient  line, 

More  fresh  than  those  in  certain  places  — 

Must  be  the  line  of  Beauty  too. 

But,  Lord,  the  very  thought  was  treason  ! 

From  Dukes'  they  pass'd  to  regal  phiaes. 

Besides,  howc'er  we  love  our  neighbor, 

Compar'd  them  proudly  with  their  own. 

And  take  his  face's  part,  'tis  known 

And    cried,    "How    could    such    monstroui 

We  ne'er  so  much  in  earnest  labor. 

quizes 

As  when  the  face  attack' d's  our  own. 

"  In  Beauty's  name  usurp  the  throne  !  "  - 

So,  on  they  went  —  the  crowd  believing  — 

They  then  wrote  essays,  pamphlets,  books. 

^A«<  crowds  well  govern' d  always  do) 

Upon  Cosmctical  Economy, 

I  heii  rulers,  too,  themselves  deceiving  — 

WTiich  made  the  King  try  various  looks, 

So  old  the  joke,  they  thought  'twas  true. 

But  none  improv'd  his  physiognomy. 

But  jokes,  we  know,  if  they  too  far  go. 

And  satires  at  the  Court  were  leveU'd, 

Must  have  an  end  —  and  so,  one  day, 

And  small  lampoons,  so  full  of  slynesses, 

Upon  that  coast  there  was  a  cargo 

That  soon,  in  short,  they  quite  be-devill'd 

Of  looking  glasses  cast  away. 

Their  Majesties  and  £oyal  Highnesses 

Fvas  said,  some  Radicals,  somewhere, 

At  length  —  but  here  I  drop  the  veil, 

Had  laid  their  wicked  heads  together. 

To  spare  some  loyal  folks'  sensations ;  — 

Ajnd  forc'd  that  ship  to  founder  there,  — 

Besides,  what  follow'd  is  the  tale 

While  some  believe  it  was  the  weather. 

Of  all  such  late  enlighten'd  nations 

FABLES  FOR  THE 

HOLY  ALLIANCE.                                     491 

Of  all  to  whom  old  Time  discloses 

Yet,  no  —  not  quench'd  —  a  treasure,  worth 

A  truth  they  should  have  sooner  known  — 

So  much  to  mortals,  rarely  dies  : 

That  Kings  have  neither  rights  nor  noses 

Again  her  living  light  look'd  forth. 

A  whit  diviner  than  their  own. 

And  shone,  a  beacon,  in  all  eyes. 

WTio  next  receiv'd  the  flame  ?  nlns, 

• 

Unworthy  Naples  —  shame  of  shamea, 

FABLE  in. 

That  ever  through  such  hands  should  pass 

That  brightest  of  all  earthly  flames ! 

TEE  TOUCH   OF  LIBE&TT. 

Scarce  had  her  fingers  toueh'd  the  torch. 

I  SAW  it  all  m  Fancy's  glass  — 

When,  frighted  by  the  sparks  it  shed, 

Uerself,  lae  fair,  the  wild  magician, 

Nor  waiting  ev'n  to  feel  the  scorch. 

Who  hid  this  splendid  daydream  pass, 

She  dropp'd  it  to  the  earth  —  and  fled. 

And  nam'd  each  gliding  apparition- 

And  fall'n  it  might  have  long  remain'd ; 

TwRs  like  a  torch  race  —  such  as  they 

But  Greece,  who  saw  her  moment  now. 

Of  Greece  perform'd,  in  ages  gone, 

Caught  up  the  prize,  though  prostrate,  stain  I 

When  thj  fleet  youths,  in  long  array. 

And  waVd  it  round  her  beauteous  brow. 

Pass'd  the  bright  torch  triumphant  on. 

And  Fancy  bade  me  mark  where,  o'er 

I  saw  th'  expectant  nations  stand. 

Her  altar,  as  its  flame  ascended. 

To  catch  the  coming  flame  in  turn  ;  — 

Fair,  laureU'd  spirits  seem'd  to  soar, 

I  saw,  from  ready  hand  to  hand. 

Who  thus  in  song  their  voices  blended  :  - 

The  clear,  though  struggling  glory,  bum. 

"  Shine,  shine  forever,  glorious  Flame, 

And,  0,  their  joy,  as  it  came  near, 

"  Divinest  gift  of  Gods  to  men  ! 

'Twas,  in  itself,  a  joy  to  see ;  — 

••  From  Gkeece  thy  earliest  splendor  came 

While  Fancy  whisper' d  in  my  ear, 

"  To  Greece  thy  ray  returns  again. 

"  That  torch  they  pass  is  Liberty  !  " 

"  Take,  Freedom,  take  thy  radiant  round, 

And  each,  as  she  receiv'd  the  flame. 

"  When  dimm'd,  revive,  when  lost,  return, 

Lighted  her  altar  with  its  ray  ; 

**  Till  not  a  shrine  through  earth  be  found. 

Then,  smiling  to  the  next  who  came. 

"  On  which  thy  glories  shall  not  bum  !  " 

Speeded  it  on  its  sparkling  way. 

From  Albion  first,  whose  ancient  shrine 

/ 

Was  furriish'd  with  the  fire  already. 

FABLE  rV. 

Columbia  caught  the  boon  divine. 

And  lit  a  flame,  like  Albion's,  steady. 

THE   FLT   AND   THE   BVLLOCX. 

The  splendid  gift  then  Gallia  took. 

PROEM.                                             j 

And,  like  a  wild  Bacchante,  raising 

Of  all  that,  to  the  sage's  surrey, 

rhe  brand  aloft,  its  sparkles  shook, 

This  world  presents  of  topsy  turvy. 

As  she  would  set  the  world  a-blazing  ! 

There's  nought  so  much  disturbs  one's  pati^BOn 

As  little  minds  in  lofty  stations. 

Thus  kindling  wild,  so  fierce  and  high 

'Tis  like  that  sort  of  painful  wonder. 

Her  altar  blaz'd  into  the  air. 

^Vhich  slender  columns,  laboring  under 

Ihat  Albion,  to  that  fire  too  nigh. 

Enormous  arches,  give  beholders ;  — 

Shrunk  back,  and  shudder' d  at  its  glare  ! 

Or  those  poor  Caryatides, 

Condemn'd  to  smile  and  stand  at  ease. 

C^ext,  Spain,  so  new  was  light  to  her. 

With  a  whole  house  upon  their  shouldera 

Leap'd  at  the  torch  —  but,  ere  the  spark 

That  fell  upon  her  shrine  could  stir. 

If^  as  in  some  few  royal  cases. 

"Twas  quench'd  —  and  all  again  was  dark. 

Small  minds  are  bom  into  such  nlacea  — 

194 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


[f  they  are  there,  by  Right  Divine, 

Or  any  such  sufficient  reason, 
Why  —  Heav'n  forbid  we  should  repine  !  — 

To  wish  it  otherwise  were  treason ; 
Nay,  ev'n  to  see  it  in  a  vision, 
Would  be  W'hat  lawyers  call  misprision. 

Sir  Robert  Filmer  saith  —  and  he. 

Of  course,  knew  all'  about  the  matter  — 
"  Both  men  and  boasts  love  Monarchy ; " 

Which  proves  how  rational  —  the  latter. 
Sidney,  we  know,  or  wrong  or  right, 
Entirely  differ' d  from  the  Knight : 
Nay,  hints  a  King  may  lose  his  head, 

By  slipping  awkwardly  his  bridle  :  — 
But  this  is  treasonous,  ill  bred, 
And  <^^nowadays,  when  Kings  are  led 

In  patent  snaffles)  downright  idle. 

No,  no  —  it  isn't  right-line  Kings, 
(Those  sovereign  lords  in  leading  strings 
Who,  from  their  birth,  are  Faith  Defenders,) 
That  move  my  wrath  —  'tis  your  pretenders, 
Your  mushroom  rulers,  sons  of  earth, 
Who  —  not  like  t'others,  bores  by  birth, 
Establish'd  gratid  Dei  blockheads, 
Born  with  three  kingdoms  in  their  pockets  — 
Yet,  with  a  brass  that  nothing  stops, 

Push  up  into  the  loftiest  stations. 
And,  though  too  dull  to  manage  shops. 

Presume,  the  dolts,  to  manage  nations ! 

This  class  it  is,  that  moves  my  gall. 
And  stirs  up  bile,  and  spleen,  and  all. 
While  other  senseless  things  appear 
To  know  the  limits  of  their  sphere  — 
While  not  a  cow  on  earth  romances 
So  much  as  to  conceit  she  dances  — 
While  the  most  jumping  frog  we  know  of. 
Would  scarce  at  Astley's  hope  to  show  off — 
\our  *  *  *s,  your  *  *  *8  dare, 

Untrain'd  as  are  their  minds,  to  set  them 
To  any  business,  ajiy  where, 

\  t  any  time  that  fools  will  let  them. 

3  k\  leave  wo  here  these  upstart  things  — 
My  business  is,  just  now,  wirta  Kings  ; 
To  whom,  and  to  their  right-line  glory, 
I  dedicate  the  following  story. 

FABLE. 

I  HE  wi?e  men  of  Egypt  were  secret  as  dummies  ; 
And,  ev'n  when  they  most  condescended  to 
teach. 


They  pack'd  up  their  meaning,  as  they  did  theii 
mummies. 
In  so  many  wrappers,  'twas  out  of  one's  reach' 

They  were  also,  good  people,  much  given  U: 
Kings  — 
Fond  of  craft  and  of  crocodiles,  monkeys  and 
mystery ; 
But  blue-bottle  flies   were    their  best-betov'd 
things  — 
As  will  partly  appear  in  this  very  short  history. 

A  Scythian  philosopher  (nephew,  they  say, 
To  that  other  great  traveller,  young  An&char- 
sis,) 

Stepp'd  into  a  temple  at  Memphis  one  day, 
To  have  a  short  peep  at  their  mystical  farces. 

He  saw  *  a  brisk  blue-bottle  Fly  on  an  altar. 
Made  much  of,  and  worshipp'd,  as  something 
divine ; 
While  a  large,  handsome  Bullock,  led  there  in 
a  halter. 
Before  it  lay  stabb'd  at  the  foot  of  the  shrine. 

Surpris'd  at  such  doings,  he  whisper'd  his  teach- 
er— 
"  If  'tisn't  impertinent,  may  I  ask  why 
"  Should  a  Bullock,  that  useful  and  powerful 
creature, 
"  Be  thus  offer'd  up  to  a  blue-bottle  Fly?" 

"  No  wonder  "  —  said  t'other  —  "  you  stare  al 
the  sight, 
"  But  we  as  a  Symbol  of  Monarchy  view  it  — 
"  That  Fly  on  the  Shrine  is  Legitimate  Right, 
"  And  that  BuUock,  the  People,  that's  sacri- 
fic'd  to  it." 


FABLE  V. 

CHTJKCH   AND    STATE. 

PROEM 

"  The  moment  any  religion  becomes  national,  ot  esub^ 
lisbed,  its  purity  must  certainly  be  lost,  because  it  is  tn«n 
impossible  to  keep  it  unconnected  with  men's  interests 
and,  if  connected,  it  must  inevitably  be  perverted  by 
them." —  ?0AME  JE.-Tyrfs. 

Thus  did  Soame  Jenyns  —  though  a  Tory, 
A  Lord  of  Trade  and  the  Plantations ; 


1  According  to  ^lian,  it  was  in  the  island  of  Leiicadia 
they  practised  tliis  ceremony  —  bvtiv  ISouv  to«{  /ivcat;.  - 
Dt  JtnimaL  lib.  iu  cap.  8. 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


49' 


Feel  how  Religion's  simple  glory 
Is  stain'd  by  State  associations. 

When  Catheuine,  ere  she  crush'd  the  Poles, 

Appeal'd  to  the  benign  Divinity  ; 
Then  cut  them  up  in  protocols, 
Made  fractions  of  their  very  souls '  — 

All  in  the  name  of  the  bless' d  Trinity : 
•.  )r  when  her  grandson,  Alexandek, 
Thai  mighty  Northern  salamander,' 
VVhosf  icy  touch,  felt  all  about, 
Puts  every  fire  of  Freedom  out  — 
When  he,  too,  winds  up  his  Ukases 
With  God  and  the  Panagia's  praises  — 
When  he,  of  royal  Saints  the  type, 

In  holy  water  dips  the  sponge, 
With  which,  at  one  imperial  wipe. 

He  would  all  human  rights  expunge  ; 
When  Louis  (whom  as  King,  and  eater, 
Some  name  Dix-huit,  and  some  Des-huitres,') 
Culls  down  "  St.  Louis'  God  "  to  witness 
The  right,  humanity,  and  fitness 
Of  sending  eighty  thousand  Solons, 

Sages,  with  muskets  and  lac'd  coats, 
To  cram  instruction,  nolens  volens, 

Do«-n  the  poor  struggling  Spaniards'  throats — 
I  can't  help  ihinkLig,  (though  to  Kings 

I  must,  of  course,  like  other  men,  bow,) 
That  when  a  Christian  monarch  brings 
Religion's  name  to  gloss  these  things  — 

Such  blasphemy  out-Benbows  Benbow  !  * 

Or  —  not  so  far  for  facts  to  roam. 
Having  a  few  much  nearer  home  — 
Wh«n  wc  see  Churchmen,  who,  if  ask'd, 
'*  Must  Ireland's  slaves  be  tith'd,  and  task'd, 
"  And  driv'n,  like  Negroes  or  Croats, 

"  That  yow  may  roll  in  wealth  and  bliss  ? " 
Look  from  beneath  their  shovel  hats 

With  all  due  pomp,  and  answer  "  Yes ! " 
Hut  then,  if  question' d,  •'  Shall  the  brand 
"  Intolerance  flings  throughout  that  land,  — 
"  Shall  the  fierce  strife  now  taught  to  grow 
••  BetM'ixt  her  palaces  and  hovels, 
'  Bo  ever  quench'd  f "  —  from  the  same  shovels 
I.  )ok  grandly  forth,  and  answer  "  No."  — 
Alas,  alas  !  have  these  a  claim 
To  merciful  Religion's  name  r 
li"  more  you  seek,  go  see  a  bevy 
Of  bowing  parsons  at  a  le~ee  — 


1  Jtmn,  demi-amtt,  &c. 

*  The  Ml.iinaiider  is  giippo^ed  to  have  the  power  ^f  •ttin- 
nilshing  tire  by  il.-i  iiutiiral  ct'liiiiess  and  inoixturo. 

*  ^  wei'  kiuwiif  blUhfi  or  irreligious  books. 


(Choosing  your  time,  when  straw  «  hefow* 
Some  apoplectic  bishop's  door,^ 
Then,  if  thou  canst,  with  life,  escape 
That  rush  of  lawn,  that  press  of  crap«. 
Just  watch  their  rev'rences  and  graces. 

As  on  each  smirking  suitor  frisks. 
And  say,  if  those  round  shining  faces 

To  hcav'n  or  earth  most  turn  their  disks } 

This,  this  it  is  —  Religion,  made, 

'Twixt  Church  and  State,  a  truck,  a  trade  — 

This  most  ill-match' d,  unholy  Co., 

From  whence  the  ills  we  witness  flow ; 

The  war  of  many  creeds  with  one  — 

Th'  extremes  of  too  much  faith,  and  none  — 

Till,  betwixt  ancient  trash  and  new, 

'Twixt  Cant  and  Blasphemy —  the  two 

Rank  ills  with  which  this  age  is  curs'd  — 

We  can  no  more  tell  which  is  worst, 

Than  erst  could  Egypt,  when  so  rich 

In  various  plagues,  determine  which 

She  thought  most  pestilent  and  vile. 

Her  frogs,  like  Benbow  and  Carlisle. 

Croaking  their  native  mud  notes  loud, 

Or  her  fat  locusts,  like  a  cloud 

Of  pluralists,  obesely  lowering. 

At  once  benighting  and  devouring !  — 

This  —  this  it  is  —  and  here  I  pray 

Those  sapient  wits  of  the  Reviews, 
Who  make  us  poor,  dull  authors  say. 

Not  what  we  mean,  but  what  they  choot^  i 
Who  to  our  most  abundant  shares 
Of  nonsense  add  still  more  of  theirs. 
And  are  to  poets  just  such  evils 

As  caterpillars  find  those  flies,* 
Which,  not  content  to  sting  like  devils. 

Lay  eggs  upon  their  backs  likewise  — 
To  guard  against  such  foul  deposits 

Of  other's  meaning  in  my  rhj-mes, 
(A  thing  more  needful  here,  because  it's 

A  subject,  ticklish  in  these  times)  —    * 
I,  here,  to  all  such  wits  make  known. 

Monthly  and  Weekly,  Whig  and  Tory 
'Tis  this  Religion  —  this  alone  — 

I  aim  at  in  the  following  story  :  — 

FABLE. 
When  royairv  was  young  and  bold. 
Ere,  touch' <J  by  Time,  he  had  become  — 


«  "  The  greatest  nnratter  ol  the  Icfmetimon  tribe  «r«.  sn  i 
settling  upon  the  bark  of  the  catert>illar,  nnif  dartliiR  a.  ^.\ 
ferent  intervals  their  -rincn  into  its  body->t(  evct;  i»r 
thejr  dep<we  an  egg."  —  Gou>siiiTa 


(»« 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


If  'tisn't  civil  to  say  old, 

Al  least,  a  ci-devant  jeune  homme  ; 

One  evening,  on  some  wild  pursuit, 

Driving  along,  he  chanc'd  to  see 
Religion,  passing  by  on  foot, 

And  took  him  in  his  vis-a-vis. 

Ihis  said  Religion  was  a  Friar, 
The  humblest  and  the  best  of  men, 

Who  ne'er  had  notion  or  desire 
Of  riding  in  a  coach  till  then. 

"  I  say"  —  quoth  Royalty,  who  rather 

Enjoy'd  a  masquerading  joke  — 
"  I  say,  suppose,  my  good  old  father, 

•'  You  lend  me,  for  a  while,  your  cloak." 

The  Friar  consented  —  little  knew 
What  tricks  the  youth  had  in  his  head ; 

Besides,  was  rather  tempted  too 
By  a  lac'd  coat  he  got  instead. 

4.way  ran  Royalty,  slap  dash, 
Scampering  like  mad  about  the  town ; 

Broke  windows,  shiver'd  lamps  to  smash, 
And  knock'd  whole  scores  of  watchmen  down. 

While  nought  could  they,  whose  heads  were 
broke. 

Learn  of  the  "  why  "  or  the  "  wherefore," 
Except  that  'twas  Religion's  cloak 

The  gentleman,  who  crack' d  them,  wore. 

Meanwhile,  the  Friar,  whose  head  was  tum'd 
By  the  lac'd  coat,  grew  frisky  too  ; 

Look'd  big  —  his  former  habits  spurn'd  — 
And  storm' d  about,  as  great  men  do  : 

Dealt  much  in  pompous  oaths  and  curses  — 
Said  "  d — ran  you"  often,  or  as  bad  — 

Laid  claim  to  other  people's  purses  — 
In  short,  grew  either  knave,  or  mad. 

As  work  like  this  was  unbefitting. 
And  flesh  and  blood  no  longer  bore  it, 

riie  Court  of  Common  Sense,  then  sitting, 
Summon' d  the  culprits  both  before  it. 

Where,  after  hours  in  wrangling  spent 
(As  Courts  must  wrangle  to  decide  well), 

1  Andreas. 

a  Quand  il  6toit  occup6  d'aucune  essoine,  il  envoyoit  No- 
•relle,  sa  (ille,  en  son  lieu  lire  aux  escholes  en  charge,  et, 
tfln  que  la  biailti  d*elle  n'emp&cblSit  la  pens^e  des  oyaats, 


Religion  to  St.  Luke's  was  sent, 

Ajid  Royalty  pack'd  off  to  Bridewell. 

With  this  proviso  —  should  they  be 
Restor'd,  in  due  time,  to  their  senses, 

They  both  must  give  security, 
In  future,  against  such  offences  — 

Religion  ne'er  to  lend  his  cloak, 

Seeing  what  dreadful  work  it  leads  to ; 

And  Royalty  to  crack  his  joke,  — 
But  not  to  crack  poor  people's  heads  too. 


FABLE  VI. 

THB   LITTLB   GKAND   LAMA. 
PROEM. 

Novella,  a  young  Bolognese, 

The  daughter  of  a  leam'd  Law  Doctor,' 
Who  had  with  aU  the  subtleties 

Of  old  and  modern  jurists  stock'd  her, 
Was  so  exceeding  fair,  'tis  said. 

And  over  hearts  held  such  dominion, 
That  when  her  father,  sick  in  bed. 
Or  busy,  sent  her,  in  his  stead. 

To  lecture  on  the  Code  Justinian, 
She  had  a  curtain  drawn  before  her. 

Lest,  if  her  charms  were  seen,  the  student« 
Should  let  their  young  eyes  wander  o'er  her, 

And  quite  forget  their  jurisprudence.* 
Just  so  it  is  with  Truth,  when  seen, 

Too  dazzling  far,  —  'tis  from  behind 
A  light,  thin  allegoric  screen. 

She  thus  can  safest  teach  mankind. 

FABLE. 

In  Thibet  once  there  reign' d,  we're  told, 
A  little  Lama,  one  year  old  — 
Rais'd  to  the  throne,  that  realm  to  bless, 
Just  when  his  little  Holiness 
Had  cut  —  as  near  as  can  be  reckon'd  — 
Some  say  his  Jirst  tooth,  some  his  second. 
Chronologers  and  Nurses  vary, 
WTiich  proves  historians  should  be  wary. 
We  only  know  th'  important  truth. 
His  Majesty  had  cut  a  tooth.' 
And  much  his  subjects  were  enchanted, — 
As  well  all  Lamas'  subjects  may  be, 

elleavoitune  petite  courtine  devant  elle. — Christ.de  Pist, 
Cite  des  Dames,  p.  11,  cap.  36. 

»  See  Turner's  Embassy  to  Thibet  for  an  account  tf  liw 
interview  with  the  Lama.  —  "  Teshoo  Lama  (he  says)  wa. 


FABLES  FOR  TllE  HOLY  ALLLA.NCB. 


4fr7 


And  would  have  giVn  their  heads,  if  wanted, 

To  make  tctotums  for  the  baby. 
Thron'd  as  he  was  by  Right  Divine  — 

(What  Lawyers  call  Jure  Divino, 
Meaning  a  right  to  yours,  and  mine, 

And  every  body's  goods  and  rhino,) 
Of  course,  his  faithful  subjects'  purses 

Were  ready  with  their  aids  and  succors ; 
Nothing  was  seen  but  pension'd  Nurses, 

And  the  land  groan'd  with  bibs  and  tuckers. 

O,  had  there  been  a  Hume  or  Bennet, 

Then  sitting  in  the  Thibet  Senate, 

Ye  Gods,  what  room  for  long  debates 

lTj)on  the  Nursery  Estimates  ! 

What  cutting  down  of  swaddling  clothes 

And  pinafores,  in  nightly  battles  ! 
What  calls  for  paper*  to  expose 

The  waste  of  sugar  plums  and  rattles ! 
But  no  —  if  Thibet  had  M.  P.'s, 
They  v*  ere  far  better  bred  than  these ; 
Nor  gave  the  slightest  opposition. 
During  the  Monarch's  whole  dentition. 

But  short  this  calm  ;  —  for,  just  when  he 
Had  reach'd  th'  alarming  age  of  three, 
When  Royal  natures,  and,  no  doubt. 
Those  of  all  noble  beasts  break  out  — 
The  Lama,  who  till  then  was  quiet, 
Show'd  symptoms  of  a  taste  for  riot ; 
And,  ripe  for  mischief,  early,  late. 
Without  regard  for  Church  or  State, 
Made  free  with  whosoe'er  came  nigh  ; 

Tweak'd  the  Lord  Chancellor  by  the  nose, 
Turn'd  all  the  Judges'  wigs  awry, 

And  trod  on  the  old  Generals'  toes ; 
Pelted  the  Bishops  with  h6t  buns. 

Rode  cockhorse  on  the  City  maces, ' 
And  shot  from  little  devilish  guns. 

Hard  peas  into  his  subjects*  faces. 
In  short,  such  wicked  pranks  he  play'd. 

And  grew  so  mischievous,  God  bl^ss  him  ! 
That  his  Chief  Nurse  —  with  ev'n  the  aid 
Of  an  Archbishop  —  was  afraid, 

^Mien  in  these  moods,  to  comb  or  dress  him. 
Nay,  ev'n  the  persons  most  inclin'd 

Through  thick  and  thin,  for  Kings  to  stickle, 
Thought  him  (if  they'd  but  speak  their  mind. 

Which  they  did  not)  an  odious  pickle. 

At  length  some  patriot  lords  —  a  breed 
Of  animals  they've  got  in  Thibet, 

at  thii  time  eighteon  month!)  old.    Though  he  wu  anable 

to  sne.ik  a  word,  lie  made  the  mo5t  exprossive  slftns,  <ind 

conducted  himself  with  utonii<hing  dignity  and  decorum  '^ 

63 


Extremely  rare,  and  fit,  indeed, 

For  folks  like  Pidcock,  to  exhibit  — 
Some  patriot  lords,  who  saw  the  length 
To  which  things  went,  combiii'd  their  strenfrtk 
And  penn'd  a  manly,  plain  and  free 
Itemonstrance  to  the  Nursery ; 
Protesting  warmly  that  they  yielded 

To  none,  that  ever  went  before  'em. 
In  loyalty  to  him  who  wielded 

Th'  hereditary  pap  spoon  o'er  'em  ; 
That,  as  for  treason,  'twas  a  thing 

That  made  them  almost  sick  to  think  <if — 
That  they  and  theirs  stood  by  the  King, 

ITiroughout  his  measles  and  his  chin  congh 
\NTien  others,  thinking  him  consumptive. 
Had  ratted  to  the  Heir  Presumptive  !  — 
But,  still,  though  much  admiring  Kings 
(And  chiefly  these  in  leading  strings'), 
They  saw,  with  shame  and  grief  of  soul. 

There  was  no  longer  now  the  wise 
And  constitutional  control 

Of  birch  before  their  ruler's  eyes ; 
But  that,  of  late,  such  pranks,  and  tricks. 

And  freaks  occur'd  the  whole  day  long, 
As  all,  but  men  with  bishoprics, 

Allow'd,  in  ev'n  a  King,  were  wrong. 
Wherefore  it  was  they  humbly  pray'd 

That  Honorable  Nursery, 
That  such  reforms  be  henceforth  made 

As  all  good  men  desir'd  to  see ;  — 
In  other  words  (lest  they  might  seem 
Too  tedious),  as  the  gentlest  scheme 
For  putting  all  such  pranks  to  rest. 

And  in  its  bud  the  mischief  nipping  — ■ 
They  ventur'd  humbly  to  suggest 

His  Majesty  should  have  a  whipping  ! 

When  this  was  read,  no  Congreve  rocket, 

Discharg'd  into  the  Gallic  trenches, 
E'er  equall'd  the  tremendous  shock  it 

Produc'd  upon  the  Nursery  benches. 
The  Bishops,  who  of  course  had  votes. 
By  right  of  age  and  petticoats. 
Were  first  and  foremost  in  the  fuss  — 

•'  WTiat,  whip  a  Lama  !  suffer  birch 

••  To  touch  his  sacred infamous  I 

"  Deistical !  —  assailing  thus 

"  The  fundamentals  of  the  Church  !  — 
••  No  —  no  —  such  patriot  plans  as  these, 
"  (So  help  them  Heaven  —  and  their  See*  I 
•*  They  held  to  be  rank  blasphemies." 

Th'  alarm  thus  given,  by  these  and  other 
Grave  ladies  of  the  Nursery  side. 


•J»8                                      FABLES  FOR  THE 

HOLY   ALLLVNCE. 

Spread  through  the  land,  till,  such  a  pother, 

But  Lords  of  Persia  can,  no  doubt 

Such  party  squabbles,  far  and  wide. 

Do  what  they  will —  so,  one  fin*  piorning, 

Never  in  history's  page  had  been 

He  turn'd  the  ras'^al  Ghebers  )ut, 

Recorded,  as  were  then  between 

First  giving  a  few  kicks  for  warr.mg. 

The  Whippers  and  Non-whippers  seen. 

Then,  thanking  heaven  most  piouply. 

I'ill,  things  arriving  at  a  state. 

Ho  knock'd  their  Temple  to  the  ground. 

Which  gave  some  fears  of  revolution, 

Blessing  himself  for  joy  to  see 

riie  patriot  lords'  advice,  though  late, 

Such  Pagan  ruins  strcw'd  around. 

Was  put  at  last  in  execution. 

But  much  it  vcx'd  my  Lord  to  find, 

I  ue  Parliament  of  Thibet  met  — 

That,  Avhile  all  else  obey'd  his  will. 

The  little  Lama,  call'd  before  it. 

The  Fire  these  Ghebers  left  behind, 

Did,  then  and  there,  his  whipping  get. 

Do  what  he  would,  kept  burning  still. 

A-nd  (as  the  Nursery  Gazette 

Fiercely  he  storm'd,  as  if  his  frown 

Assures  us)  like  a  hero  bore  it. 

Could  scare  the  bright  insurgent  down  ; 

But,  no  —  such  fires  are  headstrong  things. 

And  though,  'mong  Thibet  Tories,  some 

And  care  not  much  for  Lords  or  Kings. 

Lament  that  Royal  Martyrdom 

Scarce  could  his  Lordship  well  contrive 

(Please  to  observe,  the  letter  D 

The  flashes  in  onn  place  to  smother. 

In  this  last  word's  pronounc'd  like  B), 

Before  —  hey  presto  !  —  all  alive. 

Yet  to  th'  example  of  that  Prince 

They  sprung  up  freshly  in  another. 

So  much  is  Thibet's  land  a  debtor, 

That  her  long  line  of  Lamas,  since. 

At  length  when,  spite  of  prayers  and  damns, 

Have  all  behav'd  themselves  miKh  bettor. 

'Twas  found  the  sturdy  flame  defied  him. 

His  stewards  came,  with  low  salams, 

Offiering,  by  contract,  to  provide  him 

Some  large  Extinguishers,  (a  plan, 

FABLE  VIL 

Much  us'd,  they  said,  at  Ispahan, 

Vienna,  Petersburg  —  in  short, 

THE   EXTINGUISHEM. 

Wherever  Light's  forbid  at  court,) 

PROEM. 

Machines  no  Lord  should  be  without, 

Which  would,  at  once,  put  promptlj-  out 

Though  soldiers  are  the  true  supports. 

All  kinds  of  fires,  —  from  staring,  stark 

The  natural  allies  of  Courts, 

Volcanoes  to  the  tiniest  spark  ; 

Woe  to  the  Monarch,  whA  depends 

Till  all  things  slept  as  dull  and  dark. 

Too  much  on  his  red-coated  friends  ; 

As,  in  a  great  Lord's  neighborhood. 

For  even  soldiers  sometimes  think  — 

'Twas  right  and  fitting  all  things  should. 

Nay,  Colonels  have  been  known  to  reason,  — 

And  reasoners,  whether  clad  in  pink, 

Accordingly,  some  large  supplies 

Or  red,  or  blue,  are  on  the  brink 

Of  these  Extinguishers  were  furnish'd 

(Nine  cases  out  of  ten)  of  treason. 

(All  of  the  true  Imperial  size), 

And  there,   in  rows,  stood   black  and  o\u 

Not  many  soldiers,  I  believe,  are 

nish'd. 

A%  fond  of  liberty  as  Mina  ; 

Ready,  where'er  a  gleam  but  shone 

El^e  —woe  to  Kings,  when  Freedom's  fever 

Of  light  or  fire,  to  be  clapp'd  on. 

Once  turns  into  a  Scarletina  ! 

For  tlien  —  but  hold  —  'tis  best  to  vei' 

But,  ah,  how  lordly  wisdom  errs. 

My  meaning  ui  the  following  tale  :  — 

In  trusting  to  extinguishers  ! 

One  day,  when  he  had  left  all  sure. 

FABLE 

(At  least,  80  thought  he)  dark,  secure  - 

A  Lord  of  Persia,  ricn  and  great. 

The  fiame,  at  all  its  exits,  entries, 

Just  come  into  a  large  estate. 

Obstructed  to  his  heart's  content, 

Was  shock' d  to  find  he  had,  for  neighbors. 

And  black  extinguishers,  like  sentries. 

Close  to  his  gate,  some  rascal  Ghebers, 

Plac'd  over  every  dangerous  vent  — 

Whose  fires,  beneath  his  very  nose, 

Ye  Gods,  imagine  his  amaze, 

In  heretic  combcstion  rose.                                     I 

His  wrath,  his  rage,  when,  on  returning, 

I 


He  found  not  only  the  old  blaze. 

Brisk  as  before,  crackling  and  burning,— 
Not  only  new,  young  conflagrations, 
Popping  up  round  in  various  stations  — 
But,  still  more  awful,  strange,  and  dire, 
Vh'  Extinguishers  themselves  on  fire  !  ' 
Vhey,  they  —  those  trusty,  blind  machines 
His  Lordship  had  so  long  been  praising, 
A  s,  under  Providence,  the  means 

i)i  keeping  down  all  lawless  blazing, 
SVeT3  now,  themselves  —  alas,  too  true 
rhe  shameful  fact —  turn'd  blazers  too. 
And,  by  a  change  as  odd  as  cruel, 
Instead  of  dampers,  served  for  fuel  I 

Thus,  of  his  only  hope  bereft, 

""WTiat,"    said    the    great    man,    "must   be 
done  r "  — 
All  that,  in  scrapes  like  this,  is  left 

To  great  men  Ls  —  to  cut  and  run. 
So  run  he  did  ;  while  to  their  grounds. 

The  banLsh'd  Ghelwrs  blest  retum'd  ; 
And,  though  their  Fire  had  broke  its  bounds. 

And  all  abroad  now  wildly  bum'd. 
Yet  well  could  they,  who  lov'd  the  flame, 
Its  wand'ring,  its  excess  reclaim  ; 
And  soon  another,  fairer  Dome 
Arose  to  be  its  sacred  home, 
Where,  cherish'd,  guarded,  not  confin'd. 
The  living  glory  dwelt  enshrin'd. 
And,  shedding  lustre  strong,  but  even, 
Though  born  of  earth,  grew  worthy  heav'n. 

•  MORAL. 

The  moral  hence  my  Muse  infers 
Is,  that  such  Lords  are  simple  elves, 

In  trusting  to  Extinguishers, 
That  are  combustible  themselves. 


FABLE  Vin. 

LOUIS  fourteenth's  vna. 

r  HE  money  rais'd  —  the  army  ready  — 
Drums  btiating,  and  the  Royal  Neddy 
Valiantly  braying  in  the  van, 
To  the  old  tune  "  Eh,  eh,  Sire  Ane !"*  — 

t  TVi*  idea  o<  thia  Fable  waa  caught  frum  one  of  tboie 

•iilliant  mots,  which  abound  in  the  conversation  of  my 
frieiic),  the  author  of  the  •'  Letters  to  Julia,"—  a  production 
•vliirh  contnins  some  of  tlie  happies£  specimens  of  playful 
vuetry  that  have  appeared  in  ttiis  or  any  age. 

*  They  celebrated  in  the  dark  a^ea,  at  many  churcbe*, 
(Kirticularly  at  Rouen,  what  was  called  the  Feast  of  the  .\ss. 
On  this  occaiiion  the  a.ss,  fiiiely  dressed  was  brought  before 
tie  altax,  and  ti«*y  sung  beibr*  him  this  •legant  anthem, 


Nought  wanting,  but  some  coup  dramatic, 

To  make  French  aetUiment  explode. 
Bring  in,  at  once,  the  poAt  fanatic. 

And  make  the  war  ••  la  derniire  mode"  — 
Instantly,  at  the  Pav'Uon  Martan, 

Is  held  an  Ultra  consultation  — 
What's  to  be  ione,  to  help  the  irce  on  i 

What  stage  effect,  what  decoration. 
To  make  this  beauteous  France  forgot. 
In  one,  grand,  glorious  pirouette. 
All  she  had  sworn  to  but  last  week. 
And,  with  a  cry  of  "  Magnijique  !  " 
Rush  forth  to  this,  or  any  war. 
Without  inquiring  once  —  "  What  for  ? " 

After  some  plans  propos'd  by  each. 
Lord  Chateaubriand  made  a  speech, 
(Quoting,  to  show  what  men's  rights  are, 

Or  rather  what  men's  rights  should  be, 
From  Hobbes,  Lord  Castlcreagh,  the  Czar, 

And  other  friends  to  Liberty,) 
Wherein  he  —  having  first  protested 
'Gainst  humoring  the  mob  —  suggested 
(As  the  most  high-bred  plan  he  saw 
For  giving  the  new  War  6clat) 
A  grand.  Baptismal  Melo-drame, 
To  be  got  up  at  Notre  Dame 
In  which  the  Duke  (who,  bless  his  Highnet*  I 

Ilad  by  his  hilt  acquir'd  such  fame, 
'Twas  hop'd  that  he  as  little  shyness 

Would  show,  when  to  the  point  he  came.) 
Should,  for  his  dccdrso  lion-hearted. 
Be  christen'd  Hero,  ere  he  started  : 
With  power,  by  Royal  Ordonnance, 
To  bear  that  name  —  at  least  in  France. 
Ilimsclf  —  the  Viscount  Chateaubriand  - 
(To  help  th'  aft"air  with  more  esprit  on) 
Off'cring,  for  this  baptismal  rite. 

Some  of  his  own  fam'd  Jordan  water*  — 
(Marie  Louise  not  having  quite 

Used  all  that,  for  young  Nap,  he  brought  her 
The  baptism,  in  this  case,  to  be 
Applied  to  that  extremity, 
Which  Bourbon  heroes  most  expose  ; 
And  which  (as  well  all  Europe  knows) 
Happens  to  be,  in  this  Defender 
Of  the  true  Faith,  extremely  tender.* 

"  Eh,  eh,  eh,  Sire  Ane,  eh,  eh,  eh,  Sire  Ane."  -W»»t»» 
EsMiy  on  Pope. 

•  Brought  from  the  river  Jordan  by  M.  Chateaubriand, 
and  presented  to  the  French  Empress  for  the  christening  at 
young  Napoleon. 

*  See  the  Duke's  celebrated  letter  to  madame,  written 
during  his  campaign  in  1815,  in  wbicb  br  says,  *'  I  «i  li 
poetteieur  Itgitcmeiit  endommag^" 


60C 


FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 


Or  if  (the  Viscount  said)  this  scheme 
loo  rash  and  premature  should  seem  — 
If  thus  discounting  heroes,  on  tick  — 

This  glorj',  by  anticipation, 
Was  too  much  in  the  (fe7ire  romantique 

For  such  a  highly  classic  nation, 
He  begg'd  to  saj%  the  Abyssinians 
A  practice  had  in  their  dominions, 
Which,  if  at  Paris  got  up  well, 
In  full  costume,  was  sure  to  tell. 
At  all  great  epochs,  good  or  ill, 

They  have,  says   Beuce  (and  Bkucb   ne'er 
budges 
From  the  strict  truth),  a  Grand  Quadrille 

In  public  danc'd  by  the  Twelve  Judges  -  — 
And,  he  assures  us,  the  grimaces. 
The  entre-chats,  the  airs  and  graces 
Of  dancers,  so  profound  and  stately, 
Divert  the  Abyssinians  greatly. 

"  Now  (said  the  Viscount),  there's  but  few 
"  Great  Empires,  where  this  plan  would  do : 
"  For  instance,  England  ;  —  let  them  take 

"  What  pains  they  would  —  'twere  vain  to 
strive  — 
•'  The  twelve  stiff  Judges  there  would  make 

"  The  worst  Quadrille  set  now  alive. 
"  One  must  have  seen  them,  ere  one  could 
••  Imagine  properly  Judge  Wood, 
"  Performing,  in  his  wig,  so  gayly, 
"  A  queue-de-chat  with  Justice  Bailey  ! 
"  French  Judges,  though,  are,  by  no  means, 
"This  sort  of  stiff,  be-wigg'd  machines  ; 
"  And  we,  who've  seen  them  at  Saumur, 
"  And  Poitiers  lately,  may  be  sure 
"  They'd  dance  quadrilles,  or  any  thing, 
"  That  would  be  pleasing  to  the  King  — 
"  Nay,  stand  upon  their  heads,  and  more  do, 
"  To  please  the  little  Duke  de  Bourdeaux  !  " 

After  these  several  schemes  there  cam« 
Bome  others  —  needless  now  to  name, 
Since  that,  which  Monsieur  plann'd,  himself^ 
Soon  doora'd  all  others  to  the  shelf. 
And  wa«  receiv'd  par  acclamation, 
As  truly  worthy  the  Grande  Nation. 


1  *'  On  certain  great  occasions,  the  twelve  Judges  (who 
ire  generally  between  sixty  and  seventy  years  of  age)  sing 
(be  song  and  dance  the  figure  dance,"  &c.  —  Book  v. 

*  "  Louis  XIV.  fit  present  i.  la  Vierge  de  son  cordon  bleu, 
■^e  I'on  conserve  soigneuseinent,  et  lui  envoya  ensuite,  son 
Contrat  de  Manage  et  le  Traiti  des  Pyrenees,  magnifique- 
■oent  reli6."  — Mimoires,  Anecdotts  pour  sennr,  &c. 

»  The  teamed  author  of  Recherche^  Historiques  sur  lea  Per- 
rufues  says  that  the  Board  consisted  but  of  Forty  —  the  same 


It  seems  (as  Monsieur  told  the  atory) 

That  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  —  that  glory, 

That  Coryphee  of  all  crown'd  pates,  — 

That  pink  of  the  Legitimates — 

Had,  when,  with  many  a  pious  pray'er,  h» 

Bequeath'd  unto  the  Virgin  Mary 

His  marriagie  deeds,  and  cordon  bleu,* 

Bequeath'd  to  her  his  State  Wig  too  — 

(An  offering  which,  at  Court,  'tis  thought, 

The  Virgin  values  as  she  oupht)  — 

That  Wig,  the  wonder  of  all  eye-s. 

The  Cynosure  of  Gallia's  skies, 

To  watch  and  tend  whose  curls  ador'd. 

Rebuild  its  towering  roof,  when  flat. 
And  round  its  rumpled  base,  a  Board 

Of  sixty  Barbers  daily  sat,' 
With  Subs,  on  State  Days,  to  assist. 
Well  pension' d  from  the  Civil  List :  — 
That  wondrous  Wig,  array'd  in  whicn, 
And  ibrm'd  alike  to  awe  or  witch, 
He  beat  all  other  heirs  of  crowns. 
In  taking  mistresses  and  towns. 
Requiring  but  a  shot  at  one, 
A  smile  vX  t'other,  and  'twas  done  !  — 

«'  That  Wig  (said  Monsieur,  while  his  brow 
Rose  proudly,)  *•  is:  existing  now  ;  — 
"  That  Grand  Perruqu«,  amid  the  fall 

"  Of  every  other  Royal  glory, 
"  With  curls  erect  survives  them  all, 

"  And  tells  in  every  hair  their  story. 
"  Think,  think,  how  welcome  at  this  time 
"  A  relic,  so  bclov'd,  sublime  ! 
"  What  worthier  standard  of  the  Cause 

"  Of  Kingly  Right  can  France  demand  ' 
"  Or  who  among  our  ranks  cf.n  pause 

•'  To  guard  it,  while  a  curl  dhall  stand  ? 
"  Behold,  my  friends  "  —  (while  thus  he  cried 
A  curtain,  which  conceal  d  this  pride 
Of  Princely  Wigs  was  avawn  aside) 
"  Behold  that  grand  Porruque  —  how  big 

'•  With  recollections  for  the  world  — 
"  For  France  —  for  us  —  Great  Louis'  Wig, 

"  By  HiPPOLYTE*  new  frizz'd  and  curl'd- 
"  New  frizz'd  !  alas,  'tis  but  too  true, 
"  Well  may  you  start  at  that  word  new  — 


number  as  the  Academy.    "  Le  plus  beau  terns  des  pen>. 
ques  fat  celui  oii  Louis  XIV.  commen^a  i  porter,  lui-mtma 

pernique  ; On  ignore  l'6poque  oii  se  fit  cettt 

revolution  ;  mais  on  sait  qu'elle  engagea  Louis  le  Grand  i  y 
donner  ses  soins  patemels,  en  crfeant,  en  1C56.  quarantc 
charges  de  permquiers,  suivant  la  cour;  et  en  1G73,  il  foma 
un  corps  de  deux  cents  perruquiers  pour  la  Ville  de  Pari» 
—  P.  in. 

V  celebrated  Coiffeur  of  the  present  day. 


I 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


o9a 


"  But  such  the  sacrifice,  my  friends, 
••  Th'  Imperial  Cossack  recoramencLs  ; 
>*  Thinking  such  small  concessions  sage, 
••  To  meet  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
•*  And  do  what  best  that  spirit  flatters, 
»♦  In  Wigs  —  if  not  in  weightier  matters. 
"  Wherefore,  to  please  the  Czar,  and  show 
"  That  we  too,  much- wrong' d  Bourbons,  know 
**  What  liberalism  in  Monarchs  is, 
'•  We  have  conceded  the  New  Friz ! 
•*  Thus  arm'd,  ye  gallant  Ultras,  say, 
•*  Can  men,  can  Frenchmen,  fear  the  fray  i 
**  With  this  proud  relic  in  our  van, 
"  And  D'Anooulems  our  worthy  leader. 


'  I^t  rebel  Spain  do  all  she  can, 

"  Let  recreant  England  arm  and  feed  bet,  -^ 
'  Urg'd  by  that  pupil  of  Hunt's  school, 
■  That  Radical,  Lord  Liveepool  — 
'France  can  have  nought  to  fear — £u  fron 
it  — 

"  When  once  astounded  Europe  see* 
'  The  Wig  of  Louis,  like  a  Comet, 

"  Streaming  above  the  PjTrenees, 
'  All's  o'er  with  Spain  —  then  on,  my  sosa, 

"  On,  my  incomparable  Duke, 

And,  shouting  for  the  Holy  Ones, 

"  Cry  Vive  la  Guerre  —et  la  Perrugue  I " 


RHYMES    ON    THE    ROAD, 

EXTRACTED   PBOU   THE    JOUBNAL   OF   A   TRAVELLING   MEMBER   UP 

THE  POCO-CURANTE  SOCIETY,   1819. 


The  greater  part  of  the  following  Rhymes 
were  written  or  composed  in  an  old  calSc/ie,  for 
the  purpose  of  beguiling  the  ennui  of  solitary 
travelling  ;  and  as  verses,  made  by  a  gentleman 
In  his  sleep,  have  been  lately  called  "  a  psycho- 
logical curiosity,"  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  verses, 
composed  by  a  gentleman  to  keep  himself  awake, 
may  be  honored  with  some  appellation  equally 
Qreek. 


INTRODUCTORY  RHYMES. 

D^irtnt  Altitudts  in  which  Authors  compote.  —  Bayet,  Hen- 
ry Stephen*,  Herodotus,  \c. —  Writing  in  Bed  —  in  the 
Fields,  —  Plato  and  Sir  Richard  Blickmore.  —  Fiddling 
with  Olovet  and  Taigt.  —  Madame  d»  StaHU — Rhyming 
p*  the  Road,  in  an  old  Caliche. 

VThat  various  attitudes,  and  ways, 

A  nd  tricks,  we  authors  have  in  writing ! 
While  some  write  sitting,  some,  like  Bates, 

Usually  stand,  while  they're  inditing. 
Poets  there  are,  who  wear  the  floor  out, 

Measuring  a  line  at  every  stride  ; 
While  some,  like  Henry  Stephens,  pour  out 

Rhymes  by  the  dozen,  while  they  ride.' 

I  Pleraque  aua  camiina  •quitam  composuiL  — Pabaticim 


Herodotus  wTote  most,  in  bed ; 

And  RicHERAND,  a  French  phmcian, 
Declares  the  clockwork  of  the  head 

Goes  best  in  that  rcclin'd  position. 
If  you  consult  Montaigne  '  and  Plint  on 
The  subject,  'tis  their  joint  opinion 
ITiat  Thought  its  richest  harvest  yields 
Abroad,  ^mong  the  woods  and  fields 
That  bards,  who  deal  in  small  retail. 

At  home  may,  at  their  counters,  stop  | 
But  that  the  grove,  the  hill,  the  vale. 

Are  Poesy's  true  wholesale  shop. 
And,  verily,  I  think  they're  right  — 

For,  many  a  time,  on  summer  eves. 
Just  at  that  closing  hour  of  light. 

When,  like  an  Eastern  Prince,  who  leavna 
For  distant  war  his  Harem  bowers. 
The  Sun  bids  farewell  to  the  flowers, 
Whose  heads  arc  sunk,  whoa«  tears  ut 

ing 
'Mid  all  the  glory  of  his  going  !  — > 
Ev'n  /  have  felt,  beneath  those  beams. 

When  wand'ring  through  the  fields  alone. 
Thoughts,  fancies,  intellectual  gleams, 

Which,  far  too  bright  t(j  be  my  own, 
Seem'd  lent  me  by  the  Sunny  Power, 
That  was  abroad  at  that  still  hour. 


<  **  Mes  pent^M  doniient,  si  Jo  lea  ansi.'." —  MoirrAian, 
Animua  •onim  qui  In  BpertJ>  aete  aiubiilant,  attollitur. 

Pumi 


(02 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


If  thus  Fve  felt,  how  must  they  feel, 

The  few,  whom  genuine  Genius  warms  ; 
Upon  whose  .^ouls  he  stamps  his  seal, 

Graven  with  Beauty's  countless  forms  ;  — 
The  few  upon  this  e£irth,  who  seem 
Bom  to  give  truth  to  Plato's  dream, 
Since  in  their  thoughts,  as  in  a  glass. 

Shadows  of  heavenly  things  appear, 
Reflections  of  bright  shapes  that  pass 

Through  other  worlds,  above  our  sphere  ! 

B  at  this  reminds  me  I  digress  ;  — 

For  Plato,  too,  produc'd,  'tis  said, 
(As  one,  indeed,  might  almost  guess,) 

His  glorious  visions  all  in  bed.' 
'Twas  in  his  carriage  the  sublime 
Sir  RiCHAKD  Blackmore  used  to  rhyme  ; 

And  (if  the  wits  don't  do  him  wrong) 
Twixt  death  *  and  epics  pass'd  his  time. 

Scribbling  and  killing  all  day  long  — 
Like  Phoebus  in  his  car,  at  ease, 

Now  warbling  forth  a  lofty  song. 
Now  murdering  the  young  Niobes. 


There  was  a  hero  'mong  the  Danes, 
Who  wrote,  we're  told,  'mid  all  the  pains 

And  horrors  of  exenteration. 
Nine  charming  odes,  which,  if  you'll  look. 

You'll  find  preserv'd  with  a  translation, 
By  Baktholinus  in  his  book.^ 
In  short,  'twere  endless  to  recite 
The  various  modes  in  which  men  write. 
Some  wits  are  only  in  the  mind, 

When  beaux  and  belles  are  round  them  prating; 
Some,  when  they  dress  for  dinner,  find 

Their  muse  and  valet  both  in  waiting  ; 
And  manage,  at  the  selfsame  time, 
T'  adjust  a  neckcloth  and  a  rhyme. 

Some  bards  there  are  who  cannot  scribble 
Without  a  glove,  to  tear  or  nibble  ; 
Or  a  small  twig  to  whisk  about  — 

As  if  the  hidden  founts  of  Fancy, 
Like  wells  of  old,  were  thus  found  out 

By  mystic  tricks  of  rhabdomancy. 
Buch  Avas  the  little  feathery  wand,* 
That,  held  forever  in  the  hand 


I  The  only  authority  I  know  for  imputing  this  practice  to 
Plato  ar.J  Herodotus,  is  a  Latin  poem  by  M.  de  Valois  on 
Ikis  Bed,  in  whicli  he  says :  — 

Lucifer  Herodotum  vidit  Vesperque  cubantem, 
Desedlt  totos  hcic  Plato  sxjie  dies. 

»  Pir  Bif 'mrd  Blackmore  was  a  physician,  as  well  as  a 
laU  poet 


Of  her,'  who  won  and  wore  the  crown 

Of  female  genius  in  this  age, 
Seem'd  the  conductor,  that  drew  dowr 

Those  words  of  lightning  to  her  page. 
As  for  myself —  to  come,  at  last, 

To  the  odd  way  in  which  I  write  — 
Having  employ' d  these  few  months  past 

Chiefly  in  travelling,  day  and  night, 
I've  got  into  the  easy  mode. 
Of  rhyming  thus  along  the  road  — 
Making  a  way  bill  of  my  pages. 
Counting  my  stanzas  by  my  stages  — 
'Twixt  lays  and  re-lays  no  time  lost  — 
In  short,  in  two  words,  writing  post. 


EXTRACT  I. 

Geneva. 

View  -j/  the  Lake  of  Omeva  from  the  Jurafi  —  Anxioiis  U 
reach  it  before  the  Sun  went  dovm. — Obliged  to  proceed  o% 
Foot 9lps.  —  Mont  Blanc —  Effect  of  the  Scene 

'TwAS  late  —  the  sun  had  almost  shone 
His  last  and  best,  when  I  ran  on, 
Anxious  to  reach  that  splendid  view. 
Before  the  daybeams  quite  withdrew ; 
And  feeling  as  all  feel,  on  first 

Approaching  scenes,  where,  they  are  toid 
Such  glories  on  their  eyes  will  burst. 

As  youthful  bards  in  dreams  l\"hold. 


'Twas  distant  yet,  and,  as  I  ran, 

Full  often  was  my  wistful  gaze 
'Turn'd  to  the  sun,  who  now  began 

To  call  in  all  his  outpost  rays. 
And  form  a  denser  march  of  light. 
Such  as  beseems  a  hero's  flight. 
O,  how  I  wish'd  for  Joshua's  power. 
To  stay  the  brightness  of  that  hour  I 
But  no  —  the  sun  still  less  became. 

Diminish' d  to  a  speck,  as  splendia 
And  small  as  were  those  tongues  of  flame, 

That  on  th'  Apostles'  heads  descended  ! 

'Twas  at  this  instant  —  while  there  glow'd 
This  last,  intenscst  gleam  of  light  — 

Suddenly,  through  the  opening  road. 
The  valley  burst  upon  my  sight ! 


*  E&dem  ciirJl  npc  minores  mter  cruciatus  animam  Inffr 
licem  agenti  fiiit  Asbiomo  Prudas  Danico  heroi,  cum  Brusc 
ipsum,  intestina  exlrahens,  immauiter  torqueret,  tunc  en  in 
novem  carmina  cecinit,  &c.  —  Babtholin.  de  Causit  Co* 
tempt.  Mart, 

4  Made  of  paper,  twisted  up  like  i  fan  or  feather 

6  Madame  de  Stael. 

«  Between  Vattay  and  Gex. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


50b 


rhat  gloriou*}  valley,  with  its  Lake, 
And  Ali)s  on  Alps  in  clusters  swelling, 

Mighty,  and  pure,  and  fit  to  make 
The  ramparts  of  a  Godhead's  dwelling. 

I  stood  entranc'd —  as  Rabbins  say 
'J'his  whole  assembled,  gazing  world 

tVill  stand,  upon  that  awful  day, 
When  the  Aik's  Light,  aloft  unfurl'd, 

Vmoug  the  opening  clouds  shall  shine, 

Oivinity's  own  radiauc  sign  ! 

alighty  Mont  Blanc,  thou  wert  to  me. 

That  minute,  with  thy  brow  in  heaven, 
Ad  sure  a  sign  of  Deity 

As  e'er  to  mortal  gaze  was  given. 
Nor  ever,  were  I  destined  yet 

To  live  my  life  twice  o'er  again, 
'  ;an  I  the  deepfelt  awe  forget, 

The  dream,  the  trance  that  rapt  me  then  ! 

"I'was  all  that  consciousness  of  power 

A.nd  life,  beyond  this  mortal  hour  ;  — 

those  mountings  of  the  soul  within 

At  thoughts  of  Hcav'n  —  as  birds  begin 

By  instinct  in  the  cage  to  rise. 

When  near  their  time  for  change  of  skies ;  — 

That  proud  assurance  of  our  claim 

To  rank  among  the  Sons  of  Light, 
Blingled  with  shame  —  O  bitter  shame  !  — 

At  having  risk'd  that  splendid  right. 
For  aught  that  earth  through  all  its  range 
Of  glories,  offers  in  exchange  ! 
'Twas  all  this,  at  tliat  instant  brought, 
Liikc  breaking  sunshine,  o'er  my  thought  — 
'Twas  all  this,  kindled  to  a  glow 

Of  sacred  zeal,  which,  could  it  shine 
Thus  purely  ever,  man  might  grow, 

Ev'n  lyjon  earth  a  thing  divine, 
Af  d  be,  once  more,  the  creature  made 
To  walk  uiistain'd  th'  Elysian  shade  ! 

No,  never  shall  I  lose  the  trace 

Of  what  I've  felt  in  this  bright  place. 

And,  should  my  spirit's  hope  grow  weak. 

Should  I,  O  God,  e'er  doubt  thy  power, 
llus  mighty  scene  again  I'll  seek. 

At  the  same  calm  and  glowing  hour, 
&.nd  here,  at  the  sublimcst  shrine 

That  Nature  ever  rear'd  to  Thee, 


1  In  the  year  UBS,  when  the  furces  of  Berne,  Sardinia, 
uvtl  France  laid  niege  lo  Geneva,  and  when,  afUr  a  demon- 
itiatinn  nf  heroism  and  self-devoliun,  which  prumi«e<J  to  rl* 


Rekindle  all  that  hope  divine, 
A.nd  feel  my  immortality  ! 


EXTRACT  11. 

OMMvm 
FATE  OF  GENEVA  IN  THE   YEAl   178B 

A  FRAQUSNT. 

Yes  —  if  tnere  yet  live  some  of  those. 
Who,  Avhen  this  small  Republic  rose. 
Quick  as  a  startled  hive  of  bees. 
Against  her  leaguering  enemies  '  — 
When,  as  the  Royal  Satrap  shook 

His  well-known  fetters  at  her  gates, 
Ev'n  wives  and  mothers  arm'd,  and  took 

Their  stations  by  their  sons  and  mates  ; 
And  on  these  walls  there  stood  —  yet,  no. 

Shame  to  the  traitors  —  would  have  stood 
As  firm  a  band  as  e'er  let  flow 

At  Freedom's  base  their  sacred  blood  ; 
If  those  yet  live,  who,  on  that  night. 
When  all  were  watching,  girt  for  fight. 
Stole,  like  the  creeping  of  a  pest. 
From  rank  to  rank,  from  breast  to  breast, 
Filling  the  weak,  the  old  with  fears, 
Turning  the  heroine's  zeal  to  tears,  — 
Betraying  Honor  to  that  brink. 
Where,  one  step  more,  and  he  must  sink  — 
And  quenching  hopes,  which,  though  the  la»« 
Like  meteors  on  a  drowning  mast, 
Would  yet  have  led  to  death  more  bright, 
Than  life  e'er  look'd,  in  all  its  light  1 
Till  soon,  tQO  soon,  distrust,  alarms 

Throughout  th'  embattled  thousands  rtn, 
And  the  high  spirit,  late  in  arms. 
The  zeal,  that  might  have  work'd  such  chtonu. 

Fell,  like  a  broken  talisman  — 
Their  gates,  that  they  had  sworn  should  be 

The  gates  of  Death,  that  very  dawn, 
Gave  passage  widely,  bloodlessly. 

To  the  proud  foe  —  nor  sword  was  drawn, 
Nor  ev'n  one  martyr'd  body  cast 
To  stain  their  footsteps,  as  tliey  pasft'd  ; 
But,  of  the  many  sworn  at  night 
To  do  or  die,  some  fled  the  sight. 
Some  stood  to  look,  with  sullen  frown, 

While  some,  in  impotent  despair. 
Broke  their  bright  armor  and  lay  down, 

Weeping,  upon  the  fragments  there  •    • 


Genevans,  either  panic-f^tnirk  or  betrayed,  to  the  rtupnai 
of  all  Ciirope,  opened  their  pates  to  the  besieger*  and  »ub 
mittcd  witbi'Ut  a  struggle  to  the  cxtiiiction  of  theu  libeniea 
•aJ  the  feaw  of  tlieir  anceatuxs  In  1608  against  Savoy,  the  1  —Sea  «n  aixuuii-  ■*  this  Eevoluciun  in  Cjm's  SwiuerUu><< 


504 


RHYMES   ON  THE  ROAD 


If  those,  I  say,  who  brought  that  shame, 

That  blast  upon  Geneva's  name, 

Be  living  still  —  though  crime  so  dark 

Shall  hang  up,  fix'd  and  unforgiven, 
In  History's  page,  th'  eternal  mark 

For  Scorn  to  pierce  —  so  help  me,  Heaven, 
I  wish  the  traitorous  slaves  no  worse, 

No  deeper,  deadlier  disaster. 
From  all  earth's  ills  no  fouler  curse 

Than  to  have  ***********  their 
master  1 


EXTRACT  in. 


Geneva. 


(■Vrncy  and  Truth.  —  Hiypomenes  and  Alalanta.  —  Mont  Blanc, 
—  Clouds. 

Even  here,  in  this  region  of  wonders,  I  find 
That  light-footed  Fancy  leaves  Truth  far  behind  ; 
Or,  at  least,  like  Hippomenes,  turns  her  astray 
By  the  golden  illusions  he  flings  in  her  way.' 

What  a  glory  it  seem'd  the  first  evening  I  gaz'd  ! 

Mont  Blanc,  like  a  vision,  then  suddenly  rais'd 

On  the  wreck  of  the  sunset  —  and  all  his  array 

Of  high-towering  Alps,  touch'd  still  with  a 

light 
Far  holier,  purer  than  that  of  the  Day, 
As  if  nearness  to  Heaven  had  made  them  so 

bright ! 
llien  the  dying,  at  last,  of  these  splendors  away 
From  peak  after  peak,  till  they  left  but  a  ray. 
One  roseate  ray,  that,  too  precious  to  fly. 

O'er  the  Mighty  of  Mountains  still  glowingly 

hung. 
Like  the  last  sunny  step  of  Astrjea,  when  high 
From  the  summit  of  earth  to  Elysium  she 

sprung ! 
And  those  infinite  Alps,  stretching  out  from  the 

sight 
Till  they  mingled  with  Heaven,  now  shorn  of 

their  light. 
Stood  lofty,  and  lifeless,  and  pale  in  the  sky. 
Like  the  ghosts  of  a  Giant  Creation  gone  by  ! 

That  scene  —  I  have  view'd  it  this  evening  again. 
By  the  same  brilliant  light  that  hung  over  it 
then  — 


'  nitidique  cupidine  porai 


Decliiiat  cursus,  aurumque  volubile  tollit 


Otid. 


*  It  is  often  very  difficult  to  distinguish  between  clouds 
uid  Alps ;  and  on  the  evening  when  1  first  saw  this  magnifi- 
eent  scene,  the  clouds  were  so  disposed  along  the  whole  ho- 
nzon,  as  to  deceive  me  into  an  idea  of  the  stupendous  ex- 
tent of  these  mountains,  whicli  my  subsequent  observation 
wa«  very  fu  ot  course,  from  confirming. 


The  valley,  the  lake  in  their  tenderest  charms  - 
Mont  Blanc  in  his  awfullest  pomp  —  and  th« 

whole 
A  bright  picture  of  Beauty,  reclin'd  in  the  arm* 
Of  Sublimity,  bridegroom  elect  of  her  soul ! 
But  where  are  the  mountains,  that  round  me  at 

first, 
One  dazzling  horizon  of  miracles,  burst  ? 
Those  Alps  beyond  Alps,  without  end  swelling 

on 
Like  the  waves  of  eternity  —  where  are  the^ 

gone  ? 
Clouds  —  clouds  —  they  were  nothing  but  clouds, 

after  all ! « 
That  chain  of  Mont  Blancs,  which  my  fancy 

flew  o'er. 
With  a  wonder  that  nought  on  this  earth  can 

recall. 
Were  but  clouds  of  the  evening,  and  now  are 

no  more. 

What  a  picture  of  Life's  young  tJusions  !     O, 

Night, 
Drop  thy  curtain,  at  once,  and  hide  all  £rom  avf 

sight. 

EXTRACT  IV. 

Milan. 

The  Picture  OaUery. — Albano^s  Rape  of  Proserpine.  —  Re- 
flections.  —  Universal  Salvation.  —  Abraham  sending  awaf 
Agar,  by  Ouercino. — Qeniut. 

Went  to  the  Brera  —  saw  a  Dance  of  Loves 
By  smooth  Albano  '  ;  him,  whose  pencil  teema 

With  Cupids,  numerous  as  in  summer  groves 
The  leaflets  are,  or  motes  ia  summer  beams. 

'Tis  for  the  theft  of  Enna's  flower  *  from  earth. 
These  urchins  celebrate  their  dance  of  mii-th 
Round  the  green  tree,  like  fays  upon  a  heath  — 

Those,  that  are  nearest,  link'd  in  order  bright, 
Cheek  after  cheek,  like  rosebuds  in  a  wrt  ath  ; 
And  those,  more  distant,  showing  from  beneath 

The  others'  wings  their  little  eyes  of  light. 
While  see,  among  the  clouds,  their  eldest  brother, 

But  just  flown  up,  tells  with  a  smile  of  bliss 
This  prank  of  Pluto  to  his  charmed  mother. 

Who  turns  to  greet  the  tidings  with  a  kiss ' 

s  This  picture,  tlie  Agar  of  Guercino,  and  the  Apostles  u 
Guido  (the  two  latter  of  which  are  now  the  chief  ornament* 
of  the  Brera),  were  formerly  in  the  Palazzo  Zampieri  at  Do- 
logna. 

<  that  fair  field 

Of  Enna,  where  Proserpine,  patliermg  flowers, 
Herself  a  fairer  flower,  by  gloomy  Dis  wis  cajier'fk 


RHYMES  ON   THE  ROAD. 


60» 


Well  might  the  Loves  rejoice  —  and  well  did 
they, 
Who  wove  these  fables,  picture,  in  their  weav- 
ing, 
That  blessed  truth,  (which,  in  a  darker  day, 

Ohio  EN  lost  his  saintship  for  believing,')  — 
Tnut  Love,  eternal  Love,  whose  fadeless  ray 
Ncr  time,  nor  death,  nor  sin  can  overcast, 
Bv'i  to  the  depths  of  hell  will  find  his  way, 
And  soothe,  and  heal  and  triumph  there  at 
last! 

Wt'EBCi.vo's  Agar  —  where  the  bondmaid  hears 

From  Abram's  lips   that  ho  and  she   must 
part ; 
And  looks  at  him  with  eyes  all  full  of  tears, 

That  seem  the  very  last  drops  from  her  heart. 
Exquisite  picture  !  —  let  me  not  be  told 
Of  minor  faults,  of  coloring  tame  and  cold  — 
If  thus  to  conjure  up  a  face  so  fair,^ 
So  full  of  sorrow  ;  with  the  story  there 
Of  all  that  woman  suffers,  when  the  stay 
Her  trusting  heart  hath  lean'd  on  falls  away— 
If  thus  to  touch  the  bosom's  tenderest  spring. 
By  calling  into  life  such  eyes,  as  bring 
back  to  our  sad  remembrance  some  of  those 
We've  smil'd  and  wept  with,  in  their  joys  and 

woes. 
Thus  filling  them  with  tears,  like  tears  we've 

known, 
Till  all  the  pictur'd  grief  becomes  our  own  — 
If  this  be  deem'd  the  victory  of  Art  — 

If  thus,  by  pen  or  pencil,  to  lay  bare 
The  deep,  fresh,  living  fountains  of  the  heart 

Before  all  eyes,  be  Genius —  it  is  there  I 


EXTRACT  V. 


Padua. 


Fane)  and  Reality.  —  Raindrops  and  iMkes. —  Plan  of  a  Sto- 
ry. —  IVIicre  to  plice  tlie  Scene  of  iL  —  In  some  unkn(ncn  Re- 
gion. —  Pioimamiar'i  Impoiture  vUh  resput  to  tlu  Island 
((f  Formosa. 

1  UB  more  I've  •N'icw'd  this  world,  the  more  I've 
found, 
lliat,  fill'd  as  'tis  with  scenes  and  creatures 
lare. 
Fancy  commands,  within  her  own  bright  round, 
A  world  of  scenes  and  creatures  far  more  fair. 
Nor  is  it  that  her  power  can  call  up  there 
A  single  charm,  that's  not  ijom  Nature  won. 


No  more  than  rainbows,  in  their  pride,  can  weal 
A  single  hue  unborrow'd  from  the  sun 

But  'tis  the  mental  medium  it  shines  through 

That  lends  to  Beauty  all  its  charm  and  hue  ; 

As  the  same  light,  that  o'er  the  level  lake 
One  dull  monotony  of  lustre  tUngs, 

Will,  entering  in  the  rounded  raindrop,  make 
Colors  as  gay  as  those  on  Peris'  wings  1 

And  such,  I  deem,  the  difTrence  between  real. 
Existing  Beauty  and  that  form  ideal. 
Which  she  assumes,  when  seen  by  poets'  eyes. 
Like   sunshine  in  the  drop  —  with    all  those 

dyes. 
Which  Fancy's  variegating  prism  supplies. 

I  have  a  story  of  two  lovers,  fiU'd 

With  all  the  pure  romance,  the  blissful  sad- 
ness. 
And  the  sad,  doubtful  bliss,  that  eTer  thrill'd 

Two  young  and  longing  hearts  in  that  sweet 
madness. 
But  where  to  choose  the  region  of  my  vision 

In  this  wide,  vulgar  world  —  what  real  spot 
Can  be  found  out  sufficiently  Elysian 

For  two  such  perfect  lovers,  I  know  not. 
O  for  some  fair  Foumosa,  such  as  he. 
The  young  Jew  fabled  of,  in  th'  Indian  Sea, 
By  nothing,  but  its  name  of  Beauty,  known. 
And  which  Queen  Fancy  might  moke  all  he( 

own. 
Her  fairy  kingdom  —  take  its  people,  lands. 
And  tenements  into  her  own  bright  hands. 
And  make,  at  least,  one  earthly  corner  fit 
For  Love  to  live  in,  pure  and  exquisite  1 


EXTRACT  VI. 


Venu. 


7%c  FaU  qf  Veniet  not  to  be  lamented.  —  Former  Olory.  —  JI» 
pedition  against  Constantinople,  —  Oiustinianis. —  Kqiittlic 
— Characteristics  of  the  old  Qocemment.  —  Oolden  Book..- 
Braien  Mouths.  —  Spies.  —  Dungeons.  —  Present  Desela 
tioH. 

Mouajf  not  for  Venice  —  let  her  rest 
In  ruin,  'mong  those  States  unblest. 
Beneath  whose  gilded  hoofs  of  pride. 
Where'er  they  trampled,  Freedom  died. 
No  —  let  us  keep  our  tears  for  them. 

Where'er  they  pme,  whose  fall  hath  been 


I 

*  7'he  extension  or  the  Divine  Love  ultimately  even  to  {  it  r«peated  in  a  picture  by  Guercino,  which  i«  in  t\» 
me  regions  of  (hb  ila.nned.                                                        j  Bion  ol  tiicnor  Camdccini.  tlie  brctlwr  of  the  celebntai 

*  If  u  probable  U.at  this  fine  bead  U  a  portnUt,  u  we  find  |  painter  at  Rom*. 


f06 


RHYMES   ON  THE  ROAD. 


Not  from  a  bloodstain'd  diadem, 
Like  that  which  deck'd  this  ocean  queen, 

But  from  high  daring  in  the  cause 
Of  human  Rights  —  the  only  good 

And  blessed  strife,  in  -which  man  draws 
His  mighty  sword  on  land  or  flood. 

Uourn  not  for  Venice  ;  though  her  fall 

Re  awful,  as  if  Ocean's  wave 
^^•ept  o'er  her,  she  deserves  it  all, 

And  Justice  triumphs  o'er  her  grave. 
Thus  perish  ev'ry  King  and  State, 

That  run  the  guilty  race  she  ran. 
Strong  but  in  ill,  and  only  great 

By  outrage  against  God  and  man  ! 

True,  her  high  spirit  is  at  rest, 
And  all  those  days  of  glory  gone, 

When  the  world's  waters,  east  and  west. 
Beneath  her  white- wing' d  commerce  shone  ; 

When,  with  her  countless  barks  she  went 

To  meet  the  Orient  Empire's  might,' 

\.v.d  her  Giustinianis  sent 
Their  hundred  heroes  to  that  fight.' 

Vanish'd  are  all  her  pomps,  'tis  true, 
But  moxxrn  them  not  —  for  vanish'd,  too, 


1  Under  the  Doge  Michaeli,  in  1171. 

,*  "La  famille  entiere  des  Justiniuni,  I'une  des  plus  illus- 
ties  de  Venise,  voulut  niarclier  toiito  entiere  dans  cette  ex- 
pedition ;  elle  fouriiit  cent  coinbattans ;  c'etait  renouveler 
I  exeiuple  d'line  illustre  famille  de  Rome ;  le  m&me  inallieur 
les  altendait."  —  Histoire  de  Veviie,  par  Daru. 

3  Tlie  celebrated  Fra  Paolo.  The  collection  of  Maxims 
which  this  bold  monk  drew  up  at  t!ie  request  of  the  Vene- 
tian Govenmient,  for  the  guidance  of  the  Secret  Inquisition 
of  State,  are  so  atrocious  as  to  seem  rather  an  over-charged 
Bp.tire  u])on  despotism,  tiian  a  system  of  policy,  seriously  in- 
culcated, and  but  too  readily  and  constantly  pursued. 

The  spirit,  in  which  tliese  maxims  of  Father  Paul  are  con- 
ceived, may  be  judged  from  the  instructions  which  he  gives 
for  the  management  of  the  Venetian  colonics  and  provinces. 
Of  the  former  he  says:  —  "II  faut  les  traiter  comme  des 
iiinnaux  .'^roces,  les  rogner  les  dents,  et  les  grifTes,  les  hu- 
•nilier  souvent,  surtout  leur  oter  les  occasions  de  s'aguerrir. 
Ou  jain  et  le  baton,  voili  ce  qu'il  leur  faut  j  gardons  I'hu- 
tTcinite  pour  une  ineilleure  occasion." 

For  the  treatment  of  the  provinces  he  advises  thus :  — 

Tondre  4  depouiller  les  villes  de  leurs  privileges,  faire  que 
les  fcabitans  s'appauvrissent,  et  que  leurs  biens  soient  achet6s 
par  les  Vtoiliens.  Ceux  qui,  dans  les  conseils  munlcipaux, 
Be  montreront  ou  plus  audacieux  on  plus  d6vou6s  aux  in- 
(^rets  de  la  population,  il  faut  les  perdre  ou  les  gagner  i 
•pielque  prix  que  co  soit :  enfin,  s'il  se  truuve  dans  les  pro- 
tinces  qucUjucs  chefs  de  parti,  il  faut  les  exlerminer  sous  un  pri- 
texte  guelconque,  mais  en  ivitant  de  reeourir  d  la  justice  ordi- 
naire. Que  le  poison  fa^se  Voffice  de  bourreau,  tela  est  mains 
tdieux  et  beaucoup  plus  profitable." 

*  C'^F  luct  of  Venice  towards  her  allies  and  dependencies, 


(Thanks    to    that    power,    who,    soon    or 

late, 
Hurls  to  the  dust  the  guilty  Great,) 
Are  all  the  outrage,  falsehood,  fraud, 

The  chains,  the  rapine,  and  the  blood. 
That  fill'd  each  spot,  at  home,  abroad, 

Where  the  Republic's  standard  stood. 
Desolate  Venice  !  when  I  track 
Thy  haughty  course  through  centuries  back  ' 
Thy  ruthless  power,  obey'd  but  curs'd 

The  stern  machinery  of  thy  State, 
Which  hatred  would,  like  steam,  have  burst, 

Had  stronger  fear  not  chill'd  ev'n  hate  ;  — 
Thy  perfidy,  still  worse  than  aught 
Thy  own  unblushing  Sakpi'  taught ;—  - 
Thy  friendship,  which,  o'er  all  beneath 
Its  shadow,  rain'd  down  dews  of  death  ;^  — 
Thy  Oligarchy's  Book  of  Gold, 

Clos'd  against  humble  Virtue's  name,* 
But  open'd  wide  for  slaves  who  sold 

Their  native  land  to  thee  and  shame  ;*  — 
Thy  all-pervading  host  of  spies. 

Watching  o'er  every  glance  and  breath, 
Till  men  look'd  in  each  other's  eyes. 

To  read  their  chance  of  life  or  death ;  — 
Thy  laws,  that  made  a  mart  of  blood, 

And  legaliz'd  the  assassin's  knife  :  ^  — 


particularly  to  unfortunate  Padua.  —  Fate  of  Francosco  Car 
rara,  for  whicli  see  Duru,  vol.  ii.  p.  141. 

6  "A  I'exception  des  trente  citadins  admis  au  grand  con- 
seil  pendant  la  guerre  de  Chioz-zi,  il  n'est  pas  arrivfe  un« 
■ieule  fois  que  les  talens  ou  les  services  aient  paru  k  cett« 
noblesse  orgueilleuse  des  litres  suflisans  pour  s'asseoir  avec 
elle." —  Daru. 

0  Among  those  admitted  to  the  honor  of  being  inscribed 
in  the  Libra  d'orc  were  some  families  of  Brescia,  Treviso, 
and  other  places,  whose  only  claim  to  that  distinction  was 
the  zeal  with  which  tliey  prostrated  theiuselves  and  theil 
country  at  the  feet  of  the  republic. 

'  By  the  infamous  statutes  of  the  State  Inv»sition,*  not 
only  was  assa8.<lnatian  recognized  as  a  regular  n.  'de  of  nun- 
ishment,  but  this  secret  power  over  life  was  di  ''.,ated  to 
their  minions  at  a  distance,  with  ncariy  as  mucn  iaciilty  as 
a  license  is  given  under  Mie  game  laws  <>f  England.  The 
only  restriction  seems  to  nave  been  tlie  necessity  of  applyiu j 
for  a  new  certiticate,  after  every  individual  exerci-e  ci  Jv 
power. 

*  M.  Daru  has  given  an  abstract  of  th?«e  SUtutes,  from 
manuscript  in  the  Bibliutheque  du  F.o!,  and  it  is  iiardly  cred- 
ible that  such  a  system  of  treachery  and  ciuelty  should  evei 
have  been  established  by  any  government,  or  submitted  to 
for  an  instant,  by  any  people.  Among  various  precaution 
against  the  intrigues  of  their  own  Nobles,  we  find  the  fol 
lowing:  —  "Pour  persuader  aux  Strangers  qu'il  6talt  diffi 
cile  et  dangereux  d'entretenir  quelqu'intrigue  secrete  avef 
les  nobles  V6nitiens,  on  imagina  de  faire  avertir  myst6ri- 
eusement  le  Nonce  du  Pape  (afin  que  les  autres  ni'nistrei 
en  fussent  inform^s)  que  I'Inquisition  avail  a<  torls6  les  pa 


RHYMES   OX  THE   ROAD. 


607 


lliy  sunless  cells  beneath  the  flood. 
And  racks,  ttnd  Leads,'  that  burnt  out  life ;  ■ 

When  I  review  all  this,  and  see 
The  doom  that  now  hath  fall'n  on  thee  ; 
Thy  nobles,  towering  once  so  proud, 
rhemaclves  beneath  the  yoke  now  bow'd,  — 
A  yoke,  by  no  one  grace  redecm'd. 
Such  &J,  of  old,  around  thee  beam'd, 
Mat  mean  and  base  as  e'er  yet  gall'd 
Earth's  tyrants,  when,  themselves,  inthrall'd,  - 
I  feel  the  moral  vengeance  sweet, 
A-^.d,  smiling  o'er  the  wreck,  repeat, 
'  ''has  perish  every  King  and  State, 

"  I'hat  tread  the  steps  which  Venice  trod, 
"  Strong  but  in  ill,  and  only  great, 

■*  Hy  outrage  against  man  God  ! 


EXTRACT  VII. 

Venice. 

L,ani    fiyr^ii'«   MtMoirt,  wriOen    by    himt^f.  —  R^JUetumt, 
vke*  about  to  read  them. 

Let  me,  a  moment,  —  ere  with  fear  and  hope 
Of  gloomy,  glorious  things,  these  leaves  I  ope  — 
As  one,  in  fairy  tale,  to  whom  the  key 

Of  some  enchanter's  secret  halls  is  given, 
Doubts,  while  he  enters,  slowly,  tremblingly, 

If  he  shall  meet  with  shapes   from  hell   or 
heaven  — 
L  et  me,  a  moment,  think  M'hat  thousands  live 
C'er  the  wide  earth  this  instant,  who  would  give, 
Gladly,  whole  sleepless  nights  to  bend  the  brow 
Over  these  precious  leaves,  as  I  do  now. 

1  "  Les  prisons  de»  plombs ;  c'est-4-dire  ces  foumaisea  ar- 
dontes  qu'onnvait  di«(riliuie8  en  petitea  cellules  sous  les  ter- 
rasiiea  qui  cuuvrent  le  palals." 

*  Pijaphon,  In  order  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  world, 
ktught  multitudes  of  birds  to  speaK  his  uanie,  and  tlien  let 


triciens  k  pnignardcr  qiiiconijue  estuicrait  de  tenter  Icur  fid^ 
liti.  Mail)  craignaiit  que  les  anibassadeurs  ne  pretassent  foi 
diflioilenicnt  4  une  deliberation,  qui  en  eflet  n'existait  pas, 
l'In.|iiiiiitiiin  voulait  prouver  qu'elle  en  etait  capable.  Elle 
ord<)nna  des  reclierches  pour  d^couvrir  s'il  n'y  avait  pas 
dans  Venise  quelque  exilt  au-dessus  du  conimun,  qui  eOt 
roinpu  son  ban  ;  ensulle  un  des  patriciens  qui  etaient  aux 
gages  du  tribunal,  re^ut  la  mission  d'assassiner  ce  malheu- 
r>ux,  et  I'ordre  de  s'en  vanter,  en  disant  qu'il  s'^tait  porxt  i 
let  acte,  i>arce  que  ce  banni  6taU  I'agrnt  d'un  ministre 
f  banger,  et  avait  clierchi  &  le  cormmpre." — "  Remar- 
(Qons,"  adds  M.  Dam,  "  que  ceci  n'est  pas  une  simple 
anecdote ;  c'esi  une  mission  projet^e,  AiMhitie,  ^crite 
d'avance ;  une  rigle  de  conduile  tracie  par  des  hommee 
graves  i  leiirs  successeura,  et  consignee  dans  des  statuta." 

Tbe  cases,  in  which  aasassinatiob  is  ordered  b)  these  Stat- 
ktee,  ara  as  follow :  - 


How  all  who  know  —  and  where  is  he  unknown 
To  what  far  region  have  his  songs  not  ftown. 
Like  Psapuon's  birds,"  speaking  their  mastcr'i 

name. 
In  ev'ry  language,  syllabled  by  Fame  ?  — 
How  all,  who've  felt  the  various  spells  combin'd 
Within  the  circle  of  that  master  mind, — 
Like  s;;ells,  deriv'd  from  many  a  star,  and  met 
Together  in  soiue  wond'  rous  amulet,  — 
Would  burn  to  know  when  first  the  Light  awok« 
In  his  young  soul,  —  and  if  the  gleams  that  broka 
From  that  Aurora  of  his  genius,  rais'd 
Most  pain  or  bliss  in  those  on  whom  they  blaz'd ; 
Would  love  to  trace  th'  unfolding  of  that  power, 
Which  hath  grown  ampler,  grander,  every  hour; 
And  fed,  in  watching  o'er  his  first  advance. 

As  did  th'  Egyptian  traveller,*  when  he  stood 
By  the  young  Nile,  and  fathom'd  with  his  lanca 

The  first  small  fountains  of  that  mighty  flood 

They,  too,  who,  'mid  the  scornful  thoughts  that 
dweU 
In  his  rich  fancy,  tinging  all  its  streams, 
As  if  the  Star  of  Bitterness,  which  fell 

On  earth  of  old,*  had  touch'd  them  with  ita 
beams,  — 
Can  track  a  spirit,  which,  though  driven  to  hato, 
From  Nature's  hands  came  kind,  affectionate  ; 
And  which,  ev'n  now,  struck  as  it  is  with  blight, 
Comes  out,  at  times,  in  lovcjs  own  native  light ; 
How  gladly  all,  who've  watch'd  these  strug- 
gling rays 
Of  a  bright,  ruin'd  spirit  through  his  lays. 
Would  here  inquire,  as  from  his  own  frank  lips, 
What    desolating    griei,   what  wrongs    had 
driven 

tliem  fly  away  in  various  directions :  whence  the  proverb 
"  Psaphonis  aves," 

*  Bruce. 

*  "And  the  name  of  the  star  is  called  Wonnwixtd,  and 
the  third  part  of  the  waters  became  wormwood."  —  Rev.  vii 


"  Un  ouvrier  de  I'arsenal,  un  chef  de  ce  qu'on  ap|)elle 
parmi  les  marins  le  nienstrance,  passait-il  au  sen'ice  d'una 
puisuance  ^Irangire  :  il  fallail  le  faire  a.st<ass-°ner,  rairtuut  ii 
c'etait  un  houinic  riputi  brave  et  habile  dans  sa  profe*' 
sion."    (.^rL  3,  de^  StatuU.) 

"  Avait-il  commis  quelque  action  qu'on  ne  Jugeait  pas  i 
propos  de  punir  juridiquement,  on  devait  le  faire  empoison 
ner."    (ArL  14.) 

"  Un  artisan  i)assait-il  &  I'ttranger  en  y  ezportant  quelqus 
proc^de  de  I'industrie' nationale:  c'itait  encore  un  crime 
capital,  que  la  lui  inconnue  ordonnait  de  punir  par  un  ai(i>as. 
sinat."    (Art  2(J.) 

The  facility  with  which  they  got  rid  of  their  Duke  of  Bed 
fords,  Lord  Fitzwilliams,  &.c  was  admirable :  it  was  thus :  - 

"  Le  patricicn  qui  se  permettalt  le  nioindre  pmpos  conin 
le  gouveniement,  itait  adnion^ti  deux  Ibis,  el  &  U  (loUJi 
noy4  eonuiu  incorrigible."    (Art.  to.) 


508 


RHYMES  ON   THE  ROAD. 


That  noble  nature  into  cold  eclipse ; 

Like  some  fair  orb  that,  once  a  sun  in  heaven, 
And  born,  not  only  to  surprise,  but  cheer 
With  warmth  and  lustre  all  within  its  sphere, 
Is  now  so  quench'd,  that  of  its  grandeur  lasts 
Nought,  but  the  wide,  cold  shadow  which  it 
costs  ! 

Erentful  volume  !  whatsoe'er  the  change 

Of  scene  and  clime  —  th'  adventures,  bold  and 

strange  — 
TJie  griefs  —  the  frailties,  but  too  frankly  told  — 
The  loves,  the  feuds  thy  pages  may  unfold. 
If  Truth  with  half  so  prompt  a  hand  unlocks 

His  virtues  as  his  failings,  we  shall  find 
The  record  there  of  friendships,  held  like  rocks. 
And   enmities,   like   sun-touch'd   snow,  re- 

sign'd ; 
Of  fealty,  cherish'd  without  change  or  chill. 
In  those  who  serv'd  him,  young,  and  serve  him 

still ; 
Of  generous  aid,  giv'n  with  that  noiseless  art 
AVhich  wakes  not  pride,  to  many  a  wounded 

heart ; 
Of  acts  —  but,  no  —  not  from  himself  must  aught 
Of  the  bright  features  of  his  life  be  sought. 
While  they,  who  court  the  world,  like  Milton's 

cloud,' 
"  Turn  forth  their  silver  lining  "  on  the  crowd, 
This  gifted  Being  wraps  himself  in  night ; 

And,  keeping  all  that  softens,  and  adorns, 
And  gilds  his  social  nature  hid  from  sight. 
Turns  but  its  darkness  on  a  world  he  scorns. 


EXTRACT  Vm. 


Venice. 


female  Beauty  at  Venice.  —  JVo  longer  what  it  was  in  the 
T\me  of  Titian.  —  His  Mistress.  —  Various  Forms  in  which 
he  has  painted  her.  —  Venus.  —  Divine  and  profane  Love. — 
La  Fragilitd  d'.^more.  —  Paul  Veronese.  —  His  Women.  — 
Marriage  of  Cana. — Character  if  Italian  Beauty.  —  Ra- 
fhoil  Fomarina.  —  Modesty. 

TuY  brave,  thy  learn'd,  have  pass'd  away  : 
fb  y  beautiful !  —  ah,  where  are  they  ? 

I  «  Did  a  sable  cloud 

Tom  forth'het  s  Iver  lining  on  tlie  night?  " 
Comut. 

*  In  the  Tribune  at  Florence. 

«  In  the  Palazzo  Pitti. 

4  Alludes  particularly  to  the  portrait  of  her  in  the  Sciarra 
lollection  at  Rome,  where  the  look  of  mournful  reproach  in 
those  full,  shadowy  eyes,  as  if  she  had  been  unjustly  accused 
if  something  wrong,  is  exquisite. 

i  The  fine  pictur*  in  the  Palazzo  Borghese,  called  (it  ia 


The  forms,  the  faces,  that  once  shone, 

Models  of  grace,  in  Titian's  eye, 
"Where  are  they  now  ?  while  flowers  live  on 

In  ruin'd  places,  why,  O  why 

Must  Beauty  thus  with  Glory  die  ? 
That  maid,  whose  lips  would  still  have  moT'd, 

Could    art   have    breath'd  a  spirit   thiou^ 
them; 
"Whose  varying  charms  hei  artist  lov'd 

More  fondly  every  time  he  drew  them, 
(So  oft  beneath  his  touch  they  pass'd, 
Each  eemblance  fairer  than  the  last)  ; 
Wearing  each  shape  that  Fancy's  range 

Offers  to  Love —  yet  still  the  one 
Fair  idol,  seen  through  every  change, 

Like  facets  of  some  orient  stone,  — 

In  each  the  same  bright  image  shown. 
Sometimes  a  "Venus,  unarray'd 

But  in  her  beauty  '  —  sometimes  deck'd 
In  costly  raiment,  as  a  maid 

That  kings  might  for  a  thr(>|ie  select.' 
Now  high  and  proud,  like  one  who  thought 
The  world  should  at  her  feet  be  brought ; 
Now,  with  a  look  reproachful,  sad,*  — 
Unwonted  look  from  brow  so  glad ;  — 
And  telling  of  a  pain  too  deep 
For  tongue  to  speak  or  eyes  to  weep. 
Sometimes,  through  allegory's  veil, 

In  double  semblance  seen  to  shine, 
Telling  a  strange  and  mystic  tale 

Of  Love  Profane  and  Love  Divine  •  — 
Akin  in  features,  but  in  heart 
As  far  as  earth  and  heav'n  apart. 
Or  else,  (by  quaint  device  to  prove 
The  frailty  of  all  worldly  love) 
Holding  a  globe  of  glass,  as  thin 

As  air-blown  bubbles,  in  her  hand, 
With  a  young  Love  confin'd  therein, 

Whose  wings  seem  waiting  to  expand  — 
And  telling,  by  her  anxious  eyes, 
That,  if  that  frail  oft  breaks,  he  flies  !  • 

Thou,  too,  with  touch  magnificent, 
Paul  of  "Verona  !  —  where  are  they, 

The  oriental  forms,^  that  lent 
Thy  canvas  such  a  bright  array  ? 

not  easy  to  say  why)  "  Sacred  and  Profane  Love,"  i\  wliiefe 
the  two  figures,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  fountain,  ue  evi- 
dently portraits  of  the  same  person. 

«  This  fanciful  allegory  is  the  subject  of  a  picture  by  Tit 
ian  in  the  possession  of  the  Marquis  Cambian  at  Turin 
whose  collection,  though  small,  contains  some  beautifu. 
specimens  of  all  the  great  masters. 

1  As  Paul  Veronese  gave  but  little  into  the  beau  ideal,  hit 
women  may  be  regarde(V  as  pretty  close  imitations  of  tim 
living  models  which  Venice  afforded  in  liis  tims. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  RdB. 


»0» 


Noble  and  gorgeous  dames,  whose  dress 
Becms  part  of  their  own  loveliness  ; 
Like  the  sun's  drapery,  which,  at  eve, 
The  floating  clouds  around  him  weave 
Of  light  they  from  himself  receive  ! 
Where  is  there  now  the  living  face 

Like  those  that,  in  thy  nuptial  throng,* 
By  their  superb,  voluptuous  grace, 
Hake  us  forget  the  time,  the  place, 

The  holy  guests  they  smile  among,  — 
TUl,  in  that  feast  of  heaven-sent  wine, 
We  see  no  miracles  but  thine. 

If  e'er,  except  in  Painting's  dream, 

There  bloom'd  such  beauty  here,  'tis  gone,  • 
Gone,  like  the  face  that  in  the  stream 

Of  Ocean  for  an  instant  shone, 
When  Venus  at  that  mirror  gave 
A  Inst  look,  ere  she  left  the  wave. 
And  though,  among  the  crowded  ways, 
We  oft  are  startled  by  the  blaze 
Of  eyes  that  pass,  with  fitful  light, 
Like  fireflies  on  the  wing  at  night,* 
'Tis  not  that  nobler  beauty,  given 
To  show  how  angels  look  in  heaven. 
Ev'n  in  its  shape  most  pure  and  fair, 

'Tis  Beauty,  with  but  half  her  zone,  — 
All  that  can  warm  the  Sense  is  there. 

But  the  Soul's  deeper  charm  is  flown :  — 
'Tis  Raphael's  Fomarina,  —  warm, 

Luxuriant,  arch,  but  unrefln'd  ; 
A  flower,  round  which  the  noontide  swarm 

Of  young  Desires  may  buzz  and  wind, 
But  where  true  Love  no  treasure  meets. 
Worth  hoarding  in  his  hive  of  sweets. 

Ah  no,  —  for  this,  and  for  the  hue 

Upon  the  rounded  check,  which  tells 
How  fresh,  within  the  heart,  this  dew 

Of  Love's  unriflcd  sweetness  dwells. 
We  must  go  bai-k  to  our  own  Isles, 

Where  Modesty,  which  here  but  gives 
A  rare  and  transient  grace  to  smiles. 

In  the  heart's  holy  centre  lives  ; 
And.  thence,  as  from  her  throne  difl'uses 

O'er  thoughts  and  looks  so  bland  a  reign, 
rbat  not  a  thouglit  or  feeling  loses 

Ita  Qreslmess  in  that  gentle  train. 


1  71i«  Marriage  of  Cans. 
"  Ceruin  it  is  (as  Arthur  Toang  truly  and   feelingly 
a  8)  one  non  and  tfaen  meets  witli  terrible  eyes  In  Italr." 


EXTRACT  a. 

Venice 

The  EnilUk  U  he  met  intk  every  wkere.—  Jlipe  and  Tkrtaa 
needle  Street  —  The  SimploH  and  tke  Stocks.— Raft  for  tm* 
elUnff.  —  Blue  Stockings  among  tJu  ITaJkabees.  —  Ptr*sik 
and  Pyramids  —Mrs.  Hopkins  and  tke  Wall  (ff  Ckt** 

And  Is  there  then  no  earthly  place. 

Where  we  can  rest,  in  dream  Elysian, 
Without  some  curs' d,  round  English  fwje. 

Popping  up  near,  to  break  the  vision  ? 
'Mid  northern  lakes,  'raid  southern  vines, 

Unholy  cits  we're  doom'd  to  meet ; 
Nor  highest  Alps  nor  Apennines 

Are  sacred  from  Threadneedle  Street  I 

If  up  the  Simplon's  path  we  wind, 
Fancj'ing  we  leave  this  world  behind, 
Such  pleasant  sounds  salute  one's  ear 
As  — "  Baddish  news  from  'Change,  my  dear 
•*  The  Funds  —  (phew,  curse  this  ugly  hill) 
"  Are  lowering  fast —  (what,  higher  still  ?  — 
"And —  zooks,  we're  mounting   up  to   he«»i 

en!)  — 
"  Will  soon  be  down  to  sixty-seven." 

Go  were  wo  may  —  rest  where  we  will 

Eternal  London  haunts  us  still. 

The  trash  of  Almack's  or  Fleet  Ditch  - 

And  scarce  a  pin's  head  difference  whicM    - 

Mixes,  though  even  to  Greece  we  nin. 

With  every  rill  from  Helicon  1 

And,  if  this  rage  for  travelling  lasts, 

If  Cockneys,  of  all  sects  and  castes. 

Old  maidens,  aldermen,  and  squires. 

Will  leave  their  puddings  and  coal  Arts, 

To  gape  at  things  in  foreign  lands. 

No  soul  among  them  understands ; 

If  Blues  desert  their  coteries, 

To  show  off'  'mong  the  Wahabees ; 

If  neither  sex  nor  age  controls. 

Nor  fear  of  Mamelukes  forbids 
Young  ladies,  with  pink  parasols, 

To  glide  among  the  Pyramids  •  • 
Why,  then,  farewell  all  hope  to  find 
A  spot,  that's  free  from  London-kind  I 
Who  knows,  if  to  the  West  we  roam. 
But  we  may  find  some  Bltic  "  at  home  ' 

Among  the  Blacks  of  Carolina  — 
Or,  flying  to  the  Eastward,  see 
Some  Mrs.  Hopkins,  taking  tea 

And  toast  upon  the  Wall  of  Chin*  I 


*  It  was  pink  spencers,  I  believe,  ttiat  tlM  taaputlst 
of  the  Prenrh  traveller  conjured  up. 


ilA 


RHYMES   ON   THE   ROAD. 


EXTRACT  X. 

Mantua 
Vertet  ofHijipolyta  to  her  Husband. 

Ihey  tell  me  thou'rt  the  favor'd  guest  * ' 

Of  every  fair  and  brilliant  throng  ; 
No  wit,  like  thine,  to  wake  the  jest, 

No  voice  like  thine,  to  breathe  the  song. 
And  none  could  guess,  so  gay  thou  art, 
riiat  thou  and  I  are  far  apart. 
Alas,  alas,  how  different  flows. 

With  thee  and  me  the  time  away. 
Not  that  I  wish  thee  sad,  heaven  knows  — 

Still,  if  thou  canst,  be  light  and  gay ; 
I  only  know  that  without  thee 
The  sun  himself  is  dark  foi\  mef 

Do  I  put  on  the  jewels  rare 

Thou  'st  always  lov'd  to  see  me  wear  ? 

Do  I  perfume  the  locks  that  thou 

So  oft  hast  braided  o'er  my  brow. 

Thus  (leck'd,  through  festive  crowds  to  run^ 

And  all  th'  assembled  world  to  see,  — 
All  bu*;  the  one,  the  absent  one, 

Worth  more  than  present  worlds  to  me  ! 
No,  nothing  cheers  this  widow'd  heart  — 
My  only  joy,  from  thee  apart. 
From  thee  thyself,  is  sitting  hours 

And  days,  before  thy  pictur'd  form  — 
That  dream  of  thee,  which  Raphael's  powers 

Have  made  with  all  but  lifebreath  warm  ! 
And  as  I  smile  to  it,  and  say 
The  words  I  speak  to  thee  in  play, 
I  fancy  from  their  silent  frame, 
Those  eyes  end  lips  give  back  the  same  ; 
And  still  I  gaze,  and  still  they  keep 
Smiling  thus  on  me  —  till  I  weep  ! 
Our  little  boy,  too,  knows  it  well, 

For  there  I  lead  him  every  day, 
And  teach  his  lisping  lips  to  tell 

The  name  of  one  that's  far  away. 
Forgive  me,  love,  but  thus  alone 
My  time  is  checr'd,  while  thou  art  gone. 


I  ttiiie  fenint  l»tus  convivia  Itcta 

Et  celebras  leiitis  otia  mista  jocis ; 
Viit  cithara  astivuin  attenuas  cantuquo  calorem 

Hei  niihi,  qnarii  dispar  nunc  niea  vita  ture  ! 
Nee  niilii  displiccant  qua;  sunt  tibi  grata ;  sed  ipsa  Mt' 

Te  sine,  lux  oculis  pcne  inimica  tneis. 
Nod  auro  aut  gemml  caput  exornare  nitenti 

iMe  juvat,  lul  Arabo  spargere  odore  couias: 
Mo    Celebrex  ludos  fastis  spectare  diebus. 


EXTRACT  XI. 

Florence. 

No  —  'tis  not  the  region  where  Love's  to  b« 
found  — 
They  have  bosoms  that  sigh,  they  havo  glancea 
that  rove. 
They  have  language  a  Sappho's  own  lip  might 
resound. 
When   she  warbled   her   be«-t  —  but  they"-*-? 
nothing  like  Love.  i 

Nor  is't  that  pure  sentiment  only  they  want, 
Which  Hoav'n  for  the  mUd  and  the  tranqtiL 
hath  made  — 
Calm,  wedded  affection,  that  home-rooted  plant. 
Which  sweetens  seclusion,  and  smiles  in  the 
shade  -, 

That  feeling,  which,  after  long  years  have  gone 

by, 

Remains,  like  a  portrait  we've  sat  for  in  youth, 
Where,   ev'n   though  the  flifsh  of  the  colors 

may  fly. 
The  features  still  live,  in  their  first  smiling 

truth ; 

That  union,  where  all  that  in  Woman  is  kind. 

With  all  that  in  Man  most  ennoblingly  towerb, 
Grow  wrcath'd    into    one  —  like   the   colunn 
combin'd 
Of  the  strength  of  the  shaft  and  the  capital's 
flowers. 

Of  this  —  bear  ye  witness,  ye  wives  every  where. 
By  the  Aiixo,  the  Po,  by  all  Italy's  streams  — 

Of  this  heart-wedded  love,  so  delicious  to  share, 
Not  a  husband  hath  even  one  glimpse  in  his 
dreams. 

But  it  is  not  this,  only ;  —  born  full  of  the  light 

Of  a  sun,  from  whose  fount  the  luxuriant 

festoons 

Of  these  beaiitiful  valleys  drink  lustre  so  brigbi. 

That,  beside  him,  our  suns  of  the  north  wi 

but  moons,  — 


Sola  tuos  vultus  rcferens  Raphaelis  image 

Picta  manu,  curas  allcvat  usque  ineas. 
Huic  ego  delicias  f'acio,  arrideoque  jocorque, 

Alloquor  et  tanqtiam  reddere  verba  queat 
Assensu  ii:ituque  milii  stepe  ilia  videtur 

Dicer.-,  /elle  aliquid  et  tua  verba  logui. 
Agnoscil  balbcque  patrciii  puer  ore  salutat 

Hoc  sulor  Ion  gas  decipiuque  dies. 


RHOIES   ON   THE   ROAD 


611 


We  mi^ht  fancy,  at  least,  like  their  climate  they 
bum'd  ; 
And  that  I>ove,  though  unus'd  in  this  region 
of  spring, 
To  be  thus  to  a  tame  Ilousehold  Deity  tum'd. 
Would  yet  be  all  soul,  when  abroad  on  the 
wing. 

A  vl  there  maj,   be,  there  are  those  explosions 
of  heart. 
Which  burst,   when  the    senses    hare  first 
caught  the  flame ; 
Btieh  fits  of  the  blood  as  those  climates  impart, 
Where  Love  is  a  sunstroke,  that  maddens  the 
frame. 

I!ut  that  Passion,  which  springs  in  the  depth  of 
the  soul ; 
^^^^osc  beginnings  are  virginly  pure  as  the 
source 
Of  some  small  mountain  rivulet,  destin'd  to  roll* 
As  a  torrent,  ere  long,  losing  peace  in  its 
course  — 

^  course,  to  which  Modesty's  struggle  but  lends 
\  more  headlong  descent,  without  chance  of 
recall ; 
Hut  which  Modesty  ev'n  to  the  last  edge  attends. 
And,  then,  throws  a  halo  of  tears  round  its 
fall ! 
This  exquisite  Passion  —  ay,  exquisite,  even 

'Mid  the  ruin  its  madness  too  often  hath  made. 
As  it  keeps,  even  tlien,  a  bright  trace  of  the 
heaven, 
niat   heaven  of  Virtue  from  which  it  has 
stray'd  — 

riiis  entirencssof  love,  which  can  only  be  found. 
Where  Woman,  like  something  that's  holy, 
watch'd  over, 
And  fcnc'd,  from  her  childhood,  with  purity 
round, 
C^1mes,  body  and  soizl,  fresh  as  Spring,  to  a 
lover  ! 

Where  not  an  eje  answers,  where  not  a  hand 
presses, 
^  Till  spirit  with  s^nrit  in  sj-mpathy  move  ; 
\nd  the  Senses,  asleep  in  their  sacred  recesses. 
Can  only  be  reach'd  through  the  temple  of 
Ix)ve  !  — 

lliis  perfection  of  Pasnon  —  how  can  it  be  found, 
WTiere  the  mystery  nature  hath  hung  round 
the  lie 


By  which  souls  are  together  attracted  and  bouno 
Is  laid  open,  forever,  to  heart,  ear,  and  eye ;  — 

WTiere  nought  of  that  innocent  doubt  can  exist 
That  ignorance,  even  than  knG\\  ledge  more 
bright. 
Which  circles  the  young,  like  the  mom's  sunnT 
mist. 
And  curtains  them  round  in  their  own  luitirt 
Ught ; — 

"Where  Experience  leaves  nothing  for  Love  to 
reveal. 
Or  for  Fancy,  in  visions,  to  gleam  o'er  the 
thought ; 
But  the  truths  which,  alone,  we  would  die  to 
conceal 
From  the  maiden's  young  heart,  are  the  only 
ones  taught. 

No,  no,  'tis  not  here,  howsoever  we  sigh. 

Whether  purely  to   Hymen's  ofie  planet  yrr 
pray. 

Or  adore,  like  Sabxans,  each  light  of  Love's  sk  -, 
Here  is  not  the  region,  to  fix  or  to  stray. 

For  faithless  in  wedlock,  in  gallantry  gross, 

Without  honor  to  guard,  or  reserve  to  restrain, 
]Vhat  have  they,  a  husband  can  mourn  as  a  loss  i 
IVhat  have  they,  a  lover  can  prize  as  a  gain  ? 


EXTRACT  XII. 

Florciic* 

Muxicin  Italy.  —  Di»appointr4  by  it.  —  ReeoUtcliona  of  »lAi 
Times  and  Friends. —  Daltnn. —  Sr  ./uftn  Sterenson.  •— JH 
Daughter.  — Musical  Eeeninffs  together 


If  it  be  true  that  Music  reigns, 

Su])reme,  in  Italy's  soft  shades, 
'Tis  like  that  Harmony,  so  famous. 
Among  the  spheres,  which.  He  of  Samos 
Declar'd,  had  such  transcendent  merit, 
That  not  a  soul  on  earth  could  hear  it ; 
For,  far  as  I  have  come  —  from  I^akcs, 
Whose  sleep  the  Tramontana  breaks. 
Through  Milan,  and  that  land,  which  gar* 

The  Hero  of  the  rainbow  vest '  — 
By  Mincio's  banks,  and  by  that  wave,* 

Which  made  Verona's  bard  so  blest 
Places,  that  (like  the  Attic  shore- 

Which  rung  back  music,  wnen  the  se* 

I  Bergimo  —  the  birthplace,  ft  to  f^i.of  llMlaqnlB 
*  The  Lago  di  Qanla. 


512 


EHYJCES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


Struck  on  its  marge)  shoiild  be,  all  o'er, 

Thrilling  alive  with  melody  — 
I've  heard  no  music  —  not  a  note 
Of  such  sweet  native  airs  as  float, 
In  my  own  land,  among  the  throng. 
And  «peak  our  nation's  soul  for  song. 

Nay,  ev'n  in  higher  walks,  where  Art 
Performs,  as  'twere,  the  gardener's  part. 
And  richer,  if  not  sweeter,  makes 
The  flowers  she  from  the  wild  hedge  takes  — 
Ev'n  there,  no  voice  hath  charm'd  my  ear, 

No  taste  hath  won  my  perfect  praise. 
Like  thine,  dear  friend'  —  long,  truly  dear  — 

Thine,  and  thy  lov'd  Olivia's  lays. 
She,  always  beautiful,  and  growing 

Still  more  so  every  note  she  sings  — 
Like  an  inspir'd  young  Sibyl,'  glowing 

With  her  own  bright  imaginings  ! 
And  thou,  most  worthy  to  be  tied 

In  music  to  her,  as  in  love, 
Breathing  that  language  by  her  side. 

All  other  language  far  above, 
Eloquent  Song  —  whose  tones  and  words 
In  every  heart  find  answering  chords  ! 

How  happy  once  the  hours  we  pass'd. 

Singing  or  listening  all  day  long. 
Till  Time  itself  seem'd  chang'd,  at  last. 

To  music,  and  we  liv'd  in  song ! 
Turning  the  leaves  of  Haydn  o'er. 

As  quick,  beneath  her  master  hand. 
They  open'd  aU  their  brilliant  store, 

Like  chambers,  touch'd  by  fairy  wand  ; 
Or  o'er  the  page  of  Mozart  bending, 

Now  by  his  airy  warblings  cheer' d. 
Now  in  his  mournful  Requiem  blending 

Voices,  through  which  the  heart  was  heard. 

Aiid  still,  to  lead  our  evening  choir. 
Was  He  invok'd,  thy  lov'd-one's  Sire  *  — 
He  who,  if  aught  of  grace  there  be 

In  the  wild  notes  I  WTite  or  sing, 
Krst  smooth'd  their  links  of  harmony. 

And  lent  them  charms  they  did  not  bring ;  — 
He,  of  the  gentlest,  simplest  heart. 
With  whom,  employ'd  in  his  sweet  art, 

1  Edward  Tuite  Dalton,  the  first  hufband  of  Sir  John 
Bteveiison's  daughter,  the  late  Marchioness  of  HeadTort. 

s  Such  as  those  of  Domenichino  in  the  Palazzo  Borghese 
U  the  Capitol,  &c. 

•  Sir  John  Stevenson. 

*  The  "  Conjuration  de  Nicolas  Gabrini,  dit  de  Rienzi," 
br  X>*  'Ves'iit  De  Ccrceau,  is  chiefly  taken  from  the  much 


(That  art,  which  gives  this  world  of  ouw 

A  notion  how  they  speak  in  heaven,) 
I've  pass'd  more  bright  and  charmed  hours 

Than  all  earth's  wisdom  could  have  given. 
O  happy  days,  O  early  friends. 

How  Life,  since  then,  hath  lost  its  flowers  ; 
But  5'et  —  though  Time  some  foliage  rends, 

The  stem,  the  Friendship,  still  is  ours ; 
And  long  may  it  endure,  as  green, 
And  fresh  as  it  hath  always  been  ! 

How  I  have  wander' d  from  my  theme ! 

But  where  is  he,  that  could  return 
To  such  cold  subjects  from  a  dream. 

Through  which  these  best  of  feelings  bum  ?  — 
Not  all  the  works  of  Science,  Art, 

Or  Genius  in  this  world  are  worth 
One  genuine  sigh,  that  from  the  heart 

Friendship  or  Love  draws  freshly  forth. 


EXTRACT  Xm. 


Rome. 


R^eetions  on  reading  De  Certeau's  Aeeownt  of  the  Conspirit. 
cy  of  Rlenii,  in  1347.* — The  Meeting  of  the  Conspirator* 
on  the  J^ght  of  the  I9'A  of  May.  — Their  Procession  in  tk* 
Morning  to  the  Capitol.  —  Riemi's  Speech. 

'TwAS  a  proud  moment  —  ev'n  to  hear  the  words 

Of  Truth  and  Freedom  'mid  these  temples 
breath'd, 
And  see,  once  more,  the  Forum  shine  witk 
Bwords,^ 

In  the  Republic's  sacred  name  unsheath'd  — 
That  glimpse,  that  vision  of  a  brighter  day 

For  his  dear  RoMi5,  must  to  a  Roman  be. 
Short  as  it  was,  worth  ages  pass'd  away 

In  the  dull  lapse  of  hopeless  slavery. 

'Twas  on  a  night  of  May,  beneath  that  moon, 
Which  had,  through  many  an  age,  seen  Tims 

untune 
The  strings  of  this  Great  Empire,  till  it  feU 
From  his  rude  hands,  a  broken,  silent  shell  — 
The  sound  of  the  church  clock,*  near  AnRiAN's 

Tomb, 
Summon' d  the  warriors,  who  had  risen  for  Romb, 


more  authentic  work  of  Fortiflocca  on  the  same  subject 
Rienzi  was  the  son  of  a  laundress. 

6  It  is  not  easy  to  discover  what  church  is  meant  by  Du 
Cerceau  here :  — "  II  fit  crier  dans  les  rues  de  Rome,  k  son 
de  trompe,  que  chacun  eut  i  se  trouver,  sans  armes,  la  niu. 
du  lendemain,  dix  neuvifeme,  dans  l'6glise  du  chElteau  d< 
Saint- Ange,  au  son  de  la  cloche,  afln  de  pourvoir  »u  ttrw 
Etst" 


KHy?iES   ON    rHE   KOAD. 


613 


fo  n-ewt  unarm  rl.  --^ith  none  to  watch  them 

tbere, 
But  God's  own  eye,  —  and  pas3  tLe  cigtt  in 

prayer. 
Holy  beginning  of  a  holy  cause, 
When  heroes,  girt  for  Freedom's  combat,  pause 
Before  high  Heav'n,  and,  humble  in  their  might, 
Call  down  its  blesning  on  that  coming  fight. 

At  dawn,  in  arms,  went  forth  the  patriot  band  ; 
And,  as  the  breeze,  fre.'»h  from  the  Timer,  fann'd 
Their  gilded  gonfalons,  all  eyes  could  see 

The  palm  tree  there,  the  sword,  the  keys  of 
Heaven '  — 
Types  of  the  justice,  peace,  and  liberty, 

That  were  to  bless  them,  when  their  chains 
were  riven. 
On  to  the  Capitol  the  pageant  moVd, 

While  many  a  Shade  of  other  times,  that  still 
Around  that  grave  of  grandeur  sighing  rov'd, 

Hung  o'er  their  footsteps  up  the  Sacred  Hill, 
And  heard  its  mournful  echoes,  as  the  last 
High-minded  heirs  of  the  Republic  pass'd. 
'Twas  then  that  thou,  their  Tribune,*  (name, 

which  brought 
Dreams  of  lost  glory  to  each  patriot's  thought,) 
Didst,  with  a  spirit  Rome  in  vain  shall  seek 
To  wake  up  in  her  sons  again,  thus  speak  :  — 
•♦  Romans,  look  round  you —  on  this  sacred  place 

"  There  once  stood  shrines,  and  gods,  and 
godlike  men. 
••  What  see  you  now  ?  what  solitary  trace 

••  Is  left  of  all,  that  made  Rome's  glory  then  ? 
••  The  shrines  are  sunk,  the  Sacred  Mount  bercf 

"  Ev'n  of  its  name  —  and  nothing  now  remains 
"  But  the  deep  memory  of  that  glory,  left 

"  To  whet  our  pangs  and  aggravate  our  chains ! 
•'But  ihall  this  be  ? — our  sun   and  sky   the 
same,  — 

"  Tr»;nding  the  very  soil  our  fathers  trod, — 
"  What  withering  curse  hath  fall'n  on  soiil  and 
frame, 

♦'  What  visitation  hath  there  come  from  God, 

1  "  !,««•  gentilshotnines  conjures  portaicnt  dcvant  Iiii  tmis 
tlcndaru*.  Nicolan  UimllaU>,  siirm>iiiin6  U  bon  dUeur,  p<ir- 
Uit  le  premier,  qui  ^tait  de  coiileiir  rouge,  et  plus  grand  que 
le."  aiitre:<.  On  y  voyait  den  caractirc.*)  ri'or  avec  une  feinme 
as^i.oe  sur  deux  lions,  tenant  d'line  main  le  globe  du  monde, 
M  lie  I 'autre  une  Palme  pour  rcpr6.senter  la  ville  de  Rome. 
C'it.iit  le  Gonfalon  de  /'  Liberti.  Ijt  second, k  fondx  blanc, 
ivcr,  un  Sl  Paul  tenant  de  la  droite  une  Epie  nue  et  de  la 
faiiche  la  couronnedo  Justire,  ilait  |Kirt^  par  Etienne  Mag- 
Dacuccia,  i)otnire  apostolique.  Dans  le  troi^iimc,  St.  Pierre 
avait  en  main  Us  clefs  de  la  Concorde  et  de  la  Paix.  Tout 
cel.a  in^iinuait  le  dexsein  de  Ricnzi,  qui  6tait  de  rAtablir  la 
Kbert*  la  iustice  cl  la  paix."—  Du  Cebceau,  liv.  ii. 

t  RjenTi 

6C 


"  To  b*ast  our  strength,  and  rot  us  into  slaves, 
"  Here,  on  oui  great  forefathers'  glorious  graves 
"  It  cannot  be  —  rise  up,  ye  Mighty  Dead,  — 

"  If  we,  the  living,  are  too  weak  to  crush 
"These  tyrant  piieutd,  that  o'er  your  empire 
tread, 
"  Till  all  but  Koinituit  at  Romi  s  tameneai 
blush! 

"  Happy,  Palmtua,  in  thy  desert  domes, 

"  Where  only  date  trees  sigh  and  serpents  hifs* 
'•  And  thou,  whose  piilars  are  but  silent  homes 
"  For  the  stork's  brood,  superb  Peiwepolis  ! 
"  Thrice  happy  both,  that  your  extinguish'd  race 
"  Have  left  no  embers  —  no  half-living  trace  — 
"  No  slaves,  to  crawl  around  the  once  proud 

spot, 
"  Till  past  renown  in  present  shame's  forgot. 
"  While  Rome,  the  Queen  of  all  whose  ver? 
wrecks, 
"  If  lone  and  lifeless  through  a  desert  hurl'd, 
"  Would  wear  more  true  magnificer  ce  than  decks 
«•  Th'  assembled  thrones   of  all  th'  existing 
world  — 
"Rome,  Rome  alone,  is  haunted,  stain'd  and 
curs'd 
♦'  Through  every  spot  her  princely  Tibeb  lave». 
'•  By  living  human  things  —  the  deadliest,  worst, 
"  This  earth  engenders  —  tyrants  and  theii 
slaves  ! 
"  And   we  —  O  shame  !  —  we,  who  have  poT* 
dcr'd  o'er 
"  The  patriot's  lesson  and  the  poet's  lay ; ' 
'•  Have  mounted  up  the  streams  of  ancient  lore, 
"  Tracking  our  country's  glories  all  the  way  — 
"  Ev'n  we  have  tamely,  basely  kiss'd  the  ground 
"  Before  that  Papal  Power,  —  that  Ghost  of 
Her, 
*•  The    World's     Imperial    Mistress  —  sittii  j,, 
crown' d 
"  And  ghastly,  on  her  moulderinj(  sepulchrt  !  * 
"  But  this  is  past :  —  too  long  have  iordly  priests 
"  And  priestly  lords  led  us,  with  all  oiu  pnif 

»  The  fine  Canzone  of  Petrarch,  beginning  "  Spirli'  gei 
til,"  Ih  supposed,  \<y  Voltaire  and  others,  to  have  bn-n  «.d- 
drcssed  to  Rienzi ;  but  there  is  much  more  evidence  of  tu 
having  been  written,  as  Gingueni  asserts,  to  the  young  8(»- 
phcr.  Colonna,  on  his  being  created  n  Senator  of  Roin«. 
That  Petrarch,  however,  wa.<i  filled  with  high  and  patiiutw 
hopes  by  l<)e  first  measures  of  this  extraordinary  man,  a|> 
pearii  from  one  of  his  letters,  quo'ed  by  Du  Cerceau,  whert 
he  says,  —  "  Pour  tout  dire,  en  un  mot,  J'attcste,  non  comma 
Iccteur,  mats  comme  t^moin  oculaire,  quil  nous  a  rament 
le  jiiHtice,  la  paix,  la  bonne  foi,  la  s^curit^,  et  tous  lea  autre* 
vestiges  de  llpe  d'or." 

*  This  image  i*  borrowed  from  Hobbea,  wboae  won:*  •f^ 
aa  near  an  I  can  recollect :  —  "  For  what  U  the  Papacr.  tail 


514 


RHYMES   ON  THE  ROAD. 


"  Withering  about  us  —  like  devoted  beasts, 
"  Dragg'd  to  the  shrine,  witl   faded  garlands 

tied. 
'  'Tis  o'er  —  the  davm  of  our  deihrerance  breaks ! 
"  Up  from  his  sleep  of  centuries  awakes 
■'  Tlie  Genius  of  the  Old  Republic,  free 
"  As  first  he  stood,  in  chainless  majesty, 
"  And    sends    his    voice    through  ages  yet  to 

come, 
•*  Proclaiming    Rome,    Rome,    Rome,    Eternal 

Rome ! " 


EXTRACT  XIY. 


Rome. 


Traemtnt  of  a  Dream. — The  great  Painters  supposed  to  be 
Magicians.  — The  Beginnings  of  the  Art.  —Oildings  on  the 
O'.orics  and  Th-aperies.  —  Improvements  under  Oiotto,  !fc. 

—  The  first  Dawn  of  the  true  Style  in  Masaccio.—  Studied 
Uj  all  the  great  Artists  who  followed  him.  —  Leonardo  da 
Find,  with  whom  commenced  the  Golden  Age  of  Painting. 

—  His  Knowledge  of  Mathematics  and  of  Music.  —  His  fe- 
male Heads  all  like  each  other. —Triangular  Faces.—  Por- 
traits of  Mma  Lisa,  S[c.  —  Picture  of  Vanity  and  Modesty. 

—  His  chrfd'osuvre,  the  Last  Supper.  —  Faded  and  almost 
iffaced 

Ftix'd  vFith  the  wonders  I  had  seen, 

In  Rome's  stupendous  shrines  and  halls, 
I  felt  the  veil  of  sleep,  serene. 
Come  o'er  the  memory  of  each  scene, 

As  twilight  o'er  the  landscape  falls. 
Nor  was  it  slumber,  sound  and  deep, 

But  such  as  suits  a  poet's  rest  — 
That  sort  of  thin,  transparent  sleep. 

Through  which  his  daydreams  shine  the  best. 
Methought  upon  a  plain  I  stood, 

^Vhere  certain  wondrous  men,  'twas  said. 
With  strange,  miraculous  power  endu'd, 

Were  coming,  each  in  turn,  to  shed 
His  arts'  illusions  o'er  the  sight, 
And  call  up  miracles  of  light. 
The  sky  above  this  lonely  place, 

"^Vas  of  that  cold,  uncertain  hue, 
riie  canvas  wears,  ere,  warm'd  apace, 

Its  bright  creation  dawns  to  view. 


iJie  Ghost  of  the  Old  Roman  Empire,  sitting  crownert  on  the 
irave  thereof  ? " 

1  The  p:iintinf;s  of  those  artists  who  were  introduced  into 
Venice  and  Florence  from  Greece. 

2  Af  argaritone  of  Orezzo,  who  was  a  pupil  and  imitator 
■f  the  Greeks,  is  said  to  have  invented  this  art  of  gildinjt  the 
,>rnaments  of  pictures,  a  practice  which,  though  it  gave  way 
to  a  purer  taste  at  the  beginning  of  the  IGth  century,  was 
(till  occasionally  used  by  many  of  the  great  masters :  as  by 
Raphael  in  the  ornaments  of  the  Fomarina,  and  by  Rubens 
not  iinfrcquently  in  glories  and  flames. 

Cimabiic.  Giotto,  tc. 


But  soon  a  glimmer  from  the  cast 

Proclaim'd  the  first  enchantments  nigh  ; ' 
And  as  the  feeble  light  increas'd, 

Strange  figures  mov'd  across  the  sky. 
With  golden  glories  deck'd,  and  streaks 

Of  gold  among  their  garments'  dyes  ;  • 
And  life's  resemblance  ting'd  their  cheeks, 

But  nought  of  life  was  in  their  eyes ;  — 
Like  the  fresh-painted  Dead  one  meets, 
Borne  slow  along  Rome's  mournful  streets. 

But  soon  these  figures  pass'd  away  ; 

And  forms  succeeded  to  their  place. 
With  less  of  gold,  in  their  array. 

But  shining  with  more  natural  grace. 
And  all  could  see  the  charming  wands 
Had  pass'd  into  more  gifted  hands.' 

Among  these  visions  there  was  one,* 
Surpassing  fair,  on  which  the  sun, 
That  instant  risen,  a  beam  let  fall. 

Which  through    the    dusky  twilight  tifiL 
bled. 
And  reach'd  at  length,  the  spot  where  all 

Those  great  magicians  stood  assembled. 
And  as  they  tum'd  their  heads,  to  view 

The  shining  lustre,  I  could  trace 
The  bright  varieties  it  threw 

On  each  uplifted  studying  face ,  • 
While  many  a  voice  with  loud  acclaim, 
Call'd  forth,  "  Masaccio  '  as  the  name 
Of  him,  th'  Enchanter,  who  had  rais'd 
This  miracle,  on  which  all  gaz'd 

'Twas  daylight  now  —  the  sun  had  risen, 
From  out  the  dungeon  of  old  Night,  — 
Like  the  Apostle,  from  his  prison 

Led  by  the  Angel's  hand  of  light ; 
And  —  as  the  fetters,  when  that  ray 
Of  glory  reach'd  them,  dropp'd  nway," 
So  fled  the  clouds  at  touch  of  day ! 
Just  then,  a  bearded  sage  '  came  forth, 
"^^'^lo  oft  in  thoughtful,  dream  would  st&nu. 


<  The  works  of  Masaccio.  —  For  the  character  of  this 
powerful  and  original  genius,  see  Sir  loshua  Reynold'* 
twelfth  discourse.  His  celebrated  frescoes  are  in  the  church 
of  St.  Pietro  del  Carmine,  at  Florence. 

6  All  the  great  artists  studied,  and  many  of  them  bor 
rowed  from  Masaccio.  Several  figures  in  the  Cartoons  oj 
Raphael  are  taken,  with  but  little  alteration,  from  his  fres- 
coes. 

0  "  And  a  light  shined  in  the  pristn  .  .  .  and  Iiis  chain* 
fell  off  from  his  hands."  —  Acts. 

t  Leonardo  da  VincL 


Tc  trace  upon  the  dusky  earth 

Strange  learned  fibres  with  his  wand  ; ' 
A.nd  oft  he  took  the  silver  lute  • 

His  little  page  behind  him  boro, 
A.nd  wak'd  such  music  as,  when  mute. 

Left  in  the  soul  a  thirst  for  more  ! 

Meanwiile,  his  potent  spells  went  on, 

And  forms  and  feces,  that  from  out 
A  depth  of  shadow  mildly  shone, 

Were  in  the  soft  air  seen  about. 
I'hough    as    thick    as    midnight    star*   they 

beam'd. 
Yet  all  like  living  sisters  seem'd. 
So  close,  in  every  point,  resembling 

Each  other's  beauties  —  from  the  eyes 
Lucid  as  if  through  crystal  trembling, 

Yet  soft  as  if  suffused  with  sighs, 
To  the  long,  fawn-like  mouth,  and  chin. 

Lovely  tapering,  less  and  less. 

Till,  by  this  very  charm's  excess, 
Like  virtue  on  the  verge  of  sin. 

It  touch'd  the  bounds  of  ugliness 
Here  look'd  as  when  they  liv'd  the  shadss 
Of  some  of  Arno's  dark-ey'd  maids  — 
Such  maids  as  should  alone  live  on. 
In  drcnms  thus,  when  their  charms  are  gone  : 
Some  Mona  Ltsa,  on  w  hase  eyes 

A  painter  for  whole  years  might  gaze,' 
Nor  find  in  all  his  pallet's  dyes, 

One  that  could  even  approach  their  blaze  1 

Here  float  two  spirit  shapes,*  the  one. 
With  her  white  fingers  to  the  sun 
Outspread,  as  if  to  ask  his  ray 
^\^lcthcr  it  e'er  had  chanc'd  to  play 
On  lilies  half  so  fair  as  they  ! 
This  sclf-plcas'd  nymph,  was  Vanity  — 
And  by  her  side  another  smil'd. 

In  form  as  beautiful  as  she, 
But  wi*,h  that  air,  subdu'd  and  mild, 

That  still  reserve  of  purity. 
Which  is  to  beauty  like  the  haze 

Of  evening  to  some  sunny  view, 
Softening  such  charms  as  it  displays, 

1  His  treatUe  on  Mechanic*,  Optics,  See,  preserved  in  the 
Ainl>ro<ian  library  at  Milan. 

*  On  dit  que  LiunnnI  pnnit  pour  ia  premiere  fols  k  ia 
loiir  (le  Milan,  dajis  un  expice  de  concours  ourert  entre  les 
meiiletirs  joiieurs  de  lyre  d'ltalie.  II  se  prtsenta  avec  une 
\yre  de  tn  fa^nn,  construit  en  argent.  —  irutoire  de  l»  Ptin- 
mre  m  Ita'ie. 

s  He  18  raid  to  have  been  (bur  years  employed  upon  the 
Dcnr!<it  of  till!)  fair  Florentine,  without  l>eing  able,  afler  aii, 
m  come  up  to  his  idea  of  her  l>caMty. 

4  Vanity  and  Modesty  in  tb*  collecticii  of  Cardinal  Feacb, 


And  veiling  others  in  that  hue. 
Which  fancy  only  can  see  through  ! 

This  phantom  nymph,  who  could  she  be, 

But  the  bright  Spirit,  Modestv  1 

Long  did  the  leam'd  enchainter  itay 

To  weave  his  spells,  and  still  there  paas'd, 
As  in  the  lantern's  shifting  play. 
Group  after  group  in  close  array, 

Each  fairer,  grander,  than  the  last. 
But  the  great  triumph  of  his  power 

Was  yet  to  come  :  —  gradual  and  slow, 
(As  all  that  is  ordain'd  to  tower 

Among  the  works  of  man  must  grow,) 
The  sacred  vision  stole  to  view. 

In  that  half  light,  half  shadow  shown. 
Which  gives  to  ev'n  the  gayest  hue, 

A  sober'd,  melancholy  tone. 
It  was  a  vision  of  that  last,* 
Sorrowful  night  which  Jesus  pass'd 
With  his  disciples  when  he  said 

Mournfully  to  them  —  "I  shall  be 
"  Bctray'd  by  one,  who  here  hath  fed 

• "  This  night  at  the  same  board  with  m.%- 
And  though  the  Savior,  in  the  dream. 
Spoke  not  these  words,  we  saw  them  beam 
Legibly  in  his  eyes  (so  well 
The  great  magician  work'd  his  spell). 
And  read  in  every  thoughtful  lino 
Imprinted  on  that  brow  divine, 
The  meek,  the  tender  nature,  griev'd. 
Not  anger'd,  to  be  thus  deceiv'd  — 
Celestial  love  requited  ill 
For  all  its  care,  yet  loving  stUl  — 
Deep,  deep  regret  that  there  should  fall 

From  man's  deceit  so  foul  a  blight 
Upon  that  parting  hour  —  and  all 

His  Spirit  must  have  felt  that  night, 
Who,  soon  to  die  for  humankind, 

ITiought  only,  'mid  his  mortal  pain, 
How  many  a  soul  was  left  behind 

For  whom  he  died  that  death  in  vain ! 

Such  was  the  heavenly  scene  —  alas 
That  scene  so  bright  so  soon  should  pasf  i 

at  Rome.  The  composition  r'  <he  four  hands  here  is  nxtt*. 
awlcward,  but  the  picture,  altogether,  is  very  dellghtftiL 
There  is  a  repetition  of  the  subject  in  the  poRvession  of  Lu- 
cien  Bonaparte. 

*  The  Last  Supper  of  Leonardo  <la  Vinci,  which  is  In  tlx 
Refectory  of  the  Convent  dello  Gra;<ie  at  Milan.  See  L'Hi*. 
toire  de  la  Pcinture  in  Italie,  liv.  iii.  chap.  42.  The  nrritel 
of  that  interesting  woric  (to  whom  I  take  this  opp"rtunit9 
of  offering  my  aclinowledgtnents,  lor  the  copy  i«e  sent  me  a 
year  sinre  from  Rome,)  will  see  I  have  profited  b)r  sova  vl 
bL«  ofaMrvaiiona  no  this  celebrated  pknu*. 


Ill« 


RHYIklES   ON   THE  ROAD. 


But  pictur'd  on  the  humid  air, 

Its  tints,  ere  long,  grew  languid  there  ; ' 

And  storms  came  on,  that,  cold  and  rough, 

Scatter' d  its  gentlest  glories  all  — 
As  when  the  baffling  winds  blow  ofF 

'l"he  hues  that  hang  o'er  Terni's  fall,  — 
Till,  one  by  one,  the  vision's  beams 

Faded  away,  and  soon  it  fled, 
To  join  those  other  vanish'd  dreams 

That  n  dw  flit  palely  'mong  the  dead,  — 
Tlie  shadows  of  those  shades,  that  go, 
Around  Oblivion's  lake,  below  ! 


EXTRACT  XV. 


Rome. 


]>fary  Magdalen.  —  Her  Story J^umerotis  Pictures  of  her 

— Correggio. — Ouido.  —  Raphael,  ^e. — Canova's  two  ex- 
quisite Statues.— The  Somariva  Magdalen.— Chantreif a 
Admiration  of  Canova's  Works. 

No  wonder,  Mart,  that  thy  story 
Touches  all  hearts  —  for  there  we  see 

The  soul's  corruption,  and  its  glory. 
Its  death  and  life  combiri'd  in  thee. 

From  the  first  moment,  when  we  find 

Thy  spirit  haunted  by  a  swarm 
Of  dark  desires,  —  like  demons  shrin'd 

Unholily  in  that  fair  form,  — 
Till  when,  by  touch  of  Heav'n  set  free, 

Thou  cam'st,  with  those  bright  locks  of  gold 
(So  oft  the  gaze  of  Bethany), 

And,  covering  in  their  precious  fold 
Thy  Savior's  feet,  didst  shed  such  tears 
As  paid,  each  drop,  the  sins  of  years  !  — 
Thence  on,  through  all  thy  course  of  love 

To  Him,  thy  Heavenly  Master,  —  Him, 
Whose  bitter  death  cup  from  above 

Had  yet  this  cordial  round  the  brim, 
That  woman's  faith  and  love  stood  fast 
And  fearless  by  Him  to  the  last :  — 
Till,  O,  blest  boon  for  truth  like  thine  ! 

Thou  wert,  of  all,  the  chosen  one. 
Before  whose  eyes  that  Face  Divine, 
When  risen  from  the  dead,  first  shone  ; 
That  thou  mightst  see  how,  like  a  cloud. 
Had  pass'd  away  its  mortal  shroud, 
And  make  that  bright  revealment  known 
Vo  hearts,  less  trusting  than  thy  own. 

I  Leonardo  appears  to  have  used  a  mixture  of  oil  and 
■«»amish  for  this  picture,  whicii  alone,  without  the  various 
other  causps  of  its  ruin,  would  have  prevented  any  long  du- 
lation  of  Its  heauties.    It  is  now  almost  entirely  effaced. 

s  This  statue  -'s  one  of  the  last  works  of  Canova,  and  was 


All  is  aff'ecting,  cheering,  grand  ; 

The  kindliest  record  ever  given, 
Ev'n  under  God's  own  kindly  hand, 

Of  what  Repentance  wins  from  Heave    \ 

No  wonder,  Mary,  that  thy  face. 

In  all  its  touching  light  of  tears, 
Should  meet  us  in  each  holy  place. 

Where  Man  before  his  God  appears, 
Hopeless  —  were  he  not  taught  to  see 
All  hope  in  Him,  who  pardon'd  thee  ! 
No  wonder  thai  the  painter's  skill 

Should  oft  have  triumph' d  in  the  power 
Of  keeping  thee  all  lovely  still 

Ev'n  in  thy  sorrow's  bitterest  hour  ; 
That  soft  CoRREGGio  should  diffuse 

His  melting  shadows  round  thy  form  ; 
That  GuiDo's  pale,  unearthly  hues 

Should,  in  portraying  thee,  grow  warm  • 
That  all  —  from  the  ideal,  grand, 
Inimitable  Roman  hand, 
Down  to  the  small,  enamelling  touch 

Of  smooth  Caulixo  —  should  delight 
In  picturing  her,  who  "  lov'd  so  much," 

And  was,  in  spite  of  sin,  so  bright ! 

But,  Mary,  'mong  these  bold  essays 

Of  Genius  and  of  Art  to  raise 

A  semblance  of  those  weeping  eyes  — 

A  vision,  worthy  of  the  sphere 
Thy  faith  has  earn'd  thee  in  the  skies, 

And  in  the  hearts  of  all  men  here,  — 
None  e'er  hath  match'd,  in  grief  or  grace, 
Canova's  daydream  of  thy  face. 
In  those  bright  sculptUr'd  forma,  more  brigt  I 
With  true  expression's  breathing  light, 
Than  ever  yet,  beneath  the  stroke 
Of  chisel,  into  life  awoke. 
The  one,'  portraying  what  thou  wert 

In  thy  first  grief,  —  while  j'et  the  flower 
Of  those  young  beauties  was  unhurt 

By  sorrow's  slow,  consuming  power  ; 
And  mingling  earth's  seductive  grace 

With  heav'n's  subliming  thoughts  so  well. 
We  doubt,  whil,e  gazing,  in  which  place 

Such  beauty  was  most  form'd  to  dwell !  - 
The  other,  as  thou  look'dst,  when  years 
Of  fasting,  penitence,  and  tears 
Had  worn  thy  frame  ;  —  and  ne'er  did  Art 

With  half  such  speaking  power  express 

not  yet  in  maible  when  I  left  Rome.  The  other,  whlcB 
seems  to  prove,  in  contradiction  to  very  high  authority,  thai 
expression,  of  the  intensest  kind,  is  fully  nithin  the  sphere 
of  sculpture,  was  executed  many  years  ago,  and  is  in  th« 
possession  of  the  Count  Somariva,  at  Paris. 


RHYMES   ON  THE   ROAD. 


ill 


rhe  ruin  which  a  breaking  heart 

Spreads,  by  degrees,  o'er  loveliness. 
Those  wasting  arms,  that  keep  the  trace, 
Ev'n  still,  of  all  their  youthful  grace, 
That  loosen'd  hair,  of  which  thy  brow 
Was  once  so  proud,  —  neglected  now  !  — 
Those  features,  ev'n  in  failing  worth 
The  freshest  bloom  to  others  given, 
Ind  those  sunk  eyes,  now  lost  to  earth. 
But,  to  the  lost,  still  full  of  heaven  ! 

Wonderful  artist !  praise,  like  mine  — 

Though  springing  from  a  soul,  that  feels 
Deep  v»orship  of  those  works  divine. 

Where  Genius  all  his  light  reveals  — 
How  weak  'tis  to  the  words  that  came 
From  him,  thy  peer  in  art  and  fame,' 
Whom  I  hirve  known,  by  day,  by  night. 
Hang  o'er  thy  maible  with  delight ; 
Ajid,  while  his  lingering  hand  would  steal 

O'er  every  grace  the  taper's  rays,* 
Give  thee,  with  all  the  generous  zeal 
Buch  master  spirits  only  feel, 

That  best  of  fame,  a  rival's  praise  1 


EXTRACT  XVI. 

1)68  CharmettM. 
4  yimt  to  the  Hoitst  vkert  Rousseau  lived  with  Madame  d» 
Warrtna.  Their  Menage.  —  lUi  Orussnets.  —  Claude  Anet, 
—  Reverence  with  which  the  Spot  is  now  visited.  —  .^bsvrdr- 
ity  efthis  blind  Devotion  to  Fame.  —  Feelings  ezcited  by  the 
fieatUy  and  Seclusion  of  the  Scene.  —  Disturbed  by  its  Asso- 
tialions  w.tit  Rouaseau's  History.  —  Impostures  of  Men  of 
Oenius.  —  '/'heir  Power  of  mimicking  all  the  best  Feelings, 
Love,  Independence,  4'e> 

Strange  power  of  Genius,  that  can  throw 
Round  all  that's  -vicious,  weak,  and  low, 
Buch  magic  lights,  such  rainbow  dyes 
As  dazzle  ev'n  the  steadiest  eyes. 


Tis  worse  than  weak  —  'tis  wrong,  'tis  shame, 
This  mean  prostration  before  fame  ; 
This  casting  down,  beneath  the  ,.ar 
Of  Idols,  whatsoe'er  they  are, 
Life's  purest,  holiest  decencies, 
I'o  be  carcer'd  o'er  as  they  please. 
No  —  give  triumphant  Genius  all 
For  which  his  loftiest  wish  can  call : 
»f  he  be  worshipp'd,  let  it  bn 
For  attribiitcs,  his  noblest,  first ; 


<  Chantrey. 
Canova  nlwaya  saows  hia  fine  atatue,  the  Venera  Vinci- 
»\cm,  by  ibe  l<(i  t  of  a  inuJi  candle 


Not  with  that  base  idolatry. 

Which  sanctihes  his  last  and  worst. 

I  may  be  cold  ;  —  may  want  that  glow 
Of  high  romance,  which  tarda  should  know  | 
That  holy  homage,  wliich  is  felt 
In  treading  where  the  great  have  dwelt  t 
This  reverence,  whatsoe'er  it  be, 

I  fear,  I  feel,  I  have  it  7iot :  — 
For  here,  at  this  still  hour,  to  me 

The  charms  of  this  delightful  spot ; 
Its  calm  seclusion  from  the  throng, 

From  all  the  heart  would  fain  forget ; 
This  narrow  valley,  and  the  song 

Of  its  small  munnuring  rivulet ; 
The  flitting,  to  and  fro,  of  birds, 

Tranquil  and  tame  as  they  were  one* 
In  Eden,  ere  the  startling  words 

Of  Man  disturb'd  their  orisons  ; 
Those  little,  shadowy  paths,  that  wind 
Up  the  hillside,  with  fruit  trees  lin'd. 
And  lighted  only  by  the  breaks 
The  gay  wind  in  the  foliage  makes. 
Or  vistas,  here  and'  there,  that  ope 

Through  weeping  willows,  like  the  snatcliA. 
Of  far-off  scenes  of  light,  which  Hope 

Ev'n  through  the  shade  of  sadness  catches !-« 
All  this,  which  —  could  I  once  but  lose 

The  memory  of  those  vulgar  ties, 
Whose  grossness  all  the  heavenliest  hues 

Of  Genius  can  no  more  disguise. 
Than  the  sxm's  beams  can  do  away 
The  filth  of  fens  o'er  which  they  play  — 
This  scene,  which  would  have  tiU'd  my  hean 

With  thoughts  of  all  that  happiest  is  ; 
Of  Love,  where  self  hath  only  part, 

As  echoing  back  another's  bliss ; 
Of  solitude,  secure  and  sweet. 
Beneath  whose  shade  the  Virtues  meet; 
Which,  while  it  shelters,  never  chills 

Our  sympathies  with  human  woe, 
But  keeps  them,  like  sequester'd  rills, 

Purer  and  fresher  in  their  flow  ; 
Of  happy  days,  that  share  their  beams 

'Twixt  quiet  mirth  and  wise  ^mploy  ; 
Of  tranquil  nights,  that  give,  in  dreams. 

The  moonlight  of  th.lknorning's  joy  !  — 
All  this  my  heart  could  dwell  on  here, 
But  for  those  gross  mementoes  near  ; 
Those  sullying  truths,  that  cross  the  tiack 
Of  each  sweet  thought,  and  drive  them  back 
Full  into  all  1  he  mire,  and  strife, 
And  vanities  of  that  man's  life, 
"Who,  more  than  all  that  e'er  have  glow'd 

With  Fancy's  flame  (and  it  was  At* 


£n  fullest  warmth  and  radiance)  show'd 

What  an  impostor  Genius  is ; 
How,  with  that  strong,  mimetic  art, 

AVhich  forms  its  life  and  soul,  it  takes 
All  shapes  of  thought,  all  hues  of  heart, 

Nor  feels,  itself,  one  throb  it  wakes  ; 
How  like  a  gem  its  light  may  smile 

O'er  the  dark  path,  by  mortals  trod, 
Itself  as  mean  a  worm,  the  while, 

As  crawls  at  midnight  o'er  the  sod  ; 
What  gentle  words  and  thoughts  may  fall 

From  its  false  lip,  what  zeal  to  bless. 
While  home,  friends,  kindred,  country,  all. 

Lie  waste  beneath  its  selfishness  ; 
How,  with  the  pencil  hardly  dry 

From  coloring  up  such  scenes  of  love 
And  beauty,  as  make  young  hearts  sigh. 

And  dream,  and  think  through  hcav'n  they 
rove, 
rhey,  who  can  thus  describe  and  move, 

The  very  workers  of  these  charms, 


Nor  seek,  nor  know  a  joy,  above 
Some  Maman's  or  Theresa's  arms  ! 

How  all,  in  short,  that  makes  the  boast 
Of  their  false  tongues,  they  want  the  most; 
And,  while  with  freedom  on  their  lips, 

Sounding  their  timbrels,  to  set  free 
This  bright  world,  laboring  in  th'  eclipse 

Of  priestcraft,  and  of  slavery,  — 
They  may,  themselves,  be  slaves  as  low 

As  ever  Lord  or  Patron  made 
To  blossom  in  his  smile,  or  grow. 

Like  stunted  brushwood,  in  his  shade. 
Out  on  the  craft !  —  I'd  rather  be 

One  of  those  hinds,  that  round  me  tread. 
With  just  enough  of  sense  to  see 

The  noonday  sun  that's  o'er  his  head, 
Than  thus,  with  high-built  genius  curs' d. 

That  hath  no  heart  for  its  foundation. 
Be  all,  at  once,  that's  brightest,  worsts 

Sublimest,  meanest  in  creation  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


OCCASIONAL  EPILOGUE. 

UOXXS  BY  ME.  CORRT,  IN  THE  CHARACTEB  OP 
VAPID,  AFTEK  TUE  PLAY  OF  THE  DRAMATIST, 
AT   THE    KILKENNY   THEATRE. 

(Entering  a*  if  to  announce  the  Play.) 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  on  Monday  night, 
For  the  ninth  time  —  O  accents  of  delight 
To  the  poor  author's  ear,  when  three  times  three 
With  a  full  bumper  crowns  his  Comedy  ! 
When,  long  by  money,  and  the  muse,  forsaken. 
He  finds  at  length  his  jokes  and  boxes  taken. 
And  sees  his  playbill  circulate  —  alas. 
The  only  bill  on  which  his  name  will  pass  ! 
Thus,  Vapid,  thus  shall  Thespian  scrolls  of  fame 
I'hrough  box  and  gallery  waft  your  well-known 

name. 
While  critic  eyes  the  happy  cast  shall  con. 
And  learned  ladies  spell  your  Dram.  Person. 

Tis  said  our  wf/rthy  Manager '  intends 

Co  help  my  night,  and  he,  you  know,  has  friends. 

1  The  late  Mr.  Richard  Power. 

'  The  brief  appellation  by  which  those  persons  were  dis- 
tuiKuished  who  at  the  ooering  of  the  new  theatre  of  Coir- 


Friends,  did  I  say  ?  for  fixing  friends,  or  parts, 
Engaging  actors,  or  engaging  hearts. 
There's  nothing  like  him  !  wits,  at  his  request. 
Are  turn'd  to  fools,   and  dull  dogs  learn  ta 

jest; 
Soldiers,  for  him,  good  ••  trembling  cowards " 

make. 
And  beaux,  turn'd  clowns,  look  ugly  for  his 

sake ; 
For  him  ev'n  lawyers  talk  without  a  fee. 
For  him  (O  friendship  !)  /  act  tragedy  ! 
In  short,  like  Orpheus,  his  persuasive  tricks 
Make  boars  amusing,  and  put  life  j\  sticks. 

With  such  a  manager  we  can't  but  please. 
Though  London  sent  us  all  her  loud  O.  P.'s,* 
Let   them   come  on,  like   snakes,  all  hies  anJ 

rattle, 
Arm'd  with  a  thousand  fans,  we'd  give  them 

battle ; 
You,  on  our  side,  R.  P.'  upon  our  banners. 
Soon  should  we  teach  the  saucy  O.  P.'s  manners 


ent  Garden,  clamored  for  the  continuance  sf  the  old  pnr«i 
of  admission. 
*  The  initials  of  our  manager's  nama 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


51. 


Ajttd  show  that,  here  —  howe'er  John  Bull  may 

doubt  — 
In  all  our  plays,  the  Riot  Act's  cut  out ; 
And,  while  wo  skim  the  cream  of  many  a  jest. 
Your  well-timed  thunder  never  sours  its  scat. 

0  g*ntly  thus,  when  three  short  weeks  are  pass'd, 
A:  Shol^spcare's   altar,'   shall  we  breathe  our 

last; 
\j.j  ere  this  Icng-lov'd  dome  to  ruin  nods, 
Oie  all,  die  nobly,  die  like  demigods  I 


EyTRACT 

tBOm.  A  FUOLOOVE  WUITTEX  AND  SPOKEN  BT  TUB 
AUTUOU,  AT  TUB  OPEXINQ  OP  TUE  KUJLBNNT 
TUEATUE,    OCTOBEU,    1809. 

Yet,  even  here,  though  Fiction  rules  the  hour. 
There  shine  some  genuine  smiles,  beyond  her 

power ; 
And  there  are  tears,  too  —  tears  that  Memory 

sheds 
Ev'n  o'er  the  feast  that  mimic  fancy  spreads, 
When  her  heart  misses  oiie  lamented  guest,* 
Whose  eye  so  long  threw  light  o'er  all  the  rest ! 
There,  there,  indeed,  the  Muse  forgets  her  task. 
And  drooping  weeps  behind  Thalia's  mask. 

Forgive  this  gloom  —  forgive  this  joyless  strain, 
Coo  sad  to  welcome  pleasure's  smiling  train. 
But,   meeting   thus,  our  hearts  will  part  the 

lighter. 
As  mist  at  dawn  but  makes  the  setting  brighter ) 
Gay  Epilogue  will  shine  where  Prologue  fails  — 
As  glowworms   keep  their  splendor  for  their 

tails. 

I  know  not  why  —  but  time,  methinks,  hath 

pass'd 
More  fleet  than  usual  since  we  parted  last. 
It  seems  but  like  a  dieam  of  yesternight, 
A' hose   chaim  sull  hangs,  with  fond,  delaying 

light; 
And  nre  the  memory  lose  one  glowing  hue 
Of  f  51  mer  joy,  we  come  to  kindle  new. 
Thus  ever  may  the  flying  moments  haste 
With  trackless  foot  along  life's  vulgar  waste, 
But  deeply  print  and  lingeringly  move, 
When  thus  they  reach  the  sunny  spots  we  love. 


i  This  alludes  to  a  scenic  representation  then  preparing 
kr  tht  ast  iiiilit  of  the  perfonnanMs. 


O  yes,  whatever  be  our  gay  career, 
Let  this  be  still  the  solstice  of  the  year, 
Where  Pleasure's  sun  shall  at  its  height  ren  jda 
And  slowly  sink  to  level  life  again. 


THE  SYLPH'S  BALL. 

A  SvLPH,  as  bright  as  ever  i>p:rted 
Her  figure  through  the  fields  of  air, 

By  an  old  swarthy  Gnome  was  courted. 
And,  strange  to  say,  he  won  the  fair. 

The  annals  of  the  oldest  witch 
A  pair  so  sorted  could  not  show ; 

But  how  refuse  ?  —  the  Gnome  was  rich. 
The  Rothschild  of  the  world  below  : 

And  Sylphs,  like  other  pretty  creatures, 
Are  told,  betimes,  they  must  consider 

Love  as  an  auctioneer  of  features. 
Who  knocks  them  down  to  the  best  bidder 

Home  she  was  taken  to  his  Mine  — 
A  Palace,  paved  with  diamonds  all  •  - 

And,  proud  as  Lady  Gnome  to  shine. 
Sent  out  her  tickets  for  a  BalL 

The  lower  world,  of  course,  was  there. 
And  all  the  best ;  but  of  the  upper 

The  sprinkling  was  but  shy  and  rare,  — 
A  few  old  Sylphids,  who  lov'd  supper. 

As  none  yet  knew  the  wondrous  Lamp 
Of  Davy,  that  renown'd  Aladdin, 

And  the  Gnome's  Halls  exhal'd  a  damp. 
Which  accidents  from  fire  were  bad  in  ; 

The  chambers  were  supplied  with  light 
By  many  strange  but  safe  devices ; 

Large  fireflies,  such  as  shine  at  night 
Among  the  Orient's  flowers  and  spires ;  -• 

Musical  flint  mills  —  swiftly  play'd 
By  elfin  hands  —  that,  flashing  round. 

Like  certain  fire-eyed  minstrel  maids. 
Gave  out,  at  once,  both  light  and  sound. 

Bologna  stones,  that  drink  the  sun ; 

And  water  from  that  Indian  sea. 
Whose  waves  at  night  like  wildfire  run  — 

Cork'd  up  in  crystal  carefully. 


t  The  late  Mr.  John  Lyster,  one  of  the  nldrst  nievi 
and  Itetit  actors  of  the  Kilkenny  T)  eatrical  Sociatv 


S20 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


Glowwor:ns,  that  round  the  tiny  disheB, 
Like  little  lighthouses,  were  set  up  ; 

And  pretty  phosphorescent  fishes, 
That  by  theii  own  gay  light  were  eat  up. 

"Mong  the  few  guests  from  Ether,  came 
That  wicked  Sylph,  whom  Love  we  call  — 

My  Lady  knew  him  but  by  name, 
lly  Lord,  her  husband,  not  at  aU. 

Some  prudent  3nomes,  'tis  said,  appris'd 
That  he  was  coming,  and,  no  doubt, 

Alarm'd  about  his  torch,  advis'd 
He  should,  by  all  means,  be  kept  out. 

But  others  disapprov'd  this  plan, 

And,  by  his  flame  though  somewhat  frighted, 
Thought  Love  too  much  a  gentleman,  • 

Li  such  a  dangerous  place  to  hght  it. 

However,  there  he  was  —  and  dancing 
With  the  fair  Sylph,  light  as  a  feather ; 

They  look'd  like  two  fresh  sunbeams,  glancing. 
At  daybreak,  down  to  earth  together. 

And  all  had  gone  off  safe  and  well, 
But  for  that  plaguy  torch,  whose  light. 

Though  not  yet  kindled  —  who  could  tell 
How  soon,  how  devilishly,  it  might  ? 

And  so  it  chanced  —  which,  in  those  dark 
And  fireless  halls  was  quite  amazing  ; 

Did  we  not  know  how  small  a  spark 
Can  set  the  torch  of  Love  a-blazing. 

Whether  it  came  (when  close  entangled 
In  the  gay  waltz)  from  her  bright  eyes. 

Or  from  the  lucciole,  that  spangled 
Her  locks  of  jet  —  is  all  surmise  ; 

But  certain  'tis  th'  etherial  girl 
Did  drop  a  spark,  at  some  odd  turning, 

Whicri,  by  the  waltz's  windy  whirl 
Was  fann'd  up  into  actual  burning. 

0  for  that  Lamp's  metallic  gauze, 

That  curtain  of  protecting  wire, 
Which  Davy  delicately  draws 

Around  ilHcit,  dangerous  fire  !  — 

he  wall  he  sets  'twixt  Flame  and  Air, 
(Like    that,    which    barr'd   young   Thisbe's 
blifl», 


Through  whose  small  holes  this  dangerous  p&L« 
May  see  each  other,  but  not  kiss.' 

At  first  the  torch  look'd  rather  bluely,  — 
A  sign,  they  say,  that  no  good  boded  — 

Then  quick  the  gas  became  unruly. 
And,  crack  !  the  ball  room  all  exploded. 

Sylphs,  gnomes,  and  fiddlers  mix'd  together, 
With  all  their  aunts,  sons,  cousins,  niecea, 

Like  butterflies  in  stormy  weather. 

Were   blown  —  legs,    wings,    and    tails  —  U 
pieces  1 

While,  'mid  these  victims  of  the  torch. 
The  Sylph,  alas,  too,  bore  her  part ! 

Found  lying,  with  a  livid  scorch 

As  if  from  lightning,  o'er  her  heart ! 


"  Well  done  "  —  a  laughing  Goblin  said 
Escaping  from  this  gaseous  strife  — 

"  'Tis  not  the  first  time  Love  has  made 
"  A  blow-up  in  connubial  life  1  " 


REMONSTRANCE. 

^Ur  a  Conversation  mVi  Lord  Jo^n  Russell,  in  tshich  he  hat 
intimated  some  Idea  of  giving  up  all  political  Pursuits. 

What  !  thou,  with  thy  genius,  thy  youth,  and 
thy  name  — 
Thou,  bom  of  a  llussell — whose  instinct  to 
run 
The  accustom'd  career  of  thy  sires,  ^  the  same 
As  the  eaglet'f,  to  soar  with  his  eyes  on  the 
sun  ! 

^Vhose  nobility  comes  to  thee,  stamp'd  with  s 
leal, 
Far,  lar  more  ennobling  than  monarch  e'er  ott : 
With  the  blood  of  thy  race,  ofFer'd  up  for  the 
weal  ' 

Of  a  nation,  that  swears  by  that  martyrdom 
yet ! 

Shait  thou  be  faint  hearted  and  turn  from  tlu 
strife, 
From  the  mighty  arena,  where  all  that  is  grani 


— —  Partique  dedere 
Oscula  quisque  suae,  non  pervenientia  contr^. 

Ovid 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


bu 


And  devoted,  and  i>ure,  and  adorning  in  life, 
'Tis  for  high-thoughtcd  spirits  like  thine  to 
command  ? 

0  no,  never  dream  it  —  while  good  men  despair 
Between  tyrants  and  traitors,  and  timid  men 
bow, 
\cver   think,  for  an  instant,  thy  country  can 
spare 
Suca  a  light  from  her  darkening  horizon  as 
thou. 

With  a  spirit,  as  meek  as  the  gentlest  of  those 
"Who  in  life's  sunny  valley  lie  shelter'd  and 
warm ; 
Vet  bold  and  heroic  as  c^  er  yet  rose 
To  the  top  clifls  of  Fortune,  and  breasted  her 
storm; 

With  an  ardor  for  liberty,  fresh  as,  in  youth, 
It  first  kindles  the  bard  and  gives  life  to  his 
lyre ; 
Yet  mellow'd,  ev'n  now,  by  that  mildness  of 
truth, 
\Much  tempers,  but  chills  not,  the  patriot  fire ; 

V\  ith  an  eloquence  —  not  like  those  rills  from  a 
height. 
Which  sparkle,  and  foam,  and  in  vapor  are 
o'er; 
But  a  current,  that  works  out  its  way  into  light 
Through  the  filtering  recesses  of  thought  and 
of  lore. 

rhus  gifted,  thou  never  canst  sleep  in  the  shade ; 

If  the  stirrings  of  Genius,  the  music  of  fame, 

A.ud  the  charms  of  thy  cause  have  not  power  to 

persuade, 

Yet  think  how  to  Freedom  ttfou'rt  pledg'd  by 

thy  Name. 

Like  the  boughs  of  that  laurel,  by  Delphi's  de- 
cree, 
Set  apart  for  the  Fane  and  its  service  divine, 
*  '  the  branches,  that  spring  from  the  old  Rus- 
sell tree, 
Ar%  by  Liberty  claim'd  for  the  use  of  her 
Shrii::3. 


MY  BIRTHDAY. 

'  il\  birthday  "  —  what  a  different  sound 
That  word  had  in  my  youthful  ears  ! 
6G 


And  how,  each  time  the  day  comes  rouudU 
Less  and  less  white  its  mark  appears  * 

When  first  our  scanty  yeais  are  told. 
It  seems  like  pastime  to  grow  old ; 
And,  as  Youth  counts  the  shining  links. 

That  Time  around  him  binds  so  fast. 
Pleased  with  the  task,  he  little  thinks 

How  hard  that  chain  will  press  at  last. 
Vain  was  the  man,  and  false  as  vain, 

Who  said  '  —  •'  were  he  ordain' d  to  run 
*'  His  long  career  of  life  again, 

•'  He  would  do  all  that  he  had  done." 
Ah,  'tis  not  thus  the  voice,  that  dwells 

In  sober  birthdays,  speaks  to  me  ; 
Far  otherwise  —  of  time  it  tells, 

Lavish' d  unwisely,  carelessly ; 
Of  counsel  mock'd ;  of  talents,  made 

Haply  for  high  and  pure  designs, 
But  oft,  like  Israel's  incense,  laid 

Upon  unholy,  earthly  shrines ; 
Of  nursing  many  a  wrong  desire  ; 

Of  wanderuig  after  Love  too  far. 
And  taking  every  meteor  fire. 

That  cross'd  my  pathway,  for  his  star. 
All  this  it  tells,  and,  could  I  trace 

Th'  imperfect  picture  o'er  again. 
With  pow'r  to  add,  retouch,  eft'ace 

llie  lights  and  shades,  the  joy  and  pain, 
How  little  of  the  past  would  stay  ! 
How  quickly  all  should  melt  away  — 
All  —  but  that  Freedom  of  the  Mind, 

Which  hath  been  more  than  wealth  to  me ; 
Those  friendships,  in  my  boyhood  twin'd, 

And  kept  till  now  unchangingly  ; 
And  that  dear  home,  that  saving  ark. 

Where  Love's  true  light  at  last  I've  found. 
Cheering  within,  when  all  grows  dark. 

And  comfortless,  and  stormy  round  ' 


FANCY. 

The  more  I've  view'd  this  world,  the  more  Fn 
found. 
That,  fill'd  as  'tis  with  scenes  and  creatoiefl 
rare. 
Fancy  commands,  within  hor  own  briglit  round, 
A  world  of  scenes  and  creatures  far  more  fair. 
Nor  is  it  that  her  power  can  call  up  there 
A  single  charm,  that's  not  from  Nature  won. 


1  Fo!rrE5cixB.  — "Si  J«  recominen^ifi  aa  canUn,  Jl 
fend  tout  ce  que  J'ai  bit," 


(12 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


No  moie  tl:  an  rainbows,  in  their  pride,  can  wear 
A  single  tint  nnborrow'd  from  the  sun  ; 

Bnt  'tis  tlio  mental  medium  it  shines  through, 

That  lends  to  Beauty  all  its  charm  and  hue ; 

As  the  same  light,  that  o'er  the  level  lake 
One  dull  monotony  of  lustre  flings, 

vVill,  entering  in  the  rounded  raindrop,  make 
Colors  as  gay  as  those  on  angels'  wings  I 


SONG. 

FANXT,    DEADEST  ! 

ITes  !  had  I  leisure  to  sigh  and  mourn, 

Fanny,  dearest,  for  thee  I'd  sigh ; 
And  every  smile  on  my  cheek  should  turn 

To  tears  when  thou  art  nigh. 
But,  between  love,  and  wine,  and  sleep. 

So  busy  a  life  I  live, 
That  even  the  time  it  would  take  to  weep 

Is  more  than  my  heart  can  give. 
Then  wish  me  not  to  despair  and  pine, 

Fanny,  dearest  of  all  the  dears  1 
The  Love  that's  order'd  to  bathe  in  wine, 

Would  be  sure  to  take  cold  in  tears. 

Reflected  bright  in  this  heart  of  mine, 

Fanny,  dearest,  thy  image  lies  ; 
But,  ah  !  the  mirror  would  cease  to  shine. 

If  dimm'd  too  often  with  sighs. 
They  lose  the  half  of  beauty's  light, 

Who  view  it  through  sorrow's  tear ; 
And  'tis  but  to  see  thee  truly  bright 

That  I  keep  my  eysbeams  clear. 
Then  wait  no  longer  till  tears  shall  flow  — 

Fanny,  dearest !  the  hope  is  vain  ; 
If  sunshine  cannot  dissolve  thy  snow, 

I  shall  never  attempt  it  with  rain. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  CATULLUS. 

Carm.  70. 

Dictbas  quondam,  l[e. 

TO  LESBIA. 

rnou  told'st  me,  in  our  days  of  love, 
That  I  had  all  that  heart  of  thine  ; 

That,  ev'n  to  share  the  couch  of  Jove, 
Thou  wouldst  not,  Lesbia,  part  from  mine 

Row  purely  wert  thou  worshipp'd  then  I 
Not  with  the  vagui3  and  vulgar  fires 


Which  Beauty  wakes  in  soull  jss  men,  — 
But  lov'd,  as  children  by  their  sires. 

That  flattering  dream,  alas,  is  o'er  ;  — 

I  know  theo  now  —  and  though  these  eyes 

Doat  on  thee  wildly  as  before. 
Yet,  even  in  doating,  I  despise. 

Yes,  sorceress  —  mad  as  it  may  £cem  — 
With  aU  thy  craft,  such  spells  adorn  thee. 

That  passion  even  outlives  esteem. 

And  I,  at  once,  adore  —  and  scorn  thee. 


Carm.  11. 

PavLca  nunciate  mat  puetla. 
•  ««••« 

Comrades  and  friends  !  with  whom,  where'er 

The  fate?  have  will'd  through  life  I've  rov'd, 
Now  speed  ye  home,  and  with  you  bear 
These  bitter  words  to  her  I've  lov'd. 

Tell  her  from  fool  to  fool  to  run. 

Where'er  her  vain  caprice  may  call ; 

Of  all  her  dupes  not  loving  one, 
But  ruining  and  maddening  all. 

Bid  her  forget  —  what  now  is  pass'd  — 
Our  once  dear  iove,  whose  ruin  lies 

Like  a  fair  flower,  the  meadow's  last. 

Which   feels    the   ploughshare's   edge,   and 
diesl 

Oarm.  29. 

Peninsularam  Sirmio,  insiUarumjtu 

Ocelle,  ' 

Sweet  Sirmio  !  thou,  the  very  eye 

Of  all  peninsulas  and  isles, 
That  in  our  lakes  of  silver  lie. 

Or  sleep,  inwreath'd  by  Neptune's  smiles  ■» 

How  gladly  back  to  thee  I  fly ; 

Still  doubting,  asking  —  ca7i  it  be 
That  I  have  left  Bithynia's  sky. 

And  gaze  in  safety  upon  thee  ? 

O,  what  is  happier  than  to  find 

Our  hearts  at  ease,  our  perils  pass'd ; 

When,  anxious  long,  the  lighten'd  mind 
Lays  down  its  load  of  care  at  last : 

When,  tired  with  toil  o'er  land  and  deep) 
Again  we  tread  the  welcome  floor 


MISCELIANEOUS  POEMS. 


S2) 


Of  our  own  home,  and  sink  to  sleep 
On  the  long-Mish'd-for  bed  once  more.* 

Jliis,  this  it  is,  that  pays  alone 
The  ills  of  all  life'e  former  track.  — 

Bbiue  out,  my  betatilul,  my  own 
Sweet  Sirmio,  greet  thy  master  back. 

hjid  thou,  fair  Lake,  whose  water  quails 
The  light  of  heav'n  like  Lydia's  sea. 

Rejoice,  rejoice  —  let  all  that  laughs 
Abroad,  Ht  home,  laugh  out  for  me  ! 


TIBULLUS  TO  SULPICIA. 

Ni<'la  tiiuin  iiobu  sulducet  ferolna  lectum,  tie.  &.C. 
Lib.  iv.  Cann.  13. 

•*  Nevku  shall  woman's  smile  have  power 
"To  win  me  from  those  gentle  charms !  "— 

rhus  swore  I,  in  thnt  happy  hour, 
\V'hen  Love  first  gave  thee  to  my  arms. 

Ajid  still  alone  thou  charm'st  my  sight  — 
Still,  though  our  city  proudly  shine 

With  forms  and  faces,  fair  and  bright, 
I  see  none  fair  or  bright  but  thine. 

Would  thou  wert  fair  for  only  me, 
And  couldst  no  heart  but  mine  allure  !  — 

To  all  men  else  unplcasing  be, 
So  shall  I  feel  my  prize  secure.* 

0,  love  like  mine  ne'er  wants  the  zest 

Of  otliers'  envy,  others'  praise ; 
But,  in  its  silence  safely  blest, 

Broods  o'er  a  bliss  it  ne'er  betrays. 

Charm  of  my  life  ;  by  whose  sweet  power 
All  cares  are  hush'd,  all  ills  subdued  — 

My  light,  in  even  the  darkest  hour. 
My  crowd,  in  deepest  solitude !  ' 

No,  not  though  heaven  itself  sent  down 
Some  maid  of  more  than  heavenly  charms, 

With  bliss  undreamt  thy  bard  to  crown, 
Would  he  for  her  forsake  those  arms ! 


1  O  quid  Bolutis  tut  beatiua  curis. 

Cum  mens  onus  rcponil,  ac  peregrino 
Lahore  fo«8t  veniniuii  larem  ad  nuctnia, 
Desiilcratoque  acquieacimus  lecta 

(  Dbpii^aa  alln  ac  ego  tutus  era. 


IMITATION. 


FBOM   TUB    FKENCH. 


Wrra  women  and  apples  both  Paris  and  Adaa 

Made  mischief  enough  in  their  day  : 

God  be  prais'd  that  the  fate  of  mankind,  m) 
dear  Madam, 

Depends  not  on  t«,  the  same  way. 
For,  weak  as  I  am  with  temptation  to  grapple 

The  world  would -have  doubly  to  rue  thee; 
Like  Adam,  I'd  gladly  take /rom  thcc  the  apple^ 

Like  Paris,  at  once  give  it  to  thee. 


INVITATION  TO  DINNER, 

ADDRESSED     TO     LOUD    LAKSDOWXB. 

September,  1818. 
Some  think  we  bards  have  nothing  real ; 

That  poets  live  among  the  stars  so. 
Their  very  dinners  arc  ideal,  — 

(And,  heaven  knows,  too  oft  they  are  so,)  - 
For  instance,  that  we  have,  instead 

Of  vulgar  chops,  and  stews,  and  hashes, 
First  course  —  a  Phoenix,  at  the  head. 

Done  in  its  own  celestial  ashes  ; 
At  foot,  a  cygnet,  which  kept  singing 
All  the  time  its  neck  was  wringing. 
Side  dishes,  thus  —  Miner\'a'8  owl. 
Or  any  such  like  learned  fowl ; 
Doves,  such  as  heav'n's  poulterer  gets, 
When  Cupid  shoots  his  mother's  pets. 
Larks,  stew'd  in  Morning's  roseate  breath, 

Or  roasted  by  a  sunbeam's  splendor ; 
And  nightingales,  berhymed  to  death  — 

Like  young  pigs  whipp'd  to  make  them  tender 

Such  fare  may  suit  those  bards,  who're  able 
To  banquet  at  Duke  Humphrey's  table ; 
But  as  for  me,  who've  long  been  taught 

To  eat  and  drink  like  other  people ; 
And  can  put  up  with  mutton,  bought 

Where  Bromhnm  *  rears  its  ancient  steeple  -  • 
If  Lansdowne  will  consent  to  share 
My  humble  feast,  though  rude  the  fare. 
Yet,  season'd  by  that  salt  he  brings 
From  Attica's  salinest  springs, 
'Twill  turn  to  dainties  :  —  while  tlio  cop, 
Beneath  his  influence  brightening  up, 

■       Tu  mihi  curanim  requies,  tii  nocte  vet  atii 

Lumen,  et  in  solis  tu  mihi  turba  loda. 
*  A  picturMqiie  village  in  (ight  of  my  cottage,  and  ft«v 
which  it  is  separated  but  by  a  small  verdant  vall«y 


(U 


mSCELLAI^EOUS  POEMS. 


Like  that  of  Baucis,  touch'd  by  Jove, 
Will  sparkle  fit  for  gods  above  ! 


VERSES  TO^THE  POET  CRABBE'S 
INKSTAND.! 

■WRITTEN   MAY,    1832. 

Axx-,  as  he  left  it !  —  even  the  pen, 
So  lately  at  that  mind's  command, 

I*relessly  Ij'ing,  as  if  then 
J  ast  fallen  from  his  gifted  hand. 

Have  we  then  lost  him  ?  scarce  an  hour, 
A  little  hour,  seems  to  have  pass'd. 

Since  Life  and  Inspiration's  power 
Around  that  relic  breath'd  their  last. 

Ah,  powerless  now  —  like  talisman, 
Found  in  some  vanish' d  wizard's  halls, 

Whose  mighty  charm  with  him  began, 
Whose  charm  with  him  extinguish' d  falls. 

Yet  though,  alas  !  the  gifts  that  shone 
Around  that  pen's  exploring  track, 

lie  now,  with  its  great  master,  gone, 
Nor  living  hand  can  call  them  back ; 

^^^lo  does  not  feel,  while  thus  his  eyes 
Rest  on  the  enchanter's  broken  wand, 

Each  earth-born  spell  it  work'd  arise 
Before  him  in  succession  grand  ?  — 

Grand,  from  the  Truth  that  reigns  o'er  all ; 

The  unshrinking  Truth,  that  lets  her  light 
Through  Life's  low,  dark,  interior  fall. 

Opening  the  whole,  severely  bright ; 

Yet  softening,  as  she  frowns  along, 
O'er  scenes  which  angels  weep  to  see  — 

Where  Truth  herself  half  veils  the  Wrong, 
In  pity  of  the  Misery. 

True  bard  !  —  and  simple  as  the  race 

Of  true-born  poets  ever  are, 
When,  stooping  from  their  starry  place, 

TLoy're  children,  near,  though  gods,  afar. 

Sow  freshly  doth  my  mind  recall, 
'Mong  the  few  days  I've  known  with  thee, 

1  Soon  after  Mr.  Crabbe's  death,  the  sons  of  that  gentle- 
nan  did  me  tlie  lionor  of  presenting  to  me  the  inlcstand, 

ncil,  &c.  wliicii  tlieir  distinguislied  fatlier  bad  long  been 
D  the  habit  of  using- 

*  Tje  lines  that  follow  allude  to  a  day  passed  in  company 


One  that,  most  buoyantly  of  all. 
Floats  in  the  wake  of  memory  ;  * 

When  he,  the  poet,  doubly  graced, 

In  life,  as  in  his  perfect  strain. 
With  that  pure,  mellowing  power  of  Taste, 

Without  Avhich  Fancy  shines  in  vain  ; 

Who  in  his  page  will  leave  behind. 
Pregnant  with  genius  though  it  be. 

But  half  the  treasures  of  a  mind, 

Where  Sense  o'er  aU  holds  mastery  :  — 

Friend  of  long  years  !  of  friendship  tried 
Through  many  a  bright  and  dark  event ; 

In  doubts,  my  judge  —  in  taste,  my  guide - 
In  all,  my  stay  and  ornament  ! 

He,  too,  was  of  our  feast  that  day. 

And  all  were  guests  of  one,  whose  hann 

Hath  shed  a  new  and  deathless  ray 
Aroimd  the  lyre  of  this  great  land ; 

In  whose  sea  odes  —  as  in  those  shells 

Where  Ocean's  voice  of  majesty 
Seems  still  to  sound  —  immortal  dwells 

Old  Albion's  Spirit  of  the  Sea. 

Such  was  our  host ;  and  though,  since  then, 
Slight  clouds  have  ris'n  'twixt  him  and  tnei 

Who  would  not  grasp  such  hand  again, 
Stretch'd  forth  again  in  amity  ?  * 

"Who  can,  in  this  short  life,  afford 

To  let  such  mists  a  moment  stay, 
When  thus  one  frank,  atoning  word. 

Like  sunsnine,  melts  them  all  away  ? 

Bright  was  our  board  that  day  —  though  ont 
Unworthy  brother  there  had  place  ; 

As  'mong  the  horses  of  the  Sun, 
One  was,  they  say,  of  earthly  race. 

Yet,  7iext  to  Genius  is  the  power 
Of  feeling  where  true  Genius  lies 

And  there  was  light  around  that  hour 
Such  as,  in  memory,  never  dies  • 

Light  which  comes  o'er  me,  as  I  gaze, 
Thcu  Relic  of  the  Dead,  on  thee. 

with  Mr.  Crabbe,  many  years  since,  when  a  party,  »  «sibi 
ing  only  of  Mr.  Rogers,  Mr.  Crabbe,  and  the  author  o)  tbeat 
verses,  had  the  pleasure  of  dining  with  Mr.  Thomas  Can* 
bell,  at  his  housf  at  Sydenham. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


su 


Like  all  such  dreams  of  vanlsh'd  days, 
Bnghtly,  indeed  —  but  mournfully  I 


CAKOLINE,  VISCOUNTESS  VALLETORT. 

WBITTEN   AT   LACOCK   ABBEY,  JANUABY,  1832. 

When  I  would  sing  thy  beauty's  light, 
Such  various  fonris,  and  all  so  bright, 
I've  seen  ihce,  frcm  thy  childhood,  wear, 
I  know  not  which  to  call  most  fair, 
Nor  'mong  the  countless  charms  that  spring 
Forever  round  thee,  which  to  sing. 

^^^len  I  would  paint  thee,  as  thou  art, 
n.cn  all  thou  icert  comes  o'er  my  heart  — 
Phe  graceful  child,  in  beauty's  dawn, 
Within  the  nursery's  shade  withdraw, 
Or  peeping  out  —  like  a  young  moon 
Upon  a  world  'twill  brighten  soon. 
Tlien  next,  in  girlhood's  blushing  hour, 
As  from  thy  own  lov'd  Abbey  tower 
I've  seen  thee  look,  all  radiant,  down. 
With  smiles  that  to  the  hoary  frown 
Of  centuries  round  thee  lent  a  ray, 
Chasing  even  Age's  gloom  away  ;  — 
Or,  in  the  world's  resplendent  throng. 
As  I  have  raark'd  thee  glide  along, 
Among  the  crowds  of  fair  and  great 
A  spirit,  pure  and  separate. 
To  which  even  Admiration's  eye 
Was  fearful  to  approach  too  nigh  ;  — 
A  creature,  circled  by  a  spell 
Within  which  nothing  wrong  could  dwell ; 
And  fresh  and  clear  as  from  the  source. 
Holding  through  life  her  limpid  course. 
Like  Arethusa  through  the  sea, 
Stealing  in  fountain  purity. 

Now,  too,  another  change  of  light ! 
As  noble  bride,  still  meekly  bright. 
Thou  bring'st  thy  Lord  a  dower  above 
AH  earthly  price,  pure  woman's  love ; 
And  show'st  what  lustre  Rank  receives, 
Wlien  •«  ith  his  proud  Corinthian  leaves 
Her  rose  thus  high-bred  Beauty  weave*. 

Wonder  nat  if,  where  all's  so  fair, 
To  choose  were  more  than  bard  can  dare  ; 
Wonder  not  if,  while  every  scene 
I've  watch'd  thee  through  so  bright  hath  been, 
Th'  cnamour'd  Muse  should  in  her  qvest 
Of  beauty,  kn^w  not  where  to  rest, 


But,  dazzled,  at  thy  feet  thus  fall. 
Hailing  thee  beautiful  in  all  1 


A  SPECULATION. 

Of  all  speculations  the  market  holds  forth, 
The  best  that  I  know  for  a  lover  of  pelf^ 

Is  to  buy  Marcus  up,  at  the  price  he  is  wortAt 
And  then  sell  him  at  that  which  he  acts  tm 
himself. 


TO  MY  MOTHER. 

WKnTEN    IN   A    POCKET   BOOK,  1822. 

They  tell  us  of  an  Indian  tree. 

Which,  howsoe'er  the  sun  and  sky 
May  tempt  its  boughs  to  wander  free. 

And  shoot,  and  blossom,  wide  and  high. 
Far  better  loves  to  bend  its  arms 

Downward  again  to  that  dear  earth. 
From  which  the  life,  that  fills  and  warms 

Its  grateful  being,  first  had  birth. 

'TLs  thus,  though  woo'd  by  flattering  friends, 
And  fed  with  fame  (if  fame  it  be) 

This  heart,  my  own  dear  mother,  bends. 
With  love's  true  instinct,  back  to  thee  ! 


LOVE  AND  HYMEN. 

Love  had  a  fever  —  ne'er  could  close 
His  little  eyes  till  day  was  breaking ; 

And  wild  and  strange  enough,  Ilcav'n  know% 
The  things  he  rav'd  about  while  waking. 

To  let  him  pine  so  were  a  sin  ;  — 

One,  to  whom  all  the  world's  a  debtor  — 

So  Doctor  Hymen  was  call'd  in, 
And  Love  that  night  slept  rather  better. 

Next  day  the  case  gave  further  hope  yet. 
Though  still  some  ugly  fever  latent ;  • 

"  Dose,  as  before  "  —  a  gentle  opiate, 
For  which  old  Hymen  has  a  patent. 

After  a  month  of  daily  call, 

So  fast  the  dose  went  on  restoring. 
That  Love,  who  first  ne'er  slept  at  all, 
"  Now  took,  the  rogue !  to  downright  snorin* 


»6 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


LINES 

Oir  THB 

ISNTHY  OF  THE  AUSTRIANS'INTO  NAPLES,  1821. 

Carbone  nutatu 

Ay  —  down  to  the  dust  with  them,  slaves  as 
they  are. 
From  this  hour,  let  the  blood  in  their  das- 
tardly veins, 
Chat  shrunk  at  the  first  touch  of  Liberty's  war, 
I?e  wasted  for  tjTants,  or  stagnate  in  chains. 

'ja,  on  like  a  cloud,  through  their  beautiful 
vales, 
Ve  locusts  of  tyranny,  blasting  them  o'er  — 
Fill,  fill  up  their  wide  sunny  waters,  ye  sails 
From  each  slave  mart  of  Europe,  and  shadow 
their  shore  ! 

Let  their  fate  be  a  mockword  —  let  men  of  all 
lands 
1  "Ugh  out,  with  a  scorn  that  shall  ring  to 
the  poles. 
When  each  sword,  that   the   cowards  let  fall 
from  their  hands. 
Shall  be  forg'd  into  fetters  to  enter  their  souls. 

And  deep,  and  more  deep,  as  the  iron  is  driv'n, 

Base  slaves  !  let  the  whet  of  their  agony  be. 

To  think — as  the  Doom'd  often  think  of  that 

heav'n 

They  had  once  witliin  reach  —  that  they  miffkt 

have  been  free. 

0  shame  !  when  there  was  not  a  bosom,  whose 
heat 

Ever  rose  'bove  the  zero  of  C h's  heart, 

That  did  not,  like  echo,  your  war  hjTnii  repeat, 
And  send  all  its  prayers  with  your  Liberty's 
start ; 

^'h  in  the  world  stood  in  hope  —  when  a  spirit, 
that  breath'd 
Tl  e  fresh  air  of  the  olden  time,  whispe*'d 
about ; 


And  the  swords  of  all  Italy,  half  way  un^heath'  d, 
But  waited    one   conquering    cry,  to    flash 
out! 

When  around  you  the  shades  of  your  Mighty 
in  fame, 
FiLiCAjAS  and  Petrarchs,  seemed  bursting  to 
view. 
And  their  words,  and  their  warnings,  like  tonguer 
of  bright  flame 
Over   Freedom's    apostles,   fell  kindling  oi 
you  ! 

O   shame!  that,  in  such  a  proud  moment  of 
life, 
"Worth  the  hist'ry  of  ages,  when,  had  you  but 
hurl'd 
One  bolt  at  your  tyrant  invader,  that  strive 
Between    freemen    and   tjTants  had  spread 
through  the  world  — 

That  then  —  O,  disgrace  upon  manhood  —  ev  n 
then, 
You  should  falter,  should  cling  to  your  pitiful 
breath ; 
Cow'r  down  into  beasts,  when  you  might  hav« 
stood  men. 
And  prefer  the  slave's  life  of  prostration  to 
death. 

It  is  strange,  it  is  dreadful :  —  shout,  Tjrranny, 
shout 
Through  your  dungeons  and  palaces,  "  Free- 
dom is  o'er  ;  "  — 
If  there  lingers  one  spark  of  her  light,  tread  it 
out, 
And  return  to  your  empire  of  darkness  cnce 
more. 

For,  if  stich  are  the  braggarts  that  claim  to  be 
free. 
Come,  Despot    of   Russia,   thy  feet  let  me 
kiss ; 
Far  nobler  to  live  the  brute  bondman  of  thee. 
Than  to  sully  ev'n  chains  hy  a  struggle  lici 


TUE    LOYES    OF    THE    ANGELS. 


PREFACE 

TO  THE  EIGHTH  VOLUME. 

Oji  my  return  from  the  interesting  -visit  to 
Rome,  of  which  some  account  has  been  given 
in  the  preceding  Prethcc,  I  took  up  my  abode 
in  Paris,  and,  being  joined  there  by  my  family, 
continued  to  reside  in  that  capital,  or  its  en- 
virons, till  about  the  close  of  the  year  1822. 
As  no  life,  however  sunny,  is  without  its  clouds, 
I  could  not  escape,  of  course,  my  share  of  such 
passing  shadows  ;  and  this  long  estrangement 
from  our  happy  English  home,  towards  which 
my  family  yearned  even  more  fondly  than 
myself,  had  been  caused  by  difficulties  of  a 
pecuniary  nature,  and  to  a  large  amount,  in 
which  I  had  been  involved  by  the  conduct  of 
the  person  who  acted  as  my  deputy  in  the  small 
office  I  held  at  Bermuda. 

That  I  should  ever  have  come  to  be  chosen 
for  such  an  employment  seems  one  of  those 
freaks  or  anomalies  of  human  destiny  which 
baffle  all  ordinary  speculation ;  and  went  far, 
indeed,  to  realize  Beaumarchais'  notion  of  the 
sort  of  standard  by  which,  too  frequently,  quali- 
fication for  place  is  regulated,  — "  II  fallut  un 
calculateur  ;  ce  fut  un  danseur  qui  I'obtint." 

But  however  much,  in  this  instance,  I  suf- 
fered from  my  want  of  schooling  in  matters  of 
business,  and  more  especially  from  my  having 
neglected  the  ordinary  precaution  of  requiring 
security  from  my  deputy,  I  was  more  than 
consoled  for  all  such  embarrassment,  were  it 
even  ten  times  as  much,  by  the  eager  kindness 
with  which  friends  pressed  forward  to  help  to 
relLa<v?  me  from  my  difficulties.  Could  I  ven- 
ture to  name  the  persons,  —  and  they  were 
iXidny  —  who  thus  volunteered  their  aid,  it 
woulu  be  found  they  were  all  of  them  men 
whose  characters  enhanced  such  a  service,  and 
thai,  in  all,  the  name  and  the  act  rejected 
bonor  upon  each  other. 

I  shall  so  far  lift  the  veil  in  which  such  deli- 
cate generosity  Seeks  to  shroud  itself,  as  to  men- 
tion bricriy  the  manner  in  which  one  of  these 
kind  friends, — himself  possessing  but  limited 
means,  —  proposed  to  contribute  to  the  object 
jI  1  cleaa'jig  me  from  my  embarrassments.    After 


adverting,  in  his  letter,  to  my  misfortunes,  and 
"the  noble  way,"  as  he  was  pleased  to  say, 
"in  which  I  bore  them,"  he  adds, — "would 
it  be  very  impertinent  to  say,  that  I  have  500L 
entirely  at  your  disposal,  to  be  paid  when  yoi 
like  ;  and  as  much  more  that  I  could  advance, 
upon  any  reasonable  security,  payable  in  seven 
years  ?  "  The  writer  concludes  by  apologizing 
anxiously  and  delicately  for  "  the  liberty  which 
he  thus  takes,"  assuring  me  that  "  he  would  not 
have  made  the  offer  if  he  did  not  feel  that  he 
would  most  readily  accept  the  same  assistance 
from  me."  I  select  this  one  instance  from 
among  the  many  which  that  trying  event  of 
my  hfo  enables  me  to  adduce,  both  on  account 
of  the  deliberate  feeling  of  manly  regard  which 
it  manifests,  and  also  from  other  considerations 
which  it  would  be  out  of  place  here  to  men- 
tion, but  which  rendered  so  genuine  a  mark  of 
friendship  from  such  a  quarter  peculiarly  touch- 
ing and  welcome  to  me. 

When  such  were  the  men  who  hastened  tr 
my  aid  in  this  emergency,  I  need  hardly  say, 
it  was  from  no  squeamish  pride,  —  for  the  pride 
would  have  been  in  receiving  favors  from  sue) 
hands,  —  that  I  came  to  the  resolution  of  grate- 
fully declining  their  offers,  and  endeavoring  tc 
work  out  my  deliverance  by  my  own  efforts. 
With  a  credit  still  fresh  m  tlie  market  of  litera- 
ture, and  with  publishers  ready  as  ever  to  risk 
their  thousands  on  my  name,  I  could  not  but 
feel  that,  however  gratifying  was  the  generous 
zoal  of  such  friends,  I  should  best  show  that  1. 
in  some  degree,  deserved  their  offers,  by  de- 
clining, under  such  circumstances,  to  accr])t 
them. 

Meanwhile,  an  attachment  had  issued  ajrain^t 
me  from  the  Court  of  Admiralty ;  and  M  i 
negotiation  was  about  to  be  opened  vith  tte 
American  claimants,  for  a  reduction  ct  'Lfii 
large  demand  upon  me,  —  supposetl,  at  thai 
time,  to  amount  to  six  thousand  i>o'inds,  —  it 
was  deemed  necessary  that,  pending  the  trea 
I  should  take  up  my  abode  in  France. 

To  write  for  the  means  of  daily  sulwistence, 
and  even  in  most  instances  to  "  forestall  tha 
slow  harvest  of  the  brain,"  was  for  me,  un- 
luckily, no  novel  task.  But  I  had  now,  in 
addition  to  these  home  calls  upon  the  Mujk,  a 


new,  painful,  and,  in  its  first  aspect,  overwhelm- 
ing exigency  to  provide  for ;  and,  certainly, 
Paris,  swarming  throughout  as  it  was,  at  that 
pejiod,  Avith  rich,  gay,  and  dissipated  English, 
was,  to  a  person  of  my  social  habits  and  multi- 
farious acquaintance,  the  very  worst  possible 
place  that  could  have  been  resorted  to  for  even 
the  semblance  of  a  quiet  or  studious  home. 
The  only  tranquil,  and,  therefore,  to  me,  most 
precious  portions  of  that  period  were  the  two 
summers  passed  by  my  family  and  myself  with 
our  kind  Spanish  friends,  the  V*******ls, 
at  their  beautiful  place.  La  Butte  Coaslin,  on 
the  road  up  to  Bellevue.  There,  in  a  cottage 
belonging  to  M.  V  *******  1,  and  but  a 
few  steps  from  his  house,  we  contrived  to  con- 
jure up  an  apparition  of  Sloperton ; '  and  I  was 
able  for  some  time  to  work  with  a  feeling  of 
comfort  and  home.  I  used  frequently  to  pass 
the  morning  in  rambling  alone  through  the 
noble  park  of  St.  Cloud,  with  no  apparatus  for 
the  work  of  authorship  but  my  memoran- 
dum book  and  pencils,  forming  sentences  to  run 
BMiooth  and  moulding  verses  into  shape.  In 
the  evenings  I  generally  joined  with  Madame 
Y»«***««lin  Italian  duets,  or,  with  far 
more  pleasure,  sat  as  listener,  while  she  sung 
to  the  Spanish  guitar  those  sweet  songs  of  her 
own  country  to  which  few  voices  could  do  such 
justice. 

One  of  the  pleasant  circumstances  connected 
with  our  summer  visits  to  La  Butte  was  the 
near  neighborhood  of  our  friend,  Mr.  Kenny, 
the  lively  dramatic  writer,  who  was  lodged  pic- 
turesquely in  the  remains  of  the  Palace  of  the 
King's  Aunts,  at  Bellevue.  I  remember,  on  my 
first  telling  Kenny  the  particulars  of  my  Ber- 
muda mishap,  his  saying,  after, a  pause  of  real 
feeling,  "  Well,  —  it's  lucky  you're  a  poet ;  — 'a 
philosopher  never  could  have  borne  it."  Wash- 
ington Irving  also  was,  for  a  short  time,  our 
visitor ;  and  still  recollects,  I  trust,  his  reading 
to  me  some  parts  of  his  then  forthcoming  work, 
Eracebridge  Hall,  as  we  sat  together  on  the 
grass  walk  tliat  leads  to  the  Rocher,  at  La 
Butte. 

Among  the  Avritings,  then  but  in  embyro,  to 
which  I  looked  forward  for  the  means  of  my 
enfranchisement,  one  of  the  most  important,  as 
well  as  most  likely  to  be  productive,  was  my 
intended  Life  of  Sheridan.  But  I  soon  found 
that    at  such  a  distance  from  all  those  living 


'  A  little  cot,  with  trees  arow, 
And,  like  its  master,  very  low.' 


Pors. 


authorities  from  whom  alone  I  could  gain  anj 
interesting  information  respecting  the  privatt 
life  of  one  who  left  behind  him  so  little  episto 
lary  correspondence,  it  would  be  wholly  impos- 
sible to  proceed  satisfactorily  with  thij  task 
Accordingly  I  wrote  to  Mr.  !Mnrray  and  Mr. 
Wilkie,  who  were  at  that  time  the  intended 
pubHshcrs  of  the  work,  to  apprise  them  of  this 
temporary  obstacle  to  its  progress. 

Being  thus  bafiled  in  the  very  first  of  the  few 
resources  I  had  looked  to,  I  next  thought  of  a 
Romance  in  verse,  in  the  form  of  Letters,  oi 
Epistles ;  and  with  this  view  sketched  o\it  a 
story,  on  an  Egyptian  subject,  differing  not 
much  from  that  which,  some  years  after,  formed 
the  groundwork  of  the  Epicurean.  After  labor- 
ing, however,  for  some  months,  at  this  experi- 
ment, amidst  interruption,  dissipation,  and  dis- 
traction, Avhich  might  well  put  all  the  Nine 
Muses  to  flight,  I  gave  up  the  attempt  in  de- 
spair ;  —  fully  convinced  of  the  truth  of  that 
warning  conveyed  in  some  early  verses  of  my 
own,  addressed  to  the  Invisible  Girl :  — 

O  hint  to  the  bard,  'tis  retirement  alone 
Can  hallow  his  harp  or  ennoble  its  tone : 
Like  you,  with  a  veil  of  s«ii;lusion  between. 
His  song  to  the  world  let  him  utter  unseen, 
&c.  &c.  a 

It  was,  indeed,  to  the  secluded  life  I  led  dur- 
ing the  years  1813-1816,  in  a  lone  cottage 
among  the  fields,  in  Derbyshire,  that  I  owed 
the  inspiration,  whatever  may  have  been  its 
value,  of  some  of  the  best  and  most  popular 
portions  of  LaUa  Rookh.  It  was  amidst  the 
snows  of  two  or  three  Derbyshire  winters  that 
I  found  myself  enabled,  by  that  concentration 
of  thought  which  retirement  alone  gives,  to  call 
up  around  me  some  of  the  sunniest  of  those 
Eastern  scenes  which  have  since  been  welcomed 
in  India  itself,  as  almdst  native  to  its  clime. 

Abortive,  however,  as  had  now  been  all  my 
efforts  to  woo  the  shy  spirit  of  Poesy,  amidst 
such  unquiet  scenes,  the  course  ii  reading  I 
found  time  to  pursue,  on  the  subject  of  Egj^pt, 
was  of  no  small  service  in  storing  my  mind  with 
the  various  knowledge  respecting  that  country, 
which  some  years  later  I  turned  to  account,  in 
writing  the  story  of  the  Epicurean.  The  kind 
facilities,  indeed,  towards  this  object,  which 
some  of  the  most  distinguished  French  scholar! 
and  artists  aff"orded  me,  are  stUl  remembered  tfj 
me   with  thankfulness.     Besides  my  old   a3 

3  See  p.  44  of  this  edition. 


J 


THE   LOVES   OF  THE  ANGELS. 


t» 


quMTitance,  Denon,  whose  drawings  of  Egypt, 
then  of  some  value,  I  frequently  consulted,  I 
found  Mons.  Fourier  and  Mons.  Langl^s  no  less 
piompt  in  placing  books  at  my  disposal.  With 
Humboldt,  also,  who  was  at  that  time  in  Paris, 
I  had  more  than  once  some  conversation  on  the 
subject  of  Egypt,  and  remember  his  expressing 
himself  in  no  very  laudatory  terras  respecting 
♦'»e  labors  of  the  French  tavana  in  that  country. 

I  had  now  been  toiled  and  frustrated  in  two 
jf  those  literary  projects  on  which  I  had  counted 
most  sanguinely  in  the  calculation  of  my  re- 
sources ;  and,  though  I  had  found  sufficient 
time  to  furnish  my  musical  publisher  with  the 
Eighth  Number  of  the  Irish  Melodies,  and  also 
a  Number  of  the  National  Airs,  these  works 
alone,  1  knew,  would  yield  but  an  insufficient 
supply,  compared  with  the  demands  so  closely 
and  threateningly  hanging  over  me.  In  this 
difficulty  I  called  to  mind  a  subject,  —  the 
Eastern  allegory  of  the  Loves  of  the  Angels,  — 
on  which  I  had,  some  years  before,  begun  a 
prose  story,  but  in  which,  as  a  theme  for  poetry, 
I  had  now  been  anticipated  by  Lord  Byron,  in 
one  of  the  most  sublime  of  his  many  poetical 
miracles,  •*  Heaven  and  Earth."  Knowing  how 
soon  I  should  be  lost  in  the  shadow  into  which 
BO  gigantic  a  precursor  would  cast  me,  I  had 
endeavored,  by  a  speed  of  composition  which 
must  have  astonished  my  habitually  slow  pen, 
to  get  the  start  of  my  noble  friend  in  the  time 
of  publication,  and  thus  give  myself  the  sole 
chance  I  could  perhaps  expect,  under  such 
imequal  rivalry,  of  attracting  to  mj'  work  the 
attention  of  the  public.  In  this  humble  specu- 
lation, however,  I  failed  ;  for  both  works,  if  I 
recollect  right,  made  their  appearance  at  the 
same  time. 

In  the  mean  while,  the  negotiation  which  had 
been  entered  into  with  the  American  claimants, 
for  a  reduction  of  the  amount  of  their  demands 
upon  me,  had  continued  to  "  drag  its  slow 
length  along ; "  nor  was  it  till  the  month  of 
S^'ptember,  1822,  that,  by  a  letter  from  the 
Messr:*.  Longman,  I  received  the  welcome  in- 
telligence that  the  terras  offered^  as  our  ultima- 
tum, to  the  opposite  party,  had  been  at  last 
accepted,  and  that  I  might  now  with  safety  re- 
turn to  England.  I  lost  no  fime,  of  course,  in 
availing  myself  of  so  welcome  a  privilege ;  and 
as  all  that  remains  now  to  be  told  of  this  trj-ing 
episode  m  my  past  life  may  be  comprised  in  a 
small  compass,  I  shall  trust  to  the  patience  of 
my  readers  for  tolerating  the  recital. 

On  arriving  in  England  I  learned,  for  the  first 
67 


time,  —  having  been,  till  then,  kept  very  much 
in  darkness  on  the  subject, —  that,  after  a  long 
and  frequently  interrupted  course  of  negotia- 
tion, the  amount  of  the  claims  of  the  Am;erican 
merchants  had  been  reduced  to  the  sum  of  one 
thousand  guineas,  and  that  towards  the  pay- 
ment of  this  the  uncle  of  my  deputy,  —  a  rich 
Ixjndon  merchant,  —  had  been  brought,  with 
some  difficulty,  to  contribute  three  hundred 
pounds.  I  was  likewise  informed,  that  a  very 
dear  and  distinguished  friend  of  mine,  to  whom, 
by  his  own  desire,  the  state  of  the  negotiation 
was,  from  time  to  time,  reported,  had,  upon 
finding  that  there  appeared,  at  last,  some  chance 
of  an  arrangement,  and  learning  also  the  amount 
of  the  advance  made  by  my  deputy's  relative, 
immediately  deposited  in  the  hands  of  a  banker 
the  remaining  portion  (760/.)  of  the  required 
sum,  to  be  there  in  readiness  for  the  fi  lal  settle- 
ment of  the  demand. 

Though  still  adhering  to  my  original  purpose 
of  owing  to  my  own  exertions  alone  the  means 
of  relief  from  these  difficulties,  I  yet  felt  a  pleas- 
ure in  allowing  this  thoughtful  deposit  to  be 
applied  to  the  generous  purpose  for  which  it 
was  destined ;  and  having  employed  in  this 
manner  the  750/.,  I  then  transmitted  to  my  kind 
friend,  —  I  need  hardly  say  with  what  feelings 
of  thankfulness,  —  a  check  on  my  publishers 
for  the  amount. 

Though  this  effort  of  the  poet's  purse  was 
but,  as  usual,  a  new  launch  into  the  Future, — 
a  new  anticipation  of  yet  unborn  means,  —  the 
result  showed,  I  am  happy  to  say,  that,  in  thit 
instance  at  least,  I  had  not  counted  on  my  bank 
"  in  nubibtu  "  too  sanguinely ;  for,  on  receiving 
my  publishers'  account,  in  the  month  of  Juno 
following,  I  found  1000/.  placed  to  my  credit 
from  the  sale  of  the  Loves  of  the  Angels,  and 
600/.  from  the  Fables  of  the  Holy  Alliance. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention,  that,  among  the 
resources  at  that  time  placed  at  my  disposal, 
was  one  small  and  sacred  sum,  which  had  bcec 
set  apart  by  its  young  possessor  for  some  such 
beneficent  purpose.  This  fund,  amounting  tv 
about  300/.,  ero>o  from  the  proceeds  of  the  sale 
of  the  first  edition  of  a  biographical  work,  then 
recently  published,  which  will  long  be  memo- 
rable, as  well  from  its  own  merits  and  subject, 
as  from  the  lustre  that  has  been  since  shed  bock 
upon  it  from  the  public  career  of  its  nobla 
author.  To  a  gift  from  such  hands  might  weU 
have  been  applied  the  words  of  Ovi'l, 

acceptinimii  semper 

Munera  MUit,  auctor  qur  pretioM  ftck 


In  this  volume,  and  its  immediate  successor, 
will  be  found  collected  almost  all  those  delin- 
quencies of  mine,  in  the  way  of  satire,  which 
have  appeared,  from  time  to  time,  in  the  pub- 
ic journals,  during  the  last  twenty  or  thirty 
years.  The  comments  and  notices  required  to 
tnrow  light  on  these  political  trifles  must  be 
-eserved  for  our  next  volume. 


PREFACE. 

I'liK  Eastern  story  of  the  angels  Harut  and 
Marut,'  and  the  Rabbinical  fictions  of  the  loves 
of  Uzziel  and  Shdmchazai,-  are  the  only  sources 
to  which  I  need  ref<5r,  for  the  origin  of  the  no- 
tion on  which  this  Romance  is  founded.  In 
addition  to  the  fitness  of  the  subject  for  poetrj"-, 
it  struck  me  also  as  capable  of  affording  an 
allegorical  medium,  through  which  might  be 
shadowed  out  (as  I  have  endeavored  to  do  in 
the  following  stories)  the  fall  of  the  Soul  from 
its  original  purity '  —  the  loss  of  light  and  hap- 
piness which  it  suffers,  in  the  pursuit  of  this 
world's  perishable  pleasures  —  and  the  punish- 
ments, both  from  conscience  and  Divine  justice, 
with  which  impurity,  pride,  and  presumptuous 
inquiry  into  the  awfixl  secrets  of  Heaven  are 
sure  to  be  visited.  The  beautiful  story  of  Cu- 
pid and  Psyche  owes  its  chief  charm  to  this 
sort  of  "  veiled  meaning,"  and  it  has  been  my 
wish  (liowever  I  may  have  failed  in  the  attempt) 
to  communicate  to  the  following  pages  the  same 
moral  interest. 

Among  Ihe  doctrines,  or  notions,  derived  by 
Plato  from  the  East,  one  of  the  most  natural 
and  sublime  is  that  which  inculcates  the  pre- 
existence  of  the  soul,  and  its  gradual  descent 
into  this  dark  material  world,  from  that  region 
of  spirit  and  light  which  it  is  supposed  to  have 
once  inhabited,  and  to  which,  after  a  long  lapse 
of  purification  and  trial,  it  will  return.  This 
belief,  under  various  symbolical  forms,  may  be 
frz'.'.ed  through  almost  all  the  Oriental  theolo- 
gies,     The   Chaldeftiis   represent   the   Soul   as 

I  Ss«  r.Dte  on  [»age  554 

»  Hyde,  de  Relig.  Vet.  Persanun,  p.  279. 

<  The  atcount  which  Macrobhis  gives*  of  the  downward 
ouniey  of  the  Soul,  through  tliat  gate  of  tlie  zodiac  which 
ipens  into  the  lower  spheres,  is  a  curious  specimen  of  the 
wild  fancies  that  passed  for  philosophy  in  ancient  Times. 

In  the  system  of  Manes,  the  luminous  or  spiritual  princi- 
ili  iwes  its  corruption  not  to  any  evil  tendency  of  its  own. 


•  In  Somn.  Scip'^nis,  cap.  12. 


originally  endowed  with  wings,  which  fall  awaj 
when  it  sinks  from  its  native  element,  and- must 
be  reproduced  before  it  can  hope  to  return. 
Some  disciples  of  Zoroaster  once  inquired  of 
him  "  How  the  wings  of  the  Soul  might  be 
made  to  grow  again  ? "  —  "  By  sprinkling  them," 
he  replied,  "  with  the  Waters  of  Life."  —  "  But 
where  are  those  Waters  to  be  found  ?^"  they 
asked.  —  "  In  the  Garden  of  God,"  replied  Zo 
roaster. 

The  mythology  of  the  Persians  has  allego 
rized  the  same  doctrine,  in  the  history  of  those 
genii  of  light  who  strayed  from  their  dwellings 
in  the  stars,  and  obscured  their  original  nature 
by  mixture  with  this  material  sphere ;  while 
the  Egyptians,  connecting  it  with  the  descent 
and  ascent  of  the  sun  in  the  zodiac,  considered 
Autumn  as  emblematic  of  the  Soul's  decline 
towards  darkness,  and  the  reappearance  of 
Spring  as  its  return  to  life  and  light. 

Besides  the  chief  spirits  of  the  Mahometan 
heaven,  such  as  Gabriel,  the  angel  of  Revela- 
tion, Israfil,  by  whom  the  last  trumpet  is  to  be 
sounded,  and  Azrael,  the  angel  of  death,  there 
were  also  a  number  of  subaltern  intelligences, 
of  which  tradition  has  preserved  the  names, 
appointed  to  preside  over  the  different  stages, 
or  ascents,  into  which  the  celestial  world  was 
supposed  to  be  divided.*  Thus  Kelail  governs 
the  fifth  heaven ;  while  Sadiel,  the  presiding 
spirit  of  the  third,  is  also  employed  in  steady- 
ing the  motions  of  the  earth,  which  would  be 
in  a  constant  state  of  agitation,  if  this  angel  did 
not  keep  his  foot  planted  upon  its  orb.' 

Among  other  miraculous  interpositions  in  fa- 
vor of  Mahomet,  we  find  commemorated  in  the 
pages  of  the  Koran  the  appearance  of  five  thou- 
sand angels  on  his  side  at  the  battle  of  Bedr. 

The  ancient  Persians  supposed  that  Ormuzd 
appointed  thirty  angels  to  preside  successively 
over  the  days  of  the  month,  and  twelve  greater 
ones  to  assume  the  government  of  the  manths 
themselves ;  among  whom  Bahman  (to  whom 
Ormuzd  committed  the  custody  of  all  animals, 
except  man,)  was  the  greatest.     Mihr,  the  an 

but  to  a  violent  inroad  of  the  spirits  of  darki.ess,  who,  (Hid- 
ing themselves  in  the  neighborhood  of  this  pure  light,  a;io 
becoming  passionately  enamoured  of  its  beaii^,  break  the 
boundaries  between  them,  and  take  forcible  possession  of  il  ^ 

*  "  We  adorned  the  lower  heaven  with  lights,  and  pla^ai 
therein  a  guard  of  angels."  —  Koran,  chap.  xli. 

6  See  D'Herbelot,  passim 


t  See  a  Treatise  "  De  la  Religion  des  Perses,"  by  the  Aftb* 
Foucher,  M^moires  de  I'Aca  l^iuie.  torn.  xxn.  p.  45<k 


THE  LOVES   OF  THE  ANGELS. 


Sll 


gel  of  tli(  7th  month,  was  also  the  spirit  that 
watched  over  the  affairs  of  friendship  and  love ; 
-•  ChQr  had  the  care  of  the  disk,  of  the  sun ;  — 
Mah  was  agent  for  the  concerns  of  the  moon  ; 
—  Isphandiirraaz  (whom  Cazvin  calls  the  Spirit 
of  the  Earth)  was  the  tutelar  genius  of  good 
and  virtuous  women,  &c.  &c.  &c.  For  all  this 
the  reader  may  consult  the  I9th  and  20th  chap- 
ters of  Hjdc  de  Kelig.  Vet.  Persarum,  where  the 
games  and  attributes  of  these  daily  and  monthly 
mgels  are  with  much  minuteness  and  erudition 
SKplnined.  It  appears,  from  the  Zend-avesta, 
that  the  Persians  had  a  certain  office  or  prayer 
for  every  day  of  the  month  (addressed  to  the 
particular  angel  who  presided  over  it),  which 
th^y  called  the  Sirouz6. 

The  celestial  Hierarchy  of  the  Syrians,  as 
described  by  Kircher,  appears  to  be  the  most 
regularly  graduated  of  any  of  these  systems. 
I'l  the  sphere  of  the  Moon  they  pla,ced  the  an- 
gels, in  that  of  Mercury  the  archangels,  Venus 
and  the  Sun  contained  the  Principalities  and 
t>  0  Powers ;  —  and  so  on  to  the  summit  of  the 
planetary  system,  where,  in  the  sphere  of  Sat- 
urn, the  Thrones  had  their  station.  Above  this 
was  the  habitation  of  the  Cherubim  in  the  sphere 
of  the  fixed  stars  ;  and  still  higher,  in  the  region 
of  those  stars  which  are  so  distant  as  to  be  im- 
perceptible, the  Seraphim,  we  are  told,  the  most 
perfect  of  nil  celestial  creatures,  dwelt. 

The  Sabajans  also  (as  D'Herbelot  tells  xls)  had 
their  classes  of  angels,  to  whom  they  prayed  as 
mediators,  or  intercessors ;  and  the  Arabians 
worshipped  female  angels,  whom  they  called 
Bcnab  Haschc,  or,  Daughters  of  God. 


TwA9  when  the  -world  was  in  its  prime. 

When  the  fresh  stars  had  just  begun 
Their  race  of  glory,  and  young  Time 

Told  his  first  birthdays  by  the  sun ; 
When,  in  tho  light  of  Nature's  dawn 

Kejoicing,  men  and  angels  met ' 
0  n  the  high  hill  and  sunny  lawn,  — 
Ero  sorrow  came,  or  Sin  had  drawn 

'Twi.xt  man  and  heaven  her  curtain  yet ! 
When  earth  lay  nearer  to  the^skics 

Than  in  those  days  of  crime  and  woe, 

1  Tiie  Mahomeunii  believe,  myt  D'Herbelot,  that  in  that 
larly  [icriod  of  the  world,  "  Icm  homines  n'eurent  qu'une 
leiilo  religion,  et  fiirent  oouvrnt  viisit^  dee  Angea,  qui  leur 
Mnnoient  !a  main." 

*  "  To  which  will  be  joined  the  .lound  of  the  bell»  bang- 
■i  ?a  tlie  trees,  wtiico  will  b«  pu;  in  motion  by  ttM  wind 


A  nd  mortals  saw,  without  BurpiiHe, 
In  the  mid  air,  angelic  eyes 
Gazing  upon  this  world  below. 

Alaa,  that  Passion  should  profane, 
Ev'n  then,  the  morning  of  the  earth ! 

That,  sadder  still,  the  fatal  stain 

Should  fall  on  hearts  of  heavenly  birtb  ^ 

And  that  from  Woman's  love  should  faL 

So  dark  a  stain,  most  sad  of  all ! 

One  evening,  in  that  primal  hour. 

On  a  hill's  side,  where  hung  the  ray 
Of  sunset,  brightening  rill  and  bower. 

Three  noble  youths  conversing  lay ; 
And,  as  they  look'd,  from  time  to  time. 

To  the  far  sky,  where  Daylight  furl'd 
His  radiant  wing,  their  brows  sublime 

Bespoke  them  of  that  distant  world - 
Spirits,  who  once,  in  brotherhood 
Of  faith  and  bliss,  near  All\  stood. 
And  o'er  whose  cheeks  full  oft  had  blown 
The  wind  that  breathes  from  Alla's  thronfl^* 
Creatures  of  light,  such  as  still  play, 

Like  motes  in  sunshine  round  the  LoH 
And  through  their  infinite  array 
Transmit  each  moment,  night  and  day. 

The  echo  of  His  luminous  word  ! 

Of  Heaven  they  spoke,  and,  still  more  oft, 

Of   the    bright   eyes    that    charm'd   thte 
thence ; 
Till,  yielding  gradual  to  the  soft 

And  balmy  evening's  influence  — 
Tiio  silent  breathing  of  the  flowers  — 

The  melting  light  that  beam'd  abore^ 
As  on  their  first,  fond,  erring  hours,  — 

Each  told  the  story  of  his  love. 
The  history  of  that  hour  unbless'd, 
When,  like  a  bird,  from  its  high  nest 
Won  down  by  fascinating  eyes, 
For  Woman's  smUc  he  lost  the  skies. 

The  First  who  spoke  wae  cue,  with,  look 
The  least  celestial  of  the  three  — 

A  Spirit  of  light  mould,  that  took 
The  prints  of  earth  most  yieldingly ; 

Who,  ev'n  in  heaven,  was  not  of  those 
Nearest  the  Throne,'  but  held  a  place 

proceeding  from  the  Throne,  ao  often  a«  the  Blamed  mnm 
for  mui-ic."  —  See  SaleU  Koran,  Prelim.  Duttrt. 

»  The  ancient  Pcr»ianii  anpixwcd  that  thin  Throne  ww 
placed  in  the  Pun,  and  that  throiich  the  Man  weie  diatrtk 
uted  the  various  claswe*  of  AngcU  lli.it  cnrirrlrj  iL 

Tb*  Bflfi'iHjan.  mopoied  that  there  war*  lira* 


m 


THE  LOVES   OF  THE  ANGiSLS. 


Far  off,  among  those  shining  rows 

That  circle  out  through  endless  space, 
And  o'er  whose  wings  the  light  from  Him 
In  Heaven's  centre  falls  most  dim. 

Btul  fair  and  glorious,  he  but  shone 
Among  those  youths  th'  unheavenl  as.  oi««- 
A  creature,  to  whom  light  remain  d 
From  Eden  still,  hut  alter'd,  stam  d, 
Au-f  3  er  whose  brow  not  Lo  »-e  uloae 

A  blight  had,  in  his  transit,  csL3t, 
But  other,  earthlier  joyi  had  j,Jne, 

And  left  their  footp.in,s  a3  they  pass'd- 
Sighing,  as  back  through  ages  flown, 

Like  a  tomb  sei.rclier.  Memory  ran, 
Lifting  each  sh.oud  that  Time  had  thrown 

O'er  bur.ei  hopes,  he  thus  began  :  — 


FiRST  ANGEL'S  STORY. 
♦•  TwaS  m  a  land,  that  far  away 

Into  the  golden  orient  lies. 
Where  Nature  knows  not  night's  delay, 
But  springs  to  meet  her  bridegroom,  Day, 

Upon  the  threshold  of  the  skies. 
One  mom,  on  earthly  mission  sent,' 

And  mid  way  choosing  where  to  light, 
I  saw,  from  the  blue  element  — 

O  beautiful,  but  fatal  sight !  —     .   ' 
One  of  earth  s  fairest  womankind, 
Half  veil'd  from  view,  or  rather  shrin'd 
In  the  clear  crystal  of  a  brook ; 

Which,  while  it  hid  no  single  gleam 
Of  her  young  beauties,  made  them  look 

More  spirit-like,  as  they  might  seem 

Through  the  dim  shadowing  of  a  dream. 
Passing  in  wonder  I  look'd  on, 

While,  playfully  around  her  breaking 
The  waters,  that  like  diamonds  shone, 

She  mov'd  in  light  of  her  own  making. 
At  length,  as  from  that  airy  height 
I  gently  lower'd  my  breathless  flight. 
The  tremble  of  my  wings  all  o'er 

(For  through  each  plume  I  felt  the  thrill) 
Startled  her,  as  she  reach'd  the  shore 

Of  that  small  lalie  —  her  mirror  still  — 
Above  whose  brink  she  stood,  like  snow 
When  rosy  with  a  sunset  glow. 
Never  shall  I  forget  those  eyes  !  — 
The  shame,  the  innocent  surprise 

end  sixty-five  orders  of  angels,  "  dont  la  perfection  alloit  en 
iteroissant,  4.  mesure  qu'ils  s'filoignoient  de  la  premiere 
tiabse  d'espnts  places  dans  le  premier  ciel." —  See  Bupvis, 
Orig.  dea  Cultta^  torn.  ii.  p.  112. 
'  It  appears  that,  in  most  languages,  the  terra  employed 


Of  that  bright  face,  when  in  the  air 

Jpxooklng,  she  beheld  me  there. 

Ic  sr.em'd  as  if  each  thought  and  look. 

And  motion  were  that  minute  chain'd 
Fast  to  the  spot,  such  root  she  took. 
And  —  like  a  sunflower  by  a  brook, 

With  face  upturn'd  —  so  still  remain'd  ! 

In  pity  to  the  wondering  maid. 

Though  loath  from  such  a  vision  turning. 
Downward  I  bent,  beneath  the  shade 

Of  my  spread  wings  to  hide  the  burning 
Of  glances,  which  —  I  well  could  fe*"!  -  - 

For  me,  for  her,  too  warmly  shrae  , 
But,  ere  I  could  again  unseal 
My  restless  eyes,  or  even  steal 

One  sidelong  look,  the  maid  was  gor  <j  — 
Hid  from  me  in  the  forest  leaves. 

Sudden  as  when,  in  all  her  charms 
Of  full-blown  light,  some  cloud  receives 

The  Moon  into  his  dusky  arms. 

'Tis  not  in  words  to  tell  the  power. 
The  despotism  that,  from  that  hour. 
Passion  held  o'er  me.     Day  and  night 

I  sought  around  each  neighboring  spot ; 
And,  in  the  chase  of  this  sweet  light. 

My  task,  and  heaven,  and  all  forgot ;  — 
All,  but  the  one,  sole,  haunting  dream 
Of  her  I  saw  in  that  bright  stream. 

Nor  was  it  long,  ere  by  her  side 

I  found  myself,  whole  happy  days. 
Listening  to  words,  whose  music  vied 

With  our  own  Eden's  seraph  lays. 
When  seraph  lays  are  warm'd  by  love. 
But,  wanting  that,  far,  far  above  !  — 
And  looking  into  eyes  where,  blue 
And  beautiful,  like  skies  seen  through 
The  sleeping  wave,  for  me  there  shone 
A  heaven,  more  worshipp'd  than  my  own. 
O  what,  while  I  could  lioar  and  see 
Such  words  and  locks,  was  heaven  to  me  ? 
Though  gross  the  air  on  earth  I  drew, 
'Twas  blessed,  while  she  breath'd  it  too ; 
Though  dark  the  flowers,  though  dim  the  sKj, 
Love  lent  them  light,  while  she  was  nigh. 
Throughout  creation  I  but  knew 
Two  separate  worlds  —  the  one,  that  small, 
Belov'd,  and  consecrated  spot 

for  an  angel  means  also  a  messenger.  Finschteh,  the  Pel 
sian  word  for  angel,  is  derived  (says  D'Herbelot)  from  thi 
verb  Firischtin,  to  send.  The  Hebrew  term,  too  Melalr 
has  the  same  signification. 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


5sa 


Where  Lea.  was  —  the  other,  all 
llie  dull,  wide  waste,  where  she  was  not ! 

But  vain  my  suit,  my  madness  vain  ; 
I'hough  gladly,  from  her  eyes  to  gain 

One  earthly  look,  one  stray  desire, 
I  would  have  torn  the  wings,  that  hung 

Furl'd  at  iny  back,  and  o'er  the  Fire 
In  Gehim's  '  pit  their  fragments  flung  ;  — 
Twas  hopelsss  all  —  pure  and  unmov'd 

She  stood,  as  lilies  in  the  light 

Of  the  hot  noon  but  look  more  white  ;  — 
Ajid  though  she  lov'd  me,  deeply  lov'd, 
'Twas  not  as  man,  as  mortal  —  no, 
Nothing  of  earth  was  in  that  glow  — 
She  lov'd  me  but  as  one,  of  race 
Angelic,  from  that  radiant  place 
She  saw  so  oft  in  dreams  —  that  Heaven, 

To  which  her  prayers  at  morn  were  sent, 
And  on  whose  light  she  gavi'd  at  even, 
Wishing  for  wings,  that  she  might  go 
Out  of  this  shadowy  world  below. 

To  that  free,  glorious  element ! 

Well  I  remember  by  her  side 

Bitting  at  rosy  eventide. 

When,  —  turning  to  the  star,  whose  head  . 

Look'd  out,  as  from  a  bridal  bed. 

At  that  mute,  blushing  hour,  —  she  said, 

"  O,  that  it  were  my  doom  to  be 

"  The  Spirit  of  yon  beauteous  star, 
"  Dwelling  up  there  in  purity, 

**  Alone,  as  all  such  bright  things  are  ;  — 
"  My  sole  employ  to  pray  and  shine, 

'•  To  light  my  censer  at  the  sun, 
"  And  cast  its  fire  towards  the  shrine 

••  Of  Him  in  heaven,  the  Eternal  One  I  ' 

So  innocent  the  maid,  so  free 

From  mortal  taint  in  soul  and  frame, 
Whom  'twas  my  crime  —  my  destiny  — 
To  love,  ay,  burn  for,  with  a  flame, 
To  which  earth's  wildest  tires  are  tame. 
Had  you  but  seen  her  look,  when  first 
From  my  mad  lips  th'  avowal  burst ; 
Not  angcr'd  —  no  —  the  feeling  came 
From  depths  beyond  mere  anger's  flame  — 
It  was  a  sorrow,  calm  as  deep, 
A  mournfulness  that  could  not  weep, 

1  The  name  given  by  Uie  Mahotnelans  to  Uie  infernal  ro- 
fiona,  over  wliicli,  tlipy  say,  iJie  angel  'I'abliek  presidflB. 

By  the  seven  galea  uf  licll,  niciitionod  in  tlie  Koran,  Um 
(uinmcntators  understand  seven  difTerent  departments  or 
•vnrd^i,  in  which  seven  ditTcient  surtK  uf  Hinners  are  h)  be 
punished.  The  flrst,  railed  Gelienneni,  is  fur  sinful  Mu*- 
hlnnna     tk»  stcond,  LadUa,  fur  CbrUtian  offendera ;  the 


So  fiU'd  her  heart  was  to  the  brink, 
So  tix'd  and  froz'n  with  grief,  to  thjok 
ITiat  angel  natures  —  that  ev'n  I, 
Whose  love  she  clung  to,  as  the  tie 
Between  her  spirit  arid  the  sky 
Should  fall  thus  headlong  from  the  height 
Of  all  that  heaven  hatl^  pure  and  bright  1 

That  very  night  —  my  heart  had  grown 

Impatient  of  its  inward  burning  ; 
The  term,  too,  of  my  stay  was  flown. 
And  the  bright  Watchers  near  the  throne, 
Already,  if  a  meteor  shone 
Between  them  and  this  nether  zone, 

I'hought  'twas   their  herald's  wing  retiUfr 
ing. 
Oft  did  the  potent  spellword,  given 

To  Envoys  hither  from  the  skies, 
To  be  pronounc'd,  when  buck  to  heaven 

It  is  thf  ir  time  or  wish  to  rise, 
Come  to  my  lips  that  fatal  day  ; 

And  once,  too,  was  so  nearly  spoken. 
That  my  spread  plumage  in  the  ray 
And  breeze  of  heaven  began  to  play;  -- 

When  my  heart  fail'd  —  the  spell  was  broken, 
The  word  unfinish'd  died  away, 
And  my  check'd  plumes,  ready  to  soar, 
Fell  slack  and  lifeless  as  before. 

How  could  I  leave  a  world,  which  she. 

Or  lost  or  won,  made  all  to  me  ? 

No  matter  where  my  wanderings  were. 

So  there  she  look'd,  breath' d,  mov'd  about 
Woe,  ruin,  death,  more  sweet  with  her 

Than  Paradise  itself^  without  ( 

But,  to  return  —  that  very  day 

A  feast  was  held,  where,  full  of  mirth, 
Came  —  crowding  thick  as  flowers  that  pUy 
In  summer  winds  —  the  young  and  gay 

And  beautiful  of  this  bright  earth. 
And  she  was  there,  and  'mid  the  young 

And  beautiful  stood  first,  alone  ; 
Though  on  her  gentle  brow  still  hung 

The  shadow  I  that  morn  had  tluown  — 
The  first,  that  ever  shame  or  woo 
Had  cast  upon  its  vernal  snow. 
My  heart  was  maddcn'd  ;  —  in  the  flush 

Of  the  wild  revel  I  gave  way 

tliird,  Hutbama,  is  appointed  for  Jew  ;  and  the  <i>unh  ic4 
fifth,  called  Sair  and  Sacar,  are  destined  to  receive  the  K«- 
bcans  and  the  wunthippen  uf  &n;  in  (he  sixth,  named  (J* 
him,  those  pagans  and  idolaters  who  admit  a  pluralit)-  cf 
gods  are  pla;jd  ;  while  into  the  abyss  of  the  rpventb,  ca\lti 
Dcrk  Asfal.  or  the  Deepest,  the  bvpocritical  canters  ol  at 
religions  are  (brown. 


534 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


To  all  that  frantic  mirth  —  that  rush 

Of  desperate  gayety,  which  they, 
VVho  never  felt  how  pain's  excess 
Can  break  out  thus,  think  happiness  ! 
Bad  mimicry  of  mirth  and  life, 
Whoso  flashes  come  but  from  the  strife 
Of  inward  passions  — like  the  light 
Struck  out  by  clashing  swords  in  fight 

n  en,  too,  that  juice  of  earth,  the  bane 
A.nd  blessin-g  of  man's  heart  and  brain  — 
That  draught  of  sorcerj',  which  brings 
Phantoms  of  fair,  forbidden  things  — 
Whose  drops,  like  those  of  rainbows,  smile 

Upon  the  mists  that  circle  man, 
Bright'ning  not  only  Earth,  the  while. 

But  grasping  Heaven,  too,  in  their  span !  — 
Then  first  the  fatal  wine  cup  rain'd 

Its  dews  of  darkness  through  my  lips,* 
Casting  whate'cr  of  light  remain'd 

To  my  lost  soul  into  eclipse  ; 
And  filling  it  with  such  wild  dreams, 

Such  fantasies  and  wrong  desires, 
As,  in  the  absence  of  heaven's  beams, 

Haunt  us  forever  —  like  wild  fires 

That  walk  tliia  earth,  when  day  retires. 

Now  hear  the  rest ;  —  our  banquet  done, 
I  sought  her  in  th'  accustom'd  bower, 
Where  late  we  oft,  when  day  was  gone. 
And  the  world  hush'd,  had  met  alone. 
At  the  same  silent,  moonlight  hour. 
Her  eyes,  as  usual,  were  upturn'd 
To  her  lov'd  star,  whoso  lustre  burn'd 
Purer  than  ever  on  that  night ; 
While  she,  in  looking,  grew  more  bright, 
As  though  she  borrow'd  of  its  light. 

There  was  a  ^nrtu?  'n  that  scene, 

A  spell  of  holiness  arouuu, 
Which,  had  my  burning  brain  not  been 

Thus  madden' d,  would  have  held  me  bound. 

As  though  I  trod  celestial  ground. 
Ev  n  as  it  was,  with  soul  all  flame. 

And  lips  that  burn'd  in  their  own  sighs, 
I  stood  to  gaze  with  awe  and  shame  — 
llie  memory  of  Eden  came 

Full  o'er  me  when  I  saw  those  eyes  ; 


>  I  have  already  mentioned  that  some  of  the  circum- 

•tances  of  this  story  were  suggested  to  me  by  the  eastern  le- 
gend of  the  two  angels,  llarut  and  Manit,  as  given  by  Ma- 
•■iti,  who  saj'i  that  the  author  of  the  Taalim  founds  upon  it 
ibo  Mahometan  prohibition  of  wine.*    I  have  since  found 


And  though  too  well  each  glance  of  mins 

To  the  pale,  shrinking  maiden  prov'd 
How  far,  alas,  from  aught  divine. 
Aught  worthy  of  so  pure  a  shrine, 

Was  the  wild  love  with  which  I  lov'd, 
Yet  must  she,  too,  have  seen  —  0  yes, 

'Tis  soothing  but  to  think  she  saw 
The  deep,  true,  soulfelt  tendernes?. 

The  homage  of  an  Angel's  awe 
To  her,  a  mortal,  whom  pure  love 
Then  plac'd  above  him  —  far  above  — 
And  all  that  struggle  to  repress 
A  sinful  spirit's  mad  excess. 
Which  work'd  within  me  at  that  hour. 

When,  with  a  voice,  where  Passion  shed 
All  the  deep  sadness  of  her  power. 

Her  melancholy  power  —  I  said, 
*'  Then  be  it  so  ;  if  back  to  heaven 

"  I  must  unlov'd,  unpitied  fly, 
«•  Without  one  blest  memorial  given 

"  To  soothe  me  in  that  lonely  sky  ; 
"  One  look,  like  those  the  young  and  fond 

"  Give  when  they're  parting  —  which  wo  jU 
be, 
"  Ev'n  in  remembrance,  far  beyond 

"  All  heaven  hath  left  of  bliss  for  me  \ 

"  O,  but  to  see  that  head  recline 

•*  A  minute  on  this  trembling  arm, 
♦•  And  those  mild  eyes  look  up  to  mine, 

"  Without  a  dread,  a  thought  of  harm  I 
"  To  meet,  but  once,  the  thrilling  touch 

«*  Of  lips  too  purely  fond  to  fear  me  — 
"  Or,  if  that  boon  be  all  too  much, 

"  Ev'n  thus  to  bring  their  fragrance  near  me 
"  Nay,  shrink  not  so  —  a  look  —  a  word  — 

"  Give  them  but  kindly  and  I  fly ; 
"  Already,  see,  my  plumes  have  stirr'd, 

"  And  tremble  for  their  home  on  high. 
«•  Thus  be  our  parting  —  cheek  to  check  — 

•'  One  minute's  lapse  will  be  forgiven, 
"  And  thou,  the  next,  shalt  hear  me  speak 

"  The  speU  that  plumes  my  wing  for  heaven ! ' 

While  thus  I  spoke,  the  fearful  maid, 
Of  me,  and  of  herself  afraid. 
Had  shrinking  stood,  like  flowers  beneath 
The  scorching  of  the  south  wind's  breath  : 


that  Mariti'g  version  of  the  tale  (which  differs  also  from  thai 
of  Dr.  Prideaux,  in  his  Life  of  Mahomet,)  is  taken  from  tbi 
French  Encyclopedie,  in  which  work,  under  the  head  "  Aiq4. 
et  Marot,"  the  reader  will  find  it 


The  Bahardonusl  tells  the  fable  dilferently. 


THE   L0"ST:S   of  the  .iNGELS. 


w 


But  when  I  nain'd  —  alas,  too  well, 

I  now  recall,  though  wilder'd  then,  — 
[nstantlj";  when  I  nam'd  the  speU, 
Her  brow,  her  eyes  uprose  again, 
And,  wilh  an  eagerness,  that  spoke 
rhe  sudden  light  that  o'er  her  broke, 
•  riie  spell,  the  opell  .'  — O,  speak  it  now, 
"  And  I  will  bless  thee  !  "  she  exclaim'd- 
UiJcncwing  what  I  did,  inflam'd, 
i  -id  lost  already,  on  her  brow 

I  stainp'd  one  burning  kiss,  and  nam'd 
ITie  mysti  3  word,  till  then  ne'er  told 
To  livir.g  creature  of  earth's  mould  ! 
Scarce  was  it  said,  when,  quick  as  thought^ 
Her  lips  from  mine,  like  echo,  caught 
The  holy  sound  —  her  hands  and  eyes 
Were  instant  lifted  to  the  skies. 
And  thrice  to  heaven  she  3j)oke  it  out 

With  that  triumphant  look  Faith  wears. 
When  not  a  cloud  of  fear  or  doubt, 
A  vapor  from  this  vale  of  tears. 
Between  her  and  her  God  appears  ! 

iTiat  very  moment  her  whole  frame 

All  bright  and  glorified  became, 
And  at  her  back  I  saw  unclose 
Two  wings,  magnificent  as  those 

That  sparkle  around  Aixa's  Throne, 
Whose  plumes,  as  buoyantly  she  rose 

Above  me,  in  the  moonbeam  shone 
With  a  pure  light,  which  —  from  its  hue, 
Unknown  upon  this  earth —  I  knew 
Was  light  from  Eden,  glistening  through  ! 
Most  holy  vision  !  ne'er  before 

Did  aught  so  radiant  —  since  the  day 
When  Eblis,  in  his  downfall,  bore 

The  third  of  the  bright  stars  away  — 
Rise,  in  earth's  beauty,  to  repair 
That  loss  of  light  and  glory  there ! 

But  did  I  tamely  view  her  flight  ? 

Dkl  not  /,  too,  proclaim  out  thrice 
The  powerful  words  that  were,  that  night,  - 

0  cv'n  for  heaven  too  much  delight !  — 
Again  to  bilng  uh,  eyes  to  eyes, 
A/id  soul  t.^  soul,  in  Paradise  ? 

1  did  —  I  spoke  it  o'er  and  o'er  — 

I  pray'd,  I  wept,  but  all  in  vain ; 
For  me  the  spell  had  power  no  more. 

There  scem'd  around  me  some  dark  chain 
Which  still,  as  I  essay'd  to  soar, 
fiaffled,  alas,  each  wild  endeavor  : 
Dead  lay  my  wings  o*  they  have  lain 
8;nce  that  sad  hour,  and  will  remain  — 

Bo  wills  th'  clTende^  God  —  forever  I 


It  was  to  yonder  star  I  trac'd 
Her  journey  up  the  illumin'd  wast* 
That  isle  in  the  blue  firmament, 
To  which  so  oft  her  fancy  went 

In  wishes  and  in  dreams  before, 
And  which  was  now  —  such.  Purity, 
Thy  blest  reward  —  ordain'd  to  be 

Her  home  of  light  forevermore  ! 
Once  —  or  did  I  but  fancy  so  ?  — 

Ev'n  in  her  flight  to  that  fair  sphere, 
Mid  all  her  spirit's  new-felt  glow, 
A  pitying  look  she  turn'd  below 

On  him  who  stood  in  darkness  her*  { 
Him  whom,  perhaps,  if  vain  regret 
Can  dwell  in  heaven,  she  pities  yet ; 
And  oft,  when  looking  to  this  dim 
And  distant  world,  remembers  him. 

But  soon  that  passing  dream  was  gone : 
Farther  and  farther  off  she  shone, 
Till  lessen* d  to  a  point,  as  small 

As  are  those  specks  that  yonder  burn,  — 
Those  vivid  drops  of  light,  that  fall. 

The  last  from  Day's  exhausted  urn. 
And  when  at  length  she  merg'd,  afar. 
Into  her  own  Immortal  star. 
And  when  at  length  my  straining  sight 

Had  caught  her  wing's  last  fading  ray, 
That  minute  from  my  soul  the  light 

Of  heaven  and  love  both  pass'd  away , 
And  I  forgot  my  home,  my  birth, 

Profan'd  my  spirit,  sunk  my  brow. 
And  revell'd  in  gross  joys  of  earth. 

Till  I  became  —  what  I  am  now  I  " 

The  Spirit  bow'd  his  head  in  shame  ; 

A  shame,  that  of  itself  would  tell  — 
Were  there  not  even  those  breaks  of  flame^ 
Celestial,  through  his  clouded  frame  — 

How  grand  the  height  from  which  ho  fill ! 
That  holy  Shame,  which  ne'er  forgets 

Th'  unblench'd  renown  it  us'd  to  we»r ; 
Whose  blush  remains,  when  Virtue  pets, 

To  show  her  sunshine  has  been  there. 
Once  only,  while  the  tale  he  told. 
Were  his  eyes  lifted  to  behold 
That  happy  stainless  sUr,  where  she 
Dwelt  in  her  bower  of  pvft-ity  ! 
One  minute  did  he  look,  and  then. 

As  though  ho  felt  some  deadly  paiji 

From  its  sweet  light  throu^''  he^rt  u.d  hndn 
Shrunk  back,  and  never  look  i*  "ifvn . 


)36 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


Who  was  the  Second  Spirit  ?  he 

With  the  proud  front  and  piercing  glance  — 

Who  seem'd,  when  viewing  heaven's  expanse, 
A.8  though  hia  far- sent  eye  could  see 
On,  on  into  th  Immensity 
Behind  the  vei.8  of  that  blue  sky. 
Where  Alla's  grandest  secrets  lie  ?  — 
His  wings,  the  while,  though  day  was  gone, 

Plashing  with  many  a  various  hue 
J  )f  light  they  from  themselves  alone. 

Instinct  with  Eden's  brightness,  drew. 
""Iwas  RuBi  —  once  among  the  prime 

And  flower  of  those  bright  creatures,  nam'd 
Bpirits  of  Knowledge,'  who  o'er  Time 

And  Space  and  Thought  an  empire  claim'd, 
Second  alone  to  Him,  whose  light 
Was,  ev'n  to  theirs,  as  day  to  night ; 
'Twixt  whom  and  them  was  distance  far 

And  wide,  as  would  the  journey  be 
To  reach  from  any  island  star 

The  vague  shores  of  Infinity ! 

'Twas  RuBi,  in  whose  mournful  eye 
Slept  the  dim  light  of  days  gone  by  ; 
Whose  voice,  though  sweet,  fell  on  the  ear 

Like  echoes,  in  some  silent  place, 
W^hen  first  awak'd  for  many  a  year ; 

And  when  he  smil'd,  if  o'er  his  face 

Smile  ever  shone,  'twas  like  the  grace 
Of  moonhght  rainbows,  fair,  but  wan. 
The  sunny  life,  the  glory  gone. 
Ev'n  o'er  his  pride,  though  still  the  same, 
A.  softening  shade  from  sorrow  came  ; 
And  though  at  times  his  spirit  knew 
.    The  kindlings  of  disdain  and  ire. 
Short  was  the  fitful  glare  they  threw  — 
Like  the  last  flashes,  fierce  but  few, 

Seen  through  some  noble  pile  on  fire  ! 

Buch  was  the  Angel,  who  now  broke 

The  silence  that  had  come  o'er  all, 
When  ho,  the  Spirit  that  last  spoke, 

Clos'd  the  sad  history  of  his  fall ; 
Ajid,  while  a  sacred  lustre,  flown 

{"or  many  a  day,  relum'd  his  cheek  — 
Beautiful,  as  in  days  of  old  ; 
And  rot  those  eloquent  lips  alone 

But  every  feature  seem'd  to  speak  — 
n^us  his  eventful  story  told  :  — 


1  The  Kenibiim,  as  the  Mussulmans  call  them,  are  often 
MDfld  iodiscriininatel)  with  the  Asrafil  or  tSeraphim,  under 


SECOND   ANGEL'S   STORY. 

*'  You  both  remember  well  the  day, 

When  unto  Eden's  new-made  bowers, 
Alla  convok'd  the  bright  array 

Of  his  supreme  angelic  powers, 
To  witness  the  one  wonder  yet. 

Beyond  man,  angel,  star,  or  sur, 
He  must  achieve,  ere  he  could  set 

His  seal  upon  the  world,  as  done  — 
To  see  that  last  perfection  rise. 

That  crowning  of  creation's  birtli. 
When,  'mid  the  worship  and  surprise 
Of  circling  angels.  Woman's  eyes 

First  open'd  upon  heaven  and  earth  . 
And  from  their  lids  a  thrill  was  sent, 
That  through  each  living  spirit  went 
Like  first  light  through  the  firmament  F 

Can  you  forget  how  gradual  stole 
The  fresh-awaken'd  breath  of  soul 
Throughout  her  perfect  form  —  which  seesc  J 
To  grow  transparent,  as  there  beam'd 
That  dawn  of  Mind  within,  and  caught 
New  loveliness  from  each  new  thought  > 
Slow  as  o'er  summer  seas  we  trace 

The  progress  of  the  noontide  air. 
Dimpling  its  bright  and  silent  face 
Each  minute  into  some  new  grace. 

And  varying  heaven's  reflections  there  - 
Or,  like  the  light  of  evening,  stealing 

O'er  some  fair  temple,  which  all  day 
Hath  slept  in  shadow,  slow  revealing 

Its  several  beauties,  ray  by  ray, 
Till  it  shines  out,  a  thing  to  bless, 
AH  full  of  light  and  loveliness. 

Can  you  forget  her  blush,  when  round 
Through  Eden's  lone,  enchanted  ground 
She  look'd,  and  saw,  the  sea  —  the  skies  — 

And  heard  the  rush  of  many  a  wing. 

On  high  behests  then  vanishing  ; 
And  saw  the  last  few  angel  eyes, 
Still  lingering  —  mine  among  the  rest, — 
Reluctant  leaving  scenes  so  blest  ? 
From  that  miraculous  hour,  the  fate 

Of  this  new,  glorious  Being  dwelt 
Forever,  with  a  spell-like  weight, 
Upon  my  spirit  —  early,  late, 

Whate'er  I  did,  or  dream' d,  or  felt, 
The  thought  of  what  might  yet  befall 
That  matchless  creature  mix'd  with  all.  — 


one  common  name  of  Azazil,  by  which  all  spirits  who  rjr 
proach  near  the  throne  of  Alia  are  designated. 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


•37 


I 


Kor  she  alone,  Viut  her  whole  race 
Throv.gh  ages  yet  to  come  —  whate'er 
Of  feminine,  and  fond,  and  fair, 

Bhould  spring  from  that  pure  mind  and  face, 
All  ■wak'd  my  soul's  intensest  caro ; 

Their  forms,  souls,  feelings,  still  to  me 

Creation's  strangest  mystery  ! 

It  was  my  doom  —  ev'n  from  the  first. 
When  witnessing  the  primal  burst 
Of  Nature's  wonders,  I  saw  rise 
Those  bright  creations  in  the  skies,  — 
Those  worlds  instinct  with  life  and  light. 
Which  Man,  remote,  but  sees  by  night,  — 
It  was  my  doom  still  to  be  haunted 
By  some  new  wonder,  some  sublime 
And  matchless  work,  that,  for  the  time 
Held  nil  my  soul,  enchain'd,  enchanted, 
And  left  mo  not  a  thought,  a  dream, 
A  word,  but  on  that  only  theme  ! 

The  wish  to  kn^w —  that  endless  thirst, 

"Which  ev'n  by  quenching  is  awak'd, 
And  which  becomes  or  bless'd  or  curs' d. 

As  is  the  fount  whereat  'tis  slak'd  — 
Still  urg'd  me  onward,  with  desire 
Inaatiate,  to  explore,  inquire  — 
Whate'er  the  wondrous  things  might  be, 
ITiat  wak'd  each  new  idolatry  — 

Their  cause,  aim,  source,  whence  ever  sprung— 
ITieir  inmost  powers,  as  though  for  me 

Existence  on  that  knowledge  hung. 

0  what  a  vision  were  the  stars, 

When  first  I  saw  them  bum  on  high, 
Rolling  along,  like  living  cars 

Of  light,  for  gods  to  journey  by  !  * 
They  were  my  heart's  first  passion  —  days 
And  nights,  unwearied,  in  their  rays 
Have  I  hung  floating,  till  each  sense 
Seem'd  full  of  their  bright  influence. 
Inncyjent  joy  !  alas,  how  much 

Of  misery  had  I  shunn'd  below, 
■  <ould  I  have  still  liv'd  bless'd  with  such ; 
Nor,  proud  and  restless,  bum'd  to  know 
The  knowledge  that  brings  guilt  and  woe. 

1  "  C'est  un  fait  indubitable  que  la  plupart  des  ancieni 
phllosopliex,  soit  Chaldiens,  aoit  Greca,  nout  ont  donnt  les 
Litres  conime  aniin^:),  et  ont  (outenii  que  lea  astret,  qui 
nous  <c!aircnl  n'etuient  que,  ou  \ea  chare,  ou  mSme  lea  na- 
vires  dea  Intelligences  qui  \ea  conduisoient.  Tour  les  Chart, 
tela  w  lit  partout ;  on  n'a  qu'oiivrir  Pline,  St.  Clement," 
lie.  Uc  —  Miinrir*  Wuturique,  lur  U  Saiiinu,  par  U.  Fovb- 

KOICT. 

A  belief  (lint  the  Mars  are  either  spirits  or  the  vehicles  of 
•pints,  was  common  to  all  tlie  religions  and  btndm  of  the 


Often  —  so  much  I  lov'd  to  trace 
ITie  secrets  of  this  starry  race  — 
Have  I  at  morn  and  evening  rxin 
Along  the  lines  of  radiance  spun 
Like  webs,  between  them  and  the  mn. 
Untwisting  all  the  tangled  ties 
Of  light  into  their  different  dyes  — 
ITien  fleetly  wing'd  I  off",  in  quest 
Of  those,  the  farthest,  loneliest, 
That  watch,  like  winking  sentinels,' 
The  void,  beyond  which  Chaos  dwells ; 
And  there,  with  nciscless  plume,  pursued 
Their  track  through  that  grand  solitude. 
Asking  intently  all  and  each 

What  soul  within  their  radiance  dwelt. 
And  wishing  their  sweet  light  were  speech. 

That  they  might  tell  me  all  they  felt. 

Nay,  oft,  so  passionate  my  ( haso 
Of  these  resplendent  heirs  of  space, 
Oft  did  I  follow  —  lest  a  ray 

Should  'scape  me  in  the  farthest  night  — 
Some  pilgrim  Comet,  on  his  way 

To  visit  distant  shrines  of  light. 
And  well  remember  how  I  sung 

Exultingly,  when  on  my  sight 
New  worlds  of  stars,  all  fresh  and  ycong. 
As  if  just  bom  of  darkness,  sprung  1 

Such  was  my  pure  ambition  then. 

My  sinless  transport,  night  and  mom 
Ere  yet  this  newer  world  of  men. 

And  that  most  fair  of  stars  was  bom 
Which  I,  in  fatal  hour,  saw  rise 
Among  the  flowers  of  Paradise  ! 
Thenceforth  my  nature  all  was  chang'd 

My  heart,  soul,  senses  turn'd  below ; 
And  he,  who  but  so  lately  rang'd 

Yon  wonderful  expanse,  where  glow 
Worlds  upon  worlds,  —  yet  found  his  minil 
Ev'n  in  that  luminous  range  ccnfin'd,  — 
Now  bless'd  the  humblest,  meanest  sod 
Of  the  dark  earth  where  Woman  trod  ' 
In  vain  my  former  idols  glisten'd 

From    their    far    thrones ;    in    vain    th«M 
ears 

East  Kircher  has  giren  the  name*  and  atatiocs  of  IN 
seven  nrchanpeU,  who  were  by  the  Cabala  of  th«  Jawa  di* 
tributed  tiirough  the  planets, 

t  According  to  the  cosmogony  of  the  ancient  Parsiaiu^ 
there  were  four  stars  set  as  scniiiiels  in  the  four  quarters  of 
tile  heavens,  to  watch  over  the  oilier  Hxed  stars,  and  aupar- 
intend  the  planets  in  tJieir  course.  1'he  names  of  thtM  tni 
sentinel  stars  are,  according  to  the  Iloundesb,  TtachMr,  fel 
the  cist ;  Satevis,  fur  tiie  west ;  Vanand,  Sut  tb»  aoutb  {  airf 
Haftorang,  for  the  north. 


138                                          THE  LOVES  OF 

THE   ANGELS. 

To  the  once  thrilling  music  listen' d, 

Sad,  fatal  zeal,  so  sure  of  woo  ; 

That  hymn'd  around  my  favorite  spheres  — 

Which,  though  from  heaven  all  pure  it  came, 

To  earth,  to  earth  each  thought  -vvas  given, 

Yet  stain'd,  misus'd,  brought  sin  and  sha-iie 

That  in  this  half-lost  soul  had  birth  ; 

On  her,  on  me,  on  all  below  ! 

I  like  some  high  mount,  whose  head's  in  heaven, 

While  its  whole  shadow  rests  on  earth  ! 

I  had  seen  this  ;  had  seen  Man,  arm'd, 

As  his  soul  is,  with  strength  and  souss, 

flor  was  it  Lore,  ev'n  yet,  that  thrall'd 

By  her  first  words  to  ruin  charm'd  , 

My  spuit  in  his  burning  ties  ; 

His  vaunted  reason's  cold  defence, 

And  less,  still  less  could  it  be  call'd 

Like  an  ice  barrier  in  the  ray 

That  grosser  flame,  round  which  Love  flies 

Of  melting  summei,  smil'd  away. 

Nearer  and  nearer,  till  he  dies  — 

Nay,  stranger  yet,  spite  of  all  this  — 

No,  it  was  wonder,  such  as  thrill'd 

Though  by  her  counsels  taught  to  err. 

At  all  God's  works  my  dazzled  sense ; 

Though  driv'n  from  Paradise  for  her. 

The  same  rapt  wonder,  only  fill'd 

(And  icith  her  —  l/iat,  at  least,  was  bliss,) 

With  passion,  more  profound,  intense,  — 

Had  I  not  heard  him,  ere  he  cross'd 

A  vehement,  but  wandering  fire. 

The  threshold  of  that  earthly  heaven, 

Which,  though  nor  love,  nor  yet  desire. 

Which  by  her  wildering  smile  he  lost  — 

Though  through  all  womankind  it  took 

So  quickly  was  the  wrong  forgiven  !  — 

Its  range,  as  lawless  lightnings  run, 

Had  I  not  heard  him,  as  he  press'd 

Yet  wanted  but  a  touch,  a  look, 

The  frail,  fond  trembler  to  a  breast 

To  fix  it  burning  upon  One. 

Which  she  had  doom'd  to  sin  ai!d  strife, 

Call  her  —  ev'n  then  —  his  Life  !  his  Life  ! 

Then,  too,  the  cyer-restless  zeal, 

Yes,  such  the  love-taught  name,  the  first, 

Th'  insatiate  curiosity 

That  ruin'd  Man  to  Woman  gave. 

To  know  how  shapes,  so  fair,  must  feci  — 

Ev'n  in  his  outcast  hour,  when  curs'd 

To  look,  but  once,  beneath  the  seal 

By  her  fond  witchery,  with  that  worst 

Of  so  much  loveliness,  and  see 

And  earliest  boon  of  love,  the  grave  ! 

What  souls  belong'd  to  such  bright  eyes  — 

She,  who  brought  death  into  the  world. 

Whether,  as  sunbeams  find  their  way 

There  stood  before  him,  with  the  light 

Into  the  gem  that  hidden  lies. 

Of  their  lost  Paradise  still  bright 

Those  looks  could  inward  turn  their  ray, 

Upon  those  stinny  locks,  that  curl'd 

And  make  the  soul  as  bright  as  they : 

Down  her  white  shoulders  to  her  feet  — 

All  this  impell'd  my  anxious  chase, 

So  beautiful  in  form,  so  sweet 

And  still  the  more  I  saw  and  knew 

In  heart  and  voice,  as  to  redeem 

Of  Woman's  fond,  weak,  conquering  race. 

The  loss,  the  death  of  all  things  dear. 

Th'  intcnser  still  my  wonder  grew. 

Except  herself —  and  make  it  seem 

Life,  endless  Life,  while  she  was  near  ! 

I  had  beheld  their  First,  their  Eve, 

Could  I  help  wondering  at  a  creature. 

Born  in  that  splendid  Paradise, 

Thus  circled  round  with  spells  so  strong -- 

Which  sprung  tliere  solely  to  receive 

One,  to  whose  every  thought,  word,  feature, 

The  first  light  of  her  waking  eyes. 

In  joy  and  woe,  through  right  and  wrong, 

had  seen  purest  angels  lean 

Such  sweet  omnipotence  heaven  rave, 

111  worship  o'er  her  from  above  ; 

To  bless  or  ruin,  curse  or  save  f 

4  nd  man  —  0  yes,  had  envying  seen 

Proud  man  possess' d  of  all  her  love 

Nor  did  the  marvel  cease  with  her  — 

New  Eves  in  all  her  daughters  came, 

I  saw  their  happiness,  so  brief. 

As  strong  to  charm,  as  weak  to  err. 

So  exquisite,  —  her  error,  too, 

As  sure  of  man  through  praise  and  blame, 

That  easy  trust,  that  prompt  belief 

Whate'er  they  brought  him,  pride  or  shame,. 

In  what  the  warm  heart  wishes  true ; 

He  still  th'  unreasoning  wcrshipper, 

That  faith  in  words,  when  kindly  said, 

By  which  the  whole  fond  sex  is  led  — 
Mingled  with  —  what  I  durst  not  blame, 
For  'tis  my  own —  tliat  zeal  to  knotot 

1  Chavah,  or,  as  tt  is  in  Aral  ic,  Uavah  (the  name  b* 
whicli  Adam  called  the  woman  after  their  transgtsgsioni 
means  "  Lifo." 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS.                                           5j, 

And  they,  throughout  all  time,  the  same 

Though,  even  here,  her  fonr.  could  spare 

Enchantresses  of  soul  and  frame, 

From  its  own  beauty's  rich  excess 

Into  whose  hands,  from  first  to  last, 

Enough  to  make  ev'n  them  more  fail  — 

This  world  with  all  its  destinies, 

But  'twas  the  Mind,  outshining  clear 

l/cvotedly  by  heaven  seems  ca^t, 

Through    her    whole    frame  — the    soul,    stfl 

To  save  or  ruin,  as  they  please  I 

near, 

0   'tis  not  to  be  t  Jd  how  long, 

To  light  each  charm,  yet  independent 

How  restlessly  I  sigh'd  to  fini 

Of  what  it  lighted,  as  the  sun 

Rf.iTie  one,  from  out  that  witching  throng, 

That  shines  on  flowers,  would  be  rcspIendtiDt 

Some  abstract  of  the  form  and  mind 

Were  there  no  flowers  to  shine  ipon  — 

Of  the  whclt  ruatchless  sex,  from  which. 

'Twas  this,  all  this,  in  one  combir.d  — 

In  my  own  anns  beheld,  possess'd, 

Th'  unnumber'd  looks  and  arts  that  form 

i  might  learn  all  the  i  owcrs  to  witch, 

The  glory  of  young  womankind, 

To  warm,  and  (if  my  fate  unblest 

Taken,  in  their  perfection,  warm. 

Would  have  it)  ruin,  of  the  rest ! 

Ere  time  had  chill'd  a  single  charm. 

Into  whose  inward  soul  and  sense 

And  starap'd  with  such  a  seal  of  Mind, 

I  might  descend,  as  doth  the  bee 

As  pave  to  beauties,  that  might  be 

Into  the  flower's  deep  heart,  and  thence 

Too  sensual  else,  too  unrcfin'd. 

Kifle,  in  all  its  purity. 

The  impress  of  Divinity ! 

fhe  prime,  the  quintessence,  the  whole 

Jf  wondrous  Woman's  frame  and  soul ! 

'Twas  this  —  a  union,  which  the  hand 

Of  Nature  kept  for  her  alone. 

At  length,  my  burning  wish,  my  prayer— 

Of  every  thing  most  playful,  bland. 

,'For  such  —  0  what  will  tongues  not  dare, 

Voluptuous,  spiritual,  grand. 

When  hearts  go  wrong  !  — this  lip  preferr'd)  — 

In  angel  natures  and  her  own  — 

At  length  my  ominoun  prayer  was  heard  — 

0  this  it  was  that  drew  me  nigh 

But  whether  heard  in  heaven  or  hell. 

One,  who  seem'd  kin  to  heaven  as  I, 

Listen  —  and  thou  wilt  know  too  welL 

A  bright  twin  sister  from  on  high 

One,  in  whose  love,  I  felt,  were  given 

Pierc  was  a  maid,  of  all  who  move 

Tlie  mix'd  delights  of  either  sphere. 

Like  visions  o'er  this  orb,  most  fit 

All  that  the  spirit  seeks  in  heaven. 

To  be  a  bright  young  angel's  love,x 

And  all  the  senses  bun.  for  here. 

Herself  eo  bright,  sc  exquisite ! 

["he  pride,  too,  of  her  step,  as  light 

Had  we  —  but  hold  —  hear  every  part 

Along  ih'  unconscious  ea.th  she  went. 

Of  our  sad  talc  —  spite  of  the  pain 

Seem'd  that  of  one,  born  with  »  right 

Remembrance  gives,  when  the  fix'd  dart 

To  walk  somt,  he:iv'nlier  element, 

Is  stirr'd  thus  in  the  a>  )und  again  — 

And  tread  in  placej  where  her  feot 

Hear  every  step,  so  full  o:  bliss. 
And  yet  so  ruinous,  that  led 

A  star  at  every  step  should  i^cCw 

Twas  not  alone  tliat  loveliness 

Down  to  the  last,  dark  precipice. 

By  which  the  'wilder'd  sense  is  ciught- 

Where  pcrish'd  both  —  the  fall'n,  the  dead 

Of  lips,  whose  very  breath  cou'd  ble»« ; 

Of  plnyful  blushes,  that  seem'd  nvu^at 

From  the  first  hour  she  caught  my  sight, 

But  luminous  escapes  of  thought  i 

I  never  left  her  —  day  and  night 

Df  eyes  that,  when  by  anger  stirr'u. 

Hovering  unseen  around  her  way. 

Were  fire  itself,  but,  at  a  word 

And  'mid  her  loneliest  musings  near. 

Of  tenderness,  all  soft  became 

I  roon  could  track  each  thought  that  lay. 

As  though  they  could,  like  the  sun's  bL  1, 

Gleaming  within  her  heart,  as  clear 

Dissolve  away  in  their  own  flame  — 

As  pftbWes  within  brooks  appear  ; 

Of  form,  as  pliant  as  the  shoots 

And  there,  a-nong  the  countless  things 

Of  a  young  tree,  in  vernal  flower  : 

Thj«t  keep  young  hearts  forever  glowing. 

Yet  round  and  glowing  as  the  fruits. 

\i\gue  wishes,  foud  imagining;*. 

That  drop  from  it  in  summer's  hoiir ;  - 

Love  dreams,  hS  yet  no  oDJcci  knowing - 

Twas  not  alone  this  loveliness 

Light,  wingtd  hopw,  tuat  come  wnon  bid, 

That  falls  to  loveliest  women's  share. 

A&i  rdincow  jo>a  that  end  in  weeping  t 

«40                                           THF.  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELts. 

A.nd  passions,  among  pure  thoughts  hid. 

From  lamps  invisible  then  stole, 

Like  serpents  under  flow'rets  sleeping  :  — 

Brightly  pervading  all  the  place  — 

'Mong  all  these  feelings  —  felt  where'er 

Like  that  mysterious  light  the  soul, 

Young  hearts  are  beating  —  I  saw  there 

Itself  unseen,  sheds  through  the  face. 

Proud  thoughts,  aspirings  high  —  beyond 

There,  at  her  altar  while  she  knelt, 

Whate'er  yet  dwelt  in  soul  so  fond  — 

And  all  that  woman  ever  felt. 

Glimpses  of  glory,  far  away 

When  God  and  man  both  claim'd  her  sighs 

Into  the  bright,  vague  future  given ; 

Every  warm  thought,  that  ever  dwelt. 

Ajid  fancies,  free  and  grand,  whose  play, 

Like  summer  clouds,  'twixt  earth  and  skiet 

Like  that  of  eaglets,  is  near  heaven  ! 

Too  pure  to  fall,  too  gross  to  rise, 

With  this,  too  —  what  a  soul  and  heart 

Spoke  in  her  gestures,  tones,  and  eyes  — 

To  fall  beneath  the  tempter's  art !  — 

Then,  as  the  mystic  light's  soft  ray 

A  zeal  for  knowledge,  such  as  ne'er 

Grew  softer  still,  as  though  its  ray 

Enshrin'd  itself  in  form  so  fair. 

Was  breath'd  from  her,  I  heard  her  say  : 

tsuico  that  first,  fatal  hour,  when  Eve, 

With  every  fruit  of  Eden  bleat. 

"  0  idol  of  my  dreams  !  whate'er 

Save  one  alone  —  rather  than  leave 

"  Thy  nature  be  -   human,  divine. 

That  one  unreach'd,  lost  all  the  rest. 

«  Or  but  half  heav'nly  —  still  too  fair. 

*•  Too  heavenly  to  be  ever  mine  ! 

It  -was  in  dreams  that  first  I  stole 

With  gentle  mastery  o'er  her  mind  — 

"  Wonderful  Spirit,  who  dost  make 

In  that  rich  twilight  of  the  soul. 

"  Slumber  so  lovely,  that  it  seems 

When  reason's  beam,  half  hid  behind 

"  No  longer  life  to  live  awake, 

The  clouds  of  sleep,  obscurely  gilds 

"  Since  heaven  itself  descends  in  dreams. 

Each  shadowy  shape  the  Fancy  builds  — 

'Twas  then,  by  that  soft  light,  I  brought 

"  Why  do  I  ever  lose  thee  ?  why 

Vague,  glimmering  visions  to  her  view  ;  — 

••  When  on  thy  realms  and  thee  I  gaze 

Catches  of  radiance,  lost  when  caught, 

"  Still  drops  that  veil,  which  I  could  die, 

Bright  labyrinths,  that  led  to  nought. 

"  0  gladly,  but  one  hour  to  raise  ? 

And  vistas,  with  no  pathway  through  ;  — 

Dwellings  of  bliss,  that  opening  shone, 

"  Long  ere  such  miracles  as  thou 

Then  clos'd,  dissolv'd,  and  left  no  trace  — 

'•  And  thine  came  o'er  my  thoughts,  a  thiist 

AH  that,  in  short,  could  tempt  Hope  on, 

«•  For  light  was  in  this  soul,  which  now 

But  give  her  wing  no  resting-place  ; 

"  Thy  looks  have  into  passion  nurs'd. 

Myself  the  while,  with  brow,  as  yet. 

Pure  as  the  young  moon's  coronet, 

"  There's  nothing  bright  above,  below, 

Through  every  dream  still  in  her  sight, 

"  In  sky  —  earth  -  -  ocean,  that  this  breast 

Th'  enchanter  of  each  mocking  scene, 

"  Doth  not  intensely  burn  to  know. 

Who  gave  the  hope,  then  brought  the  blight. 

'•  And  thee,  thee,  thee,  o'er  aU  the  rest ! 

Who  said,  "Behold  yon  world  of  light," 

Then  sudden  dropp'd  a  veil  between  ! 

"  Then  come,  0  Spirit,  from  behind 

"  The  curtains  of  thy  radiant  home. 

^t  length,  when  I  perceiv'd  each  thought, 

"  If  thou  wouldst  be  as  angel  shrin'd. 

Waking  or  sleeping,,  fix'd  on  nought 

"  Or  lov'd  and  clasp'd  as  mortal,  come  I 

But  these  illusive  scenes,  and  me  — 

riif  phantom,  who  thus  came  and  went. 

"  Bring  all  thy  dazzling  wonders  here, 

la  half  revealments,  only  meant 

"  That  I  may,  waking,  know  and  see ; 

Tj  madden  curiosity  — 

♦'  Or  waft  me  hence  to  thy  own  sphere. 

When  by  such  various  arts  I  found 

••  Thy  heaven  or  —  ay,  even  that  with  thed 

Her  fancy  to  its  utmost  wound, 

One  night  —  'twas  in  a  holy  spot, 

"  Demon  or  God,  who  hold'st  the  book 

Which  she  for  pray'r  had  chos'n  —  a  grot 

"  Of  knowledge  spread  beneath  thine  eyej 

Of  purest  marble,  built  below 

••  Give  me,  with  thee,  but  one  bright  look 

Her  garden  beds,  through  which  a  glow 

"  Into  its  leaves,  and  let  mo  die  I 

Thii  LOVES  OF  THE  AN^GELS. 


141 


By  those  ethereal  wings,  whose  way 
"  Lies  through  an  element,  so  fraught 
•  With  living  Mind,  that,  as  they  play, 
••  Their  every  movement  is  a  thought ! 

•*  By  that  bright,  wreathed  hair,  between 
"  Whose  sunny  clxistcrs  the  sweet  wind 

•*  Of  Paradise  so  late  hath  been, 
^  And  kft  its  fragrant  soul  behind  ! 

^  By  thoa.  imp&ssion'd  eyes,  that  melt 
•'  Their  light  into  the  inmost  heart ; 

••  J/ke  sunset  in  the  waters,  felt 
•♦  .^Lfl  molten  fire  through  every  part  — 

•«  I  t'r  implore  thee,  0  most  bright 

"  And  worshipp'd  Spirit,  shine  but  o'er 

••  My  waking,  wondering  eyes  this  night, 
•'  This  one  blest  night  —  I  ask  no  more  !  " 

s.hau8ted,  breathless,  aa  she  said 
These  burning  words,  her  languid  head 
Upon  the  altar's  steps  she  cast, 
As  if  that  brain  throb  were  its  last  — 

Till,  startled  by  the  breathing,  nigh. 
Of  lips,  that  echoed  back  her  sigh. 
Sudden  her  brow  again  she  rais'd  ; 

And  there,  just  lighted  on  the  shrine, 
Beheld  me  —  not  as  I  had  blaz'd 

Around  her,  full  of  light  divine, 
In  her  late  dreams,  but  soften'd  down 
Into  more  mortal  grace  ;  — my  cro^;^'n 
Of  flowers,  too  radiant  for  this  world. 

Left  hanging  On  yon  starry  steep  ; 
My  wings  shut  up,  like  banners  furl'd, 

When  Peace  hath  put  their  pomp  to  sleep  : 

Or  like  autumnal  clouds,  that  keep 
Tl-'cir  lightnings  sheath'd,  rather  than  mar 
The  dawning  hour  of  some  young  star  ; 
And  nothing  left,  but  what  besecm'd 

11 '  accessible,  though  glorious  mate 
Of  mortal  woman  —  whose  eyes  beam'd 

Back  upon  hers,  as  passionate  ; 
Who«e  ready  heart  brought  flame  for  flame, 
Whose  sin,  whose  madness  was  the  same  ; 
And  whose  soul  lost,  in  that  one  hour, 

For  her  and  for  her  love  —  O  more 
Of  heaven's  light  than  ev'n  the  power 

Of  heav'n  itself  could  now  restore  ! 


'  Called  by  the  Muffiinlinnn!)  AI  Amf — a  gort  of  wall  or     ly  tantalized  and  tormented  by  the  «igbta  that  m 


partition  which,  accunling  tu  the  7th  chapter  of  the  Koran, 
teoarates  hell  from  paradise,  and  where  they,  who  have  not 
werits  cufBcieni  to  gain  them  immediate  admittance  into 
fteaven,  are  Bupposed  to  stand  for  a  certain  period,  altemate- 


And  yet,  that  hour  ! " 

The  Spirit  here 

Stopp'd  in  his  utterance,  as  if  words 
Gave  way  beneath  the  wild  career 

Of  his  then  rushing  thoughts  —  like  chords 
Midway  in  some  enthusiast's  song. 
Breaking  beneath  a  *ouch  too  strong ; 
While  the  clinch'd  hand  upon  the  brer 
Told  how  remembrance  throbb'd  thett  low 
But  soon  'twas  o'er  —  that  casual  blaze 
From  the  sunk  fire  of  other  days  — 
That  relic  of  a  flame,  whose  burning 

Had  been  too  fierce  to  bo  relum'd. 
Soon  pass'd  away,  and  the  youth,  turning 

To  his  bright  listeners,  thus  rcsum'd :  — 

"Days,    months    elaps'd,    and,    though    whii 
most 

On  earth  I  Bigh'd  for  was  mine,  all  — 
Yet  —  was  I  happy  ?     God,  thou  know'st. 
Howe'er  they  smile,  and  feign,  and  boast, 

What  happiness  is  theirs,  who  fall ! 
'Twas  bitterest  anguish  —  made  more  keen 
Ev'n  by  the  love,  the  bliss,  between 
Whose  throbs  it  came,  like  gleams  of  heU 

In  agonizing  cross  light  given 
Athwart  the  glimpses,  they  who  dwell 

In  purgatory  '  catch  of  heaven  I 
The  only  feeling  that  to  me 

Seem'd  joy  —  or  rather  my  sole  rest 
From  aching  misery  —  was  to  sec 

My  young,  proud,  blooming  Lilis  blest. 
She,  the  fair  fountain  of  all  ill 

To  my  lost  soul  —  whom  yet  its  thirst 
Fervidly  panted  after  still, 

And  found  the  charm  fresh  as  at  first  — 
To  see  her  happy  —  to  reflect 

Whatever  beams  still  round  me  play'd 
Of  former  pride,  of  glory  wreck'd. 

On  her,  my  Moon,  whose  light  I  made. 

And  whose  soul  worshipp'd  ev'n  my  shadti   - 
This  was,  I  own,  enjoyment  —  tiiis 
My  sole,  last  lingering  glimpse  of  bliss. 
And  proud  she  was,  fair  creature !  —  pioud« 

Beyond  what  ev'n  most  queenly  stun 
In  woman's  heart,  nor  would  have  bow'd 

That  beautiful  young  brow  of  hers 
To  aught  beneath  the  First  above, 
So  high  she  deem'd  her  Cherub's  love ! 


Bide  presented  to  them. 

Manes,  who  borrowed  in  many  instincM  ftMn  lb*  Plav* 
Ists,  placed  his  purgatorier,  or  places  of  pufiflcalioil,  tal  ttf 
Sun  and  Moon.  —  Beautobrt,  liv.  UL  chao  i- 


342 


THE  LOVEis  OF  THli  ANGELis 


rhen,  too,  that  passion,  hourly  growing 

Stronger  and  stronger  —  to  which  even 
3er  love,  at  times,  gave  way  —  of  knowing 

Every  thing  strange  in  earth  and  heaven  ; 
Not  only  all  that,  full  revcal'd, 

Th'  eternal  Alla  loves  to  show, 
Rut  all  that  He  hath  wisely  sesil'd 

In  darknoss,  for  man  not  to  know  — 
Ev'n  this  desire,  alas,  ill  starr'd 

And  fatal  as  it  was,  I  sought 
To  feed  each  minute,  and  unbarr'd 

Such  realms  of  wonder  on  her  thought. 
As  ne'er,  till  then,  had  let  their  light 
Escape  on  any  mortal's  sight ! 
In  the  deep  earth  —  beneath  the  sea  — 

Through  caves  of  fire  —  through  wilds  of  air  — 
Wherever  sleeping  Mystery 

Had  spread  her  curtain,  we  were  there  — 
Love  still  beside  us,  as  we  went, 
At  home  in  each  new  element. 

And  sure  of  worship  every  where  ! 

Then  first  was  Nature  taught  to  lay 

The  wealth  of  all  her  kingdoms  down 
At  woman's  worshipp'd  feet,  and  saj', 

••  Bright  creature,  this  is  all  thine  own ! ' 
Then  first  were  diamonds,  from  the  night,' 
Uf  earth's  deep  centre  brought  to  light. 
And  made  to  grace  the  conquering  way 
Of  proud  young  beauty  with  their  ray. 
Then,  too,  the  pearl  from  out  its  shell 

Unsightly,  in  the  sunless  sea, 
(As  'twere  a  spirit,  forc'd  to  dwell 

In  form  unlovely)  was  set  free. 
And  round  the  neck  of  woman  threw 
A  light  it  lent  and  borrow'd  too. 
For  never  did  this  maid  —  whate'er 

Th'  ambition  of  the  hour  —  forget 
Her  sex's  pride  in  being  fair  ; 
Nor  that  adornment,  tasteful,  rare, 
Which  makes  the  mighty  magnet,  set 
In  Woman's  form,  more  mighty  yet. 
Nor  was  there  aught  within  the  range 

Of  my  swift  wing  in  sea  or  air, 

1  '  Uiiclques  gnomes  desireux  de  devenir  inimortels, 
\»»i«nt  viiiilii  gagiier  les  bonnes  graces  des  nos  filles,  et 
iyi\  avoieiit  apporle  des  pierreries  dont  ils  sont  gardiens 
latiircls :  et  ces  auloiirs  ont  cru,  s'appuyant  sur  le  livre 
d'Enoch  iiial-enteiulu,  que  c'etoient  des  pi^geB  que  les  an- 
?cs  arnoiirni.x,"'  &c.  &c. — Comte  de  Oabaiis. 

A  ■  the  fiction  of  the  loves  of  angels  with  women  gave 
irth  to  the  fanciful  world  of  sylphs  and  gnomes,  so  we  owe 
o  it  also  the  invention  of  those  benutifiil  Genii  and  Peris, 
which  embellish  so  much  the  mythology  of  the  East ;  for  In 
the  fabulous  histories  of  CaiBuinarath,  of  Thamurath,  &c., 
thei(e  spiritual  creatures  are  always  represented  as  the  de- 


Of  beautiful,  or  grand,  or  strange, 
That,  quickly  as  her  wish  could  change, 

I  did  not  seek,  with  such  fond  care. 
That  when  I've  seen  her  look  above 

At  some  bright  star  admiringly, 
I've  said,  "Nay,  look  not  there,  my  love,* 

Alas,  I  cannot  give  it  thee  !  " 

But  not  alone  the  wonders  found 

Through  Nature's  realm  —  th'  unveil'd,  ni« 
terial. 
Visible  glories,  that  abound. 
Through  all  her  vast,  enchanted  ground 

But  whatsoe'er  unseen,  ethereal. 
Dwells  far  away  from  human  sense, 
Wrapp'd  in  its  own  intelligence  — 
The  mystery  of  that  Fountain  head. 

From  which  all  vital  spirit  runs, 
All  breath  of  Life,  where'er  'tis  spread 

Through  men  or  angels,  flowers  or  suns 
The  workings  of  th'  Almighty  Mind, 
When  first  o'er  Chaos  he  design'd 
The  outlines  of  this  world  ;  and  through 

That  depth  of  darkness  —  like  the  bow, 
Call'd  out  of  rain  clouds,  hue  by  hue  *  — 

Saw  the  grand,  gradual  picture  grow  ;  • 
The  covenant  with  humankind 

By  Alla  made*  —  the  chains  of  Fate 
He  round  himself  and  them  hath  twin'd, 

Till  his  high  task  he  consummate ;  — 

Till  good  from  evil,  love  from  hate. 
Shall  be  work'd  out  through  sin  and  pain. 
And  Fate  shall  loose  her  iron  chain, 
And  all  be  free,  be  bright  again ! 

Such  were  the  deep-drawn  mysteries, 
And  some,  ev'n  more  obscure,  profound. 

And  wildering  to  the  mind  than  these, 

Which  —  far    as    woman's    thought    couid 
sound. 

Or  a  fall'n,  outlaw'd  spirit  reach  — 

She  dar'd  to  learn,  and  I  to  teach. 

Till  —  fill'd  with  such  unearthly  lore, 
And  mingling  the  pure  light  it  brings 

scendants  of  Seth,  and  called  the  Bani  Algiann,  or  ch!ldien 
of  Giann. 

*  I  am  aware  that  this  happy  saying  of  iVird  Albemarle'* 
loses  much  of  its  grace  and  playfulness,  by  being  put  intc 
the  mouth  of  any  but  a  human  lover. 

8  According  to  Whitehurst's  theory,  the  mention  of  rain 
bows  by  an  antediluvian  angel  is  iin  anachronism  ;  as  t.h 
says,  "  There  was  no  rain  before  the  flmxl,  and  con>e(pient- 
ly  no  rainbow,  which  accounts  for  the  novelty  of  this  sight 
after  the  Deluge." 

*  For  the  terms  of  this  compact,  of  which  the  angels  wen 
supposed  to  bo  witnesses,  see  the  chapter  of  the  Koran,  ei 
thled  Al  Araf,  and  tlie  article  "  Adam  "  iii  D'iieib«lot 


TIIE  L0^^2S   OP 

THE  ANGELS.                                             Ml 

\Vith  murli  that  fancy  had,  before, 

When  thoughts  of  an  offendtd  hearen. 

Shed  in  false,  tintei   glimmerings  — 

Of  sinfulness,  which  I  —  ev'n  I, 

rh*  enthusiast  girl  spoke  out,  as  one 

While  down  its  steep  most  headlong  dHT«n 

Inspir'd,  among  her  own  dark  race, 

Well  knew  could  never  be  forgiven. 

Who  from  their  ancient  shrines  would  run. 

Came  o'er  me  with  an  agony 

Ix>aving  their  holy  rites  undone, 

Beyond  all  reach  of  mortal  woo  — 

To  gaze  upon  her  holier  face. 

A  torture  kept  for  those  who  know. 

And,  thoupfh  but  wild  the  things  she  spoke. 

Know  ever;/  thing,  and  —  worst  of  al\  — 

Yet,  'mid  tliat  play  of  error's  smoke 

Know  and  love  Virtue  while  they  fall ! 

Into  fair  shapes  by  fancy  curl'd. 

Ev'n  then,  her  presence  had  the  jwwer 

Some  gleams  of  pure  religion  broke  — 

To  soothe,  to  warm  —  nay,  ev'n  to  bleu  — 

Glimpses,  that  have  not  yet  aMoke, 

K  ever  bliss  could  graft  its  flower 

But  startled  the  still  dreaming  world  ! 

On  stem  so  full  of  bitterness  — 

0,  many  a  truth,  remote,  sublime, 

Ev'n  then  her  glorious  smile  to  me 

Which  Ilcav'n  would  from  the  minds  of  men 

Brought    warmth    and    radiance,    if    mit 

Have  kei)t  conccal'd  till  its  own  time, 

balm  ; 

Stole  out  in  these  revealments  then  — 

Like  moonlight  o'er  a  troubled  sea. 

Rovealmonts  dim,  that  have  forerun, 

Brightening  the  storm  it  cannot  calm. 

By  ages,  the  great.  Sealing  One  ! ' 

Like  that  imperfect  dawn,  or  light* 

Oft,  too,  when  that  disheartening  fear. 

Escaping  from  the  Zodiac's  signs, 

Which  all  who  love,  beneath  yon  sky. 

Which  makes  the  doubtful  east  half  bright. 

Feel,  when  they  gaze  on  what  is  dear  — 

Before  the  real  morning  shines  ! 

The  dreadful  thought  that  it  must  die  1 

That  desolating  thought,  which  comes 

Thus  did  some  moons  of  bliss  go  by  — 

Into  men's  happiest  hours  and  homes ; 

Of  bliss  to  her,  who  saw  but  love 

Whose  melancholy  boding  flings 

\nd  knowledge  throughout  earth  and  sky  ; 

Death's  shadow  o'er  tne  brightest  thingi. 

To  whose  enamour'd  soul  and  eye, 

Sicklies  the  infant's  bloom,  and  spreads 

I  seera'd  —  as  is  the  sun  on  high  — 

The  grave  beneath  young  lovers'  heads  t 

The  light  of  all  below,  above. 

This  fear,  so  sad  to  all  —  to  me 

The  spirit  of  sea,  and  land,  and  air. 

Most  full  of  sadness,  from  the  thought 

WTiose  influence,  felt  every  where. 

That  I  must  still  live  on,'  when  she 

Spread  from  its  centre,  her  own  heart, 

Would,  like  the  snow  that  on  the  sea 

Ev'n  to  the  world's  extremest  part ; 

Fell  yesterday,  in  vain  be  sought ; 

While  through  that  world  her  reinless  mind 

That  heaven  to  me  this  final  seal 

Had  now  carecr'd  so  fast  and  far, 

Of  all  earth's  sorrow  would  deny. 

That  earth  itself  seem'd  left  behind, 

And  I  eternally  must  feel 

And  her  proud  fancy,  unconfin'd. 

The  death  pang,  without  power  to  die  ! 

Already  saw  Heaven's  gates  ajar  I 

Ev'n  this,  her  fond  endearments  —  fond 

As  ever  cherish' d  the  sweet  bond 

Happj  enthusiast !  still,  0,  still 

'Twixt  heart  and  heart  —  coukl  charm  airaT} 

Si-it*  of  my  own  heart's  mortal  chill. 

Before  her  look  no  clouds  would  stay, 

Suite  of  that  double-fronted  sorrow, 

Or,  if  they  did,  their  gloom  was  gonek 

Which  looks  at  once  before  and  back, 

Their  darkness  put  a  glory  on  I 

Ii^holds  the  yesterday,  the  morrow, 

But  'tis  not,  'tis  not  for  the  wrojiff. 

Ar.d  sees  both  comfortless,  both  black  — 

The  guilty,  to  be  happy  long  ; 

6^ito  of  all  this,  I  could  have  still 

And  she,  too,  now,  had  sunk  within 

In  hei  delight  forgot  all  ill ; 

The  shadow  of  her  tempter's  sin. 

Or,  if  pain  would  not  be  forgot, 

Too  deep  for  ev'n  Omnipotence 

At  least  have  borne  and  murmur'd  not. 

To  snatch  the  fated  victim  thence  1 

J  In  arkniiwledglng  the  «nih<'rity  of  the  great  Propbeli 

»  Pococke,  however,  Jive*  it  ai  the  opinion  of  the  Mthm 

who  h».\  prrreiK'd  him,  Miihuiiiet  rrprwwnled  his  own  mis- 

elan  doctors,  that  all  ao«il«,  not  only  of  m«n  aiiJ  of  an^ 

nun  ii*  (he  flnal  "  Sta  ."  or  cunHuiumaliun  of  them  aJU 

maU,  living  either  on  land  or  in  the  nea,  out  W  'h'  ange* 

<  1'ui  ^(odiuca  iJKht 

aUo,  muzt  uecewarilv  Uiiu  of  dcalii. 

544 


'ITIE  LOVES   OF  THE  ANGELS. 


Listen,  and,  if  a  tear  there  be 
Left  in  your  hearts,  weep  it  for  me. 

Twos  on  the  evening  of  a  day. 
Which  we  in  love  had  dreamt  away ; 
In  that  same  garden,  where  —  the  pride 
Of  seraph  splendor  laid  aside, 
And  those  wings  furl'd,  whose  open  light 
For  mortal  gaze  were  else  too  bright  — 
I  first  had  stood  before  her  sight, 
Ajid  found  myself —  0,  ecstasy. 

Which  ev'n  in  pain  I  ne'er  forget  — 
Worshipp'd  as  only  God  should  be, 

And  lov'd  as  never  man  was  yet ! 
In  that  same  garden  were  we  now. 

Thoughtfully  side  by  side  reclining, 
Her  eyes  turn'd  upward,  and  her  brow 

With  its  own  silent  fancies  shining. 

It  was  an  evening  bright  and  still 

As  ever  blush'd  on  wave  or  bower, 
Bmiling  from  heaven,  as  if  nought  ill 

Could  happen  in  so  sweet  an  hour. 
Yet,  I  remember,  both  grew  sad 

In  looking  at  that  light  —  ev'n  she, 
Of  heart  so  fresh,  and  brow  so  glad, 

Felt  the  stiU  hour's  solemnity. 
And  thought  she  saw,  in  that  repose, 

The  death  hour  not  alone  of  light. 
But  of  this  whole  fair  world  —  the  close 

Of  all  things  beautiful  and  bright  — 
The  last,  grand  sunset,  in  whose  ray 
Nature  herself  died  calm  away  ! 

At  length,  as  though  some  livelier  thought 
Had  suddenly  her  fancy  caught, 
She  turn'd  upon  me  her  dark  eyes, 

Dilated  into  that  full  shape 
They  took  in  joy,  reproach,  surprise. 

As  'twere  to  let  more  soul  escape, 
And,  playfully  as  on  my  head 
Her  white  hand  rested,  smil'd  and  said :  — 

•*  I  had,  last  night,  a  dream  of  thee, 
"  Ilescmbling  those  divine  ones^  given, 

'•  Like  preludes  to  sweet  minstrelsy, 

"  Before  thou  cam'st,  thyself,  from  heaven. 

'•  The  same  rich  ■WTcath  was  on  thy  brow, 
"  Dazzling  as  if  of  starlight  made  , 

"*  And  these  wings,  lying  darkly  now, 

"  Like  meteors  round  thee  flash'd  and  played. 

•  Thou  stood'st,  all  bright,  as  in  those  dreams, 
"  As  if  just  wafted  from  above ; 


"  Mingling  earth's  warmth  with  heaven's  beaou 
♦'  A  creature  to  adore  and  love. 

"  Sudden  I  felt  thee  draw  me  near 
"  To  thy  pure  heart,  where,  fondly  plac'd, 

"  I  seem'd  within  the  atmos])here 
"  Of  that  exhaling  light  embrac'd  ; 

"  And  felt,  methought,  th'  ethereal  flame 
"  Pass  from  thy  purer  soul  to  mine  ; 

"  Till  —  O,  too  blissful  —  I  became, 
"  Like  thee,  all  spirit,  all  divine  ! 

"Say,   why   did    dream    so    blest    come    o'« 
me, 

"  If,  now  I  wake,  'tis  faded,  gone ;  , 
"  When  will  my  Cherub  shine  before  me 

"  Thus  radiant,  as  in  heaven  he  shone  ? 

"  When  shall  I,  waking,  be  allow'd 
"  To  gaze  upon  those  perfect  charms, 

"And  clasp  thee  once,  without  a  cloud, 
"  A  chill  of  earth,  within  these  arms  ? 

"  O  what  a  pride  to  say,  this,  this 

"  Is  my  own  Angel  —  all  divine, 
"  And  pure,  and  dazzling  as  he  is, 

"  And  fresh  from  heaven  —  he  s  mine,  htff 
mine  ! 

"  Think'st  thou,  were  Lilis  in  thy  place, 

"  A  creature  of  yon  lofty  skies, 
•'  She  would  have  hid  one  single  grace, 

"  One  glory  from  her  lover's  eyes  ? 

"  No,  no —  then,  if  thou  lov'st  like  me, 
•'  Shine  out,  young  Spirit,  in  thf  bla^e 

"  Of  thy  most  proud  divinity, 

"Nor    think    thou'lt    wound    this    v^ftMl 
gaze. 

"  Too  long  and  oft  I've  look'd  upon 

"  Those  ardent  eyes,  intense  ev'n  thiis— 

"  Too  near  the  stars  themselves  have  gonci 
"  To  fear  aught  grand  or  luminous. 

"  Then  doubt  me  not  —  O,  who  can  say 
"  But  that  this  dream  may  yet  come  true, 

"  And  my  blest  spirit  drink  thy  ray, 
"  Till  it  becomes  all  heavenly  too  ? 

"  Let  me  this  once  but  feel  the  flame 
"  Of  those  spread  wings,  the  very  pride 

"  Will  change  my  nature,  and  this  framp 
"By  the  mere  touch  be  deified  !  " 


THE  LOVES   OF  THE   ANGELS. 


AM 


J'hus  spoke  the  maid,  is  one,  not  us'd 
To  be  by  earth  or  hcav'n  rcfus'd  — 
A.S  or.c,  who  knew  her  influence  o'er 

All  creatures,  whatsoe'er  they  were, 
And,  though  to  heaven  she  could  not  soar. 

At  least  would  bring  down  heaven  to  her. 

little  did  she,  alas,  or  I  — 

Ev'n  I,  vhose  soul,  but  half  way  yet 
liwnerg'd  in  sin's  obscurity 
Was  as  the  earth  whereon  Ave  lie, 

O'er  half  whose  disk  the  sun  is  set — 
l.iitl  •  did  we  foresee  the  fntc, 

ITie  dreadful  —  how  can  it  be  told  ? 
Such  pain,  such  anguish  to  relate 

Is  o'er  again  to  feel,  behold  ! 
But,  charg'd  as  'tis,  my  heart  must  speak 

Its  sorrow  out,  or  it  will  break  ! 
8ome  dark  misgivings  had,  I  own, 

Pass'd  for  a  mopncnt  thraugh  my  breast  — 
Fears  of  some  danger,  vague,  unknown. 

To  one,  or  both  —  something  unbless'd 

To  happen  from  this  proud  request. 
But  soon  these  boding  fancies  fled  ; 

Nor  saw  I  aught  that  co'old  forbid 
My  full  revcalment,  save  the  dread 

Of  that  first  da/zle,  when,  unhid. 

Such  light  should  burst  upon  a  lid 
Ne'er  tried  in  heaven ;  —  and  ev'n  this  glare 
She  might,  by  love's  own  nursing  care, 
Be,  like  young  eagles,  taught  to  bear. 
For  well  I  knew,  the  lustre  shed 
From  cherub  wings,  when  proudliest  spread. 
Was,  in  its  nature,  lambent,  pure. 

And  innocent  as  is  the  light 
The  glowworm  hangs  out  to  allure 

Her  mate  to  her  green  bower  at  night. 
Oft  had  I,  in  the  mid  air,  swept 
Through  clouds  in  which  the  lightning  slept, 
As  in  its  lair,  ready  to  spring, 
Yet  wok'd  it  not  —  though  from  my  wing 
A  thousand  sparks  fell  glittering  ! 
Oft  too  when  round  mc  from  above 

The  feathor'd  snow,  in  all  its  whiteness, 
Fell,  like  the  moultings  of  heaven's  Dove,'  — 

So  harmless,  though  so  full  of  brightness, 


1  The  IVire,  or  pigeon  wbicb  attended  Mahomet  u  hia 
Familiar,  and  Has  frequently  sotn  to  whL«per  into  bis  ear, 
Was,  if  I  recollect  fiebt,  one  of  'Jint  relect  number  of  ani- 
mnlH  (including ^al80  the  ant  of  Solomon,  the  dog  of  the 
Beven  Sleepers,  &.c.}  whicb  weie  tbouglit  by  the  Propbet 
Worthy  of  admixsion  into  Paradist. 

"  The  Mofllenis  have  a  tradition  that  Mahomet  was  saved 
(when  be  bid  hini«elf  in  a  cave  in  Mount  Shur)  by  bis  pur- 
60 


Was  my  brow's  •wTcath,  that  it  would  shake 
From  off  its  flowers  each  downy  flake 
As  delicate,  unmelted,  fair. 
And  cool  as  they  had  lighted  vhere. 

Nay  ev'n  with  Lilis  —  had  I  not 

Around  her  sleep  all  radiunt  beam'd. 
Hung  o'er  her  slumbers,  nor  forgot 

To  kiss  her  eyelids,  as  she  dream'  I  ? 
And  yet,  at  morn,  from  that  repose, 

Had  she  not  wak'd,  unscath'd  and  brighti 
As  doth  the  pure,  unconscious  rose, 

Though  by  the  firefly  kiss'd  all  night  ? 

Thus  having  —  as,  alas,  deceiv'd 
By  my  sin's  blindness,  I  believ'd  — 
No  cause  for  dread,  and  those  dark  eyet 

Now  fix'd  upon  me,  eagerly 
As  though  th'  unlocking  of  the  skies 

Then  waited  but  a  sign  from  me— 
How  could  I  pause  ?  how  ev'n  let  fall 

A  word,  a  whisper  that  could  stir 
In  her  proud  heart  a  doubt,  that  all 

I  brought  from  heaven  belong'd  to  her 
Slow  from  her  side  I  roue,  while  she 
Arose,  too,  mutely,  tremblingly. 
But  not  w  ith  fear  —  all  hope,  and  pride. 

She  waited  for  the  awful  boon. 
Like  priestesses,  at  eventide, 

Watching  the  rise  of  the  lull  moon, 
Whose  light,  when  once  its  orb  hath  shone. 
'Twill  madden  them  to  look  upon  I 

Of  all  my  glories,  the  bright  crown, 
Which,  when  I  last  from  heaven  came  dowi. 
Was  left  behind  me,  in  yon  jtar 
That  shines  from  out  those  clouds  afar,  — 
Where,  relic  sad,  'tis  treasur'd  yet. 
The  downfall'n  angel's  coronet  I 
Of  all  my  glories,  this  alono 
Was  wanting  :  —  but  th'  illumm  d  brow, 
The  sunbright  locks,  the  eyes  that  now 
Had  love's  spell  added  to  their  own. 
And  pour'd  a  light  till  then  unknown ;  - 
Th'  unfolded  wings,  that,  in  their  play, 
Shed  sparkles  bright  as  Alla's  throne ; 


Buera  finding  the  mouth  of  the  cava  scrvred  by  i  atMert 
web,  and  a  nest  built  by  two  pigeons  at  the  entrance,  vt.A 
two  eggti  unbroken  in  it,  which  made  tbrm  think  no  nnt 
could  have  entered  it  In  consequence  of  lhi«,  lhe\  or 
Mahomet  enjoined  Ins  followers  to  look  upon  pireons  f  m 
cred,  and  never  to  kill  t  spider."  ~Jllr4tr*  nthmtat  .k* 
tory,  vol.  i. 


M6 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


AIJ  I  could  bring  of  heaven's  array, 

Of  that  rich  panoply  of  charms 
A.  Cherub  moves  in,  on  the  day 
Of  his  best  pomp,  I  now  put  on ; 
And,  proud  that  in  her  eyes  I  shone 

Thus  glorious,  glided  to  her  arms  ; 
Which  stUl  (though,  at  a  sight  so  splendid, 

Her  dazzled  brow  had,  instantlj, 
Sank  on  her  breast,)  were  wide  extended 

To  clasp  the  form  she  durst  not  see  ! " 
Great  Heav'n  !  how  could  thy  vengeance  light 
S'  bitterly  on  one  so  bright  ? 
How  could  the  hand,  that  gave  such  charms, 
Blast  them  again,  in  love's  own  arms  ? 
Scarce  had  I  touch'd  her  shrinking  frame, 

When  —  O  most  horrible  !  —  I  felt 
That  every  spark  of  that  pure  flame  — 

Pure,  while  among  the  stars  I  dwelt  — 
Was  now,  by  my  transgression,  turn'd 
Into  gross,  earthly  fire,  which  burn'd, 
Burn'd  all  it  touch'd,  as  fast  as  eye 

Could  follow  the  fierce,  ravening  flashes  ; 
TiU  there  —  0  God,  I  still  ask  why 
Such  doom  was  hers  ?  —  I  saw  her  lie 

Black'ning  within  my  arms  to  ashes  ! 
That  brow,  a  glory  but  to  see  — 

Those  lips,  whose  touch  was  what  the  first 
■Fresh  cup  of  immortality 

Is  to  a  new-made  angel's  thirst ! 
Those  clasping  arms,  within  whose  round  — 
My  heart's  horizon  —  the  whole  bound 
Of  its  hope,  prospect,  heaven  was  found  ! 
Which,  ev'n  in  this  dread  moment,  fond 

As  when  they  first  were  round  me  cast, 
Loos'd  not  in  death  the  fatal  bond. 

But,  burning,  held  me  to  the  last ! 
All,  all,  that,  but  that  morn,  had  secm'd 
As  if  Love's  self  there  breath'd  and  beam'd, 
Now,  parch'd  and  black,  before  me  lay, 
Withering  in  agony  away  ; 
And  mine,  O  misery  !  mine  the  flame, 
From  which  this  desolation  came  ;  — 
i.  Tne  curs'd  spirit,  whose  caress 
I  fad  blasted  all  that  lo-'eliness  ! 

f  wasmaddening !  —  but  now  hear  even  worse  — 
Mad  death,  death  only,  been  the  curse 
I  brought  upon  her  —  had  the  doom 
iB  at  fended  here,  when  her  young  bloom 
Lay  in  the  dust  —  and  did  the  spirit 
No  part  of  that  fell  curse  inherit, 


1  "Mohammed  (says  Sale),  though  a  prophet,  was  not 
tbl«  to  bear  the  sight  of  Gabriel,  when  he  appeared  in  his 
•to'vH  forin,  much  less  would  otbers  be  able  to  support  it." 


'Twere  not  so  dreadful  —  but,  come  neu  — 
Too  shocking  'tis  for  earth  to  hear  — 
Just  when  her  eyes,  in  fading,  took 

Their  last,  keen,  agoniz'd  farewell, 
And  look'd  in  mine  with  —  O,  that  look  ! 

Great  vengeful  Power,  whate'er  the  heU 
Thou  mayst  to  human  souls  assign, 
The  memory  of  that  look  is  mine  !  — 

In  her  last  struggle,  on  my  bro\*' 

Her  ashy  lips  a  kiss  impress'd. 
So  withering  !  —  I  feel  it  now  — 

'Twas  fire  —  but  fire,  ev'n  moro  unbless'd 
Than  weis  my  own,  and  like  that  flame. 
The  angels  shudder  but  to  name. 
Hell's  everlasting  element ! 

Deep,  deep  it  pierc'd  into  my  brain, 
Madd'ning  and  torturing  as  it  went ; 

And    here  —  mark    here,    the    brand,    the 
stain 
It  left  upon  my  front  —  burnt  in 
By  that  last  kiss  of  love  and  sin  — 
A  brand,  which  all  the  pomp  and  pride 
Of  a  fallen  Spirit  cannot  hide  ! 

But  is  it  thus,  dread  Providence 

Can  it,  indeed,  be  thus,  that  she, 
Who,  (but  for  07ie  proud,  fond  offence,) 

Had  honor' d  heaven  itself,  should  bo 
Now  doom'd  —  I  cannot  speak  it  —  no, 
Merciful  Alla  !  'tis  not  so  — 
Never  could  lips  divine  have  said 
The  fiat  of  a  fate  so  dread. 
And  yet,  that  looit  —  so  deeply  fraught 

With  more  than  anguish,  with  despair  — 
That  new,  fierce  fire,  resembling  nought 

In  heaven  or  earth  —  this  scorch  I  bear  !  — 
O  —  for  the  first  time  that  these  knees 

Have  bent  before  thee  since  my  fall, 
Great  Power,  if  ever  thy  decrees 

Thou  couldst  for  prayer  like  mine  recall, 
Pardon  that  spirit,  and  on  me. 

On  me,  who  taught  her  pride  to  err. 
Shed  out  each  drop  of  agony 

Thy  burning  vial  keeps  for  her  ! 
See,  too,  where  low  beside  me  kneel 

Two  other  outcasts,  who,  though  gon* 
And  lost  themselves,  yet  dare  to  feel 

And  pray  for  that  poor  mortal  one. 
Alas,  too  well,  too  well  they  know 
The  pain,  the  penitence,  the  woe 
That  Passion  brings  upon  the  best, 
The  wisest,  and  the  loveliest  — . 
O,  who  is  to  be  sav'd,  if  such 

Bright,  erring  souls  are  not  forgiveTi . 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


m; 


So  loath  they  wander,  and  so  much 

Their  very  wanderings  lean  towards  heaven  ! 
igain,  I  cry,  Just  Power,  transfer 

That  creature's  sufferings  all  to  me  — 

Mine,  mine  the  guilt,  the  torment  be, 
To  save  one  minute's  pain  to  her, 

Let  mine  last  all  eternity  ! " 

H»  pft'is'd,  and  to  the  earth  bent  down 

Ihs  throbbing  head  ;  while  they,  who  felt 
Fhat  Jgony  as  'twere  their  own, 

Those  angel  youths,  beside  him  knelt, 
Ajid,  in  the  night's  still  silence  there, 
While  n-oumfuUy  each  wandering  air 
Play'd  in  those  plumes,  that  never  more 
To  their  lost  home  in  heav'n  must  soar, 
Breath'd  inwardly  the  voiceless  prayer, 
Unheard  by  all  but  Mercy's  ear  — 
A.nd  which  if  Mercy  did  7iot  hear, 
O,  God  would  not  be  what  this  bright 

And  glorious  universe  of  Ills, 
This  world  of  beauty,  goodness,  light 

And  endless  love  proclaims  He  u  / 

Not  long  they  knelt,  when,  from  a  wood 
That  crown'd  that  airy  solitude, 
They  heard  a  low,  uncertain  sound. 
As  from  a  lute,  tliat  j  ust  had  found 
Some  happy  theme,  and  murmur'd  round 
The  new-bom  fancy,  with  fond  tone. 
Scarce  thinking  aught  so  sweet  its  own ! 
Till  soon  a  voice,  that  match'd  as  well 

That  gentle  instiument,  as  suits 
llic  sea  air  to  an  cce;m  shell, 

(So  kin  its  spirit  to  iho  lute's). 
Tremblingly  foUow'd  tht  soft  strain. 
Interpreting  its  joy,  its  j.wx, 

And  lending  the  light  win^.*  of  words 
To  many  a  thought,  that  elss  had  lain 

Unfiedg'd  and  mute  among  the  chords. 

All  started  at  the  sound —  but  chief 

The  third  young  Angel,  in  whose  face, 
Though  faded  like  the  others,  grief 

Had  left  a  gentler,  holier  trace  ; 
As  if,  ev'n  yet,  through  pain  and  ill, 
Hope  had  not  fled  him  —  as  if  still 
Her  precious  pearl,  in  sorrow's  cup, 

Unmclted  at  tlie  bottom  lay. 
To  shine  again,  when,  all  drunk  up. 

The  bitterness  should  pass  away. 
Chiefly  did  he,  though  in  lus  eyes 
There  nhonc  more  pleasure  than  >ui^  rise. 
Turn  to  the  wood,  from  whenct  tiat  .K>und 

Of  solitaiy  swortneu  broke; 


Then,  listening,  look  delighted  round 

To  his  bright  peers,  while  thus  it  spok* :  - 

•«  Come,  pray  with  me,  my  seraph  loTe, 

"  My  angel  lord,  come  pray  with  me ; 
"  In  vain  to-night  my  lip  hath  stroTe 
"  To  send  one  holy  pfayer  above  — 
"  The  knee  may  bend,  the  lip  may  mcvt^ 

"  But  pray  I  cannot,  without  thee  1 
"  I've  fed  the  altar  in  my  bower 

••  With  droppings  from  the  incense  tree 
"  I've  fheltcr'd  it  from  wind  and  shower, 
"  But  dim  it  bums  the  livelong  hour, 
"  As  if,  like  me,  it  had  no  power 

*•  Of  life  or  lustre,  without  thee  1 

"  A  boat  at  midnight  sent  alone 
*'  To  drift  upon  the  moonless  sea, 

"  A  lute,  whose  leading  chord  is  gone, 

'•  A  wounded  bird,  that  hath  but  one 

•*  Imperfect  wing  to  soar  upon, 
"  Are  like  what  I  am,  without  thee  ! 

"  Then  ne'er,  my  spirit  love,  divide, 

"  In  life  or  death,  thyself  from  me ; 
"  But  when  again,  in  sunny  pride, 
•'  Thou  walk'st  through  Eden,  let  me  glide 
•'  A  prostrate  shadow,  by  thy  side — 
"  O  happier  thus  than  without  thee  1  " 

The  song  had  ceas'd,  when,  from  the  wood 

Which,  sweeping  down  that  airy  height, 
Reach'd  the  lone  spot  whereon  tliey  stood  - 

There  suddenly  shone  out  a  light 
From  a  clear  lamp,  which,  as  it  blaz'd 
Across  the  brow  of  one,  who  rais'd 
Its  flame  aloft  (as  if  to  throw 
The  light  upon  that  group  below), 
Display'd  two  eyes,  sparkling  between 
The  dusky  leaves,  such  as  are  seen 
By  fancy  only,  in  those  faces. 

That  haunt  a  poet's  walk  at  even. 
Looking  from  out  their  leafy  places 

Upon  his  dreams  of  love  and  heaven. 
'Twas  but  a  moment  —  the  blush,  brought 
O'er  all  hor  features  at  the  thought 

Of  being  seen  thus,  late,  alone. 
By  any  but  the  eyes  she  sought. 

Had  scarcely  for  an  instant  shone 

Through    the  dark  leaves,  when    'he   % 
gone — 
Gone,  like  a  meteor  that  o'erhead 
Suddenly  shines,  and.  ere  we've  said, 
•*  Behold,  how  beautiful  1"  —  'tis  iled 


Yet,  ere  she  went,  the  words,  "  I  come, 
••  I  come,  ray  Nama,"  reach'd  her  ear, 
In  that  kind  voice,  famiHar,  dear, 

Which  tells  of  confidence,  of  home,  — 
Of  habit,  that  hath  drawn  hearts  near, 

Till  they  grow  one,  —  of  faith  sincere. 

And  all  that  Love  most  loves  to  hear ; 

A  music,  breathing  of  the  past, 
The  present  and  the  time  to  be, 

Where  Hope  and  Memory,  to  the  last. 
Lengthen  out  life's  true  harmony  ! 

Nor  long  did  he,  whom  call  so  kind 
Summon' d  away,  remain  behind ; 
Nor  did  there  need  much  time  to  tell 

What  they  —  alas,  more  fall'n  than  he 
From  happiness  and  heaven  —  knew  well. 

His  gentler  love's  short  history  ! 

Thus  did  it  run  —  not  as  he  told 

The  tale  himself,  but  as  'tis  grav'd 
Upon  the  tablets  that,  of  old, 

By  Seth  •  were  from  the  deluge  sav'd. 
All  written  over  with  sublime 

And  saddening  legends  of  th'  unblest. 
But  glorious  Spirits  of  that  time. 

And  this  young  Angel's  'mong  the  rest. 


THIRD  ANGEL'S  STORY. 
Amono  the  Spirits,  of  pure  flame, 

That  in  th'  eternal  heav'ns  abide  — 
Circles  of  light,  that  from  the  same 

Unclouded  centre  sweeping  wide, 

Cany  its  beams  on  every  side  — 
tike  spheres  of  air  that  waft  around 
The  undulations  of  rich  sound  — 

1  Seth  is  a  favorite  personage  among  the  Orientals,  and 
acts  a  conspicuous  part  in  many  of  tlieir  most  extravagant 
romances.  Tlie  Syrians  pretended  to  have  a  Testament  of 
Ihis  Patriarch  in  their  possession,  in  which  was  explained 
the  whole  theology  of  angels,  their  different  orders,  &c.  &c. 
Tbe  Curds,  too  (as  Hyde  mentions  in  his  Appendix),  have 
ft  liook,  which  contains  all  the  rites  of  their  religion,  and 
Which  they  call  Sohuph  Sheit,  or  the  Book  of  Seth. 

In  the  same  manner  that  Seth  and  Cham  are  supposed  to 
Vave  preserved  these  memorials  of  antediluvian  knowledge, 
iljxuthrus  is  said  in  Chaldsan  fable  to  have  deposited  in 
Bv«iris,  the  city  of  the  Sun,  tliose  monuments  of  science 
which  he  had  saved  out  of  the  waters  of  a  deluge.  —  See 
Jiblonski's  learned  remarks  upon  these  columns  or  tablets 
'(  Seth,  which  he  supposes  to  be  the  same  with  the  pillars 
of  Mercury,  or  the  Egyptian  Thoth.  —  Pantheon.  Enypt.  lib. 
V.  cap.  5 

2  The  M  issulmanSj  says  D'Herbelot,  apply  the  general 
name,  MocsTeboun,  to  all  those  Spirits  "  qui  approchent  le 
bIus  (^rAs  le  TrSne."  Of  this  number  are  Mikail  and  Ge- 
brul. 


Till  the  far-circling  radiance  be 

DifTus'd  into  infinity ! 

First  and  immediate  near  the  Throne 

Of  Alla,*  as  if  most  his  own, 

The  Seraphs  stand  ^  —  this  burning  sign 

Trac'd  on  their  banner,  "  Love  Divine !  " 

Their  rank,  their  honors,  far  above 

Ev'n  those  to  high-brow'd  Cherubs  given. 
Though  knowing  all;  —  so  much  doth  Love 

Transcend  all  Knowledge,  ev'n  in  heaven  ! 


'Mong  these  was  Zaraph  once —  and  non» 

E'er  felt  affection's  holy  fire. 
Or  yearn'd  towards  th'  Eternal  One, 

With  half  such  longing,  deep  desire. 
Love  was  to  his  irapassion'd  soul 

Not,  as  with  others,  a  mere  part 
Of  its  existence,  but  the  whole  — 

The  very  lifebreath  of  his  heart ! 
Oft,  when  from  Alla's  lifted  brow 

A  lustre  came,  too  bright  to  bear. 
And  all  the  seraph  ranks  would  bow. 

To  shade  their  dazzled  sight,  nor  dare 

To  look  upon  th'  effulgence  there  — 
This  Split's  eyes  would  court  the  blaze 

(Such  pride  he  in  adoring  took), 
And  rather  lose,  in  that  otie  gaze. 

The  power  of  looking,  than  not  look  ! 
Then  too,  when  angel  voices  sung 
The  mercy  of  their  God,  and  strung 
Their  harjjs  to  hail,  with  welcome  sweet, 

That  moment,  watch'd  for  by  all  eyes, 
When  some  repentant  sinner's  feet 

First  touch' d  the  threshold  of  the  skies, 
O  then  how  clearly  did  the  voice 
Of  Zahaph  above  all  rejoice ! 

»  The  Seraphim,  or  Spirits  of  Divme  Love. 

There  appears  to  be,  among  writers  on  the  East,  ds  wel 
as  among  the  Orientals  themselves,  considerable  indeejsior 
with  regard  to  the  respective  claims  of  Seraphiui  and  C'leru 
bim  to  the  highest  rank  in  the  celestial  hierarchy.  Thi 
derivation  which  Hyde  assigns  to  the  word  Cherub  seems  to 
determine  the  precedence  in  favor  of  that  order  of  spirits:  — 
"  Cherubim,  i.  e.  Propinqui  Aiigeli,  qui  sc.  Deo  propruH 
qiiam  alii  accedunt  ;  nam  Charab  est  i.  q.  Karab,  appropin 
quare."  (P.  263.)  Al  Beidawi,  too,  one  of  the  comments 
tors  of  the  Koran,  on  that  passage,  "  the  angels,  who  beai 
the  throne,  and  those  who  stand  about  it,"  (chaji.  xl.)  sa)r», 
"  These  are  the  Cherubim,  the  highest  order  of  angels." 
On  the  other  hand,  we  have  seen,  in  a  preceding  iiote,  thai 
the  Syrians  place  the  sphere  in  which  the  Seraphs  dwell  a 
tlie  very  summit  of  all  the  celestial  systems ;  and  even 
among  Mahometans,  the  word  Azazil  and  .Mocarrelwun 
(which  mean  the  spirits  tliat  stand  nearest  to  tlie  throiu 
of  Alia)  are  indiscriminately  applied  to  both  Beraphim  a:i« 
Cherubim. 


THE  LOVES  OP 

'  THE   ANGELS.                                             54^ 

Ittye  was  in  every  buoyant  tone  — 

That  the  charm' d  Angel,  as  it  stole 

Such  love,  as  only  co'.ild  belong 

Tenderly  to  his  car,  along 

To  the  blest  angels,  and  alos.? 

Those  lulling  waters  where  he  lay, 

Could,  ev'n  from  angels,  bring  such  song  ! 

Watching  the  daylight's  dpng  ray, 

Thought  'twas  a  voice  from  out  the  yt\n, 

\las,  that  it  should  e'er  have  been 

An  echo,  that  some  sea  nymph  gave 

In  hcav'n  as  'tis  too  often  here. 

To  Eden's  distant  harmony, 

Where  nothing  fond  or  bright  is  seen, 

Heard  faint  and  sweet  beneath  the  set ! 

But  it  hath  pain  and  peril  near  ;  — 

Where  right  and  wrong  so  close  resemble, 

Quickly,  however,  to  its  source, 

That  what  we  take  for  virtue's  thrill 

Tracking  that  music's  melting  course. 

Ls  often  the  first  downward  tremble 

He  saw,  upon  the  golden  sand 

Of  the  heart's  balance  unto  ill ; 

Of  the  sea  shore  a  maiden  stand. 

Where  Love  hath  not  a  shrine  so  pure, 

Before  whose  feet  th'  expiring  waves 

So  holy,  but  the  serpent.  Sin, 

Flung  their  last  offering  with  a  sigh  — 

In  moments,  ev'n  the  most  secure, 

As,  in  the  East,  exhausted  slaves 

Beneath  his  altar  may  glide  in  1 

Lay  down  the  far-brought  gift,  and  die  — 

And,  while  her  lute  hung  by  her,  hush'd. 

80  was  it  with  that  Angel  —  such 

As  if  unequal  to  the  tide 

The  charm,  that  slop'd  his  fall  along. 

Of  song,  that  from  her  lips  still  gush'd. 

From  good  to  ill,  from  loving  much, 

She  rais'd,  like  one  beatified. 

Too  easy  lapse,  to  loving  wrong. 

Those  eyes,  whose  light  secm'd  rather  given 

Ev'n  so  that  am'rous  Spirit,  bound 

To  be  ador'd  than  to  adore  — 

By  beauty's  spell,  where'er  'twas  found. 

Such  eyes,  as  may  have  look'd  from  heaven. 

From  the  bright  things  above  the  moon 

But  ne'er  were  rais'd  to  it  before ' 

Down  to  earth's  beaming  eyes  descended. 

Till  love  for  the  Creator  soon 

0  Love,  Religion,  Music '  —  all 

In  passion  for  the  creature  ended. 

That's  left  of  Eden  upon  earth 

The  only  blessings,  since  the  fall 

"Twas  first  at  twilight,  on  the  shore 

Of  our  weak  souls,  that  still  recall 

Of  the  smooth  sea,  he  heard  the  lute 

A  trace  Df  their  high,  glorious  birth  - 

And  voice  of  her  ho  lov'd  steal  o'er 

How  kindred  are  the  dreams  you  bring ! 

The  silver  waters,  that  lay  mute, 

How  Love,  though  unto  earth  so  prone, 

As  loath,  by  even  a  breath,  to  stay 

Delights  to  take  Religion's  wing. 

The  pilgrimage  of  that  sweet  lay ; 

When  time  or  grief  hath  stain'd  his  own  I 

Whose  echoes  still  went  on  and  on. 

How  near  to  Love's  beguiling  brink. 

Till  lost  among  the  light  that  shone 

Too  oft,  entranc'd  Religion  lies  ! 

Far  off,  beyond  the  ocean's  brim  — 

While  Music,  Music  is  the  link 

There,  where  the  rich  cascade  of  day 

They  both  still  hold  by  to  the  skies. 

Had,  o'er  th'  horizon's  golden  rim, 

The  language  of  their  native  sphere. 

Into  Elysium  roll'd  away  ! 

>Vhich  they  had  else  forgotten  here 

Of  God  she  sung,  and  of  the  mild 

Attendant  Mercy,  that  beside 

How  then  could  Zaraph  fail  to  feel 

His  awful  throne  forever  smil'd, 

That  moment's  witcheries  ?  —  one,  so  fiJi, 

Ready,  with  her  white  hand,  to  guide 

Breathing  out  music,  that  might  steal 

His  bolts  of  vengeance  to  their  prey  — 

Heaven  from  itself,  and  rapt  in  prayer 

That  she  might  quench  them  on  the  way  \ 

That  seraphs  might  be  proud  to  slj>re ! 

Of  Peace  —  of  that  Atoning  Love, 

0,  he  did  feel  it,  all  too  well-- 

Upon  whoso  star,  shining  above 

With  warmth,  that  far  too  dearly  eoat  - 

This  twilight  world  of  hope  and  fear, 

Nor  knew  he,  when  at  last  he  fell. 

The  weeping  eyes  of  Faith  are  fix'd 

To  which  attraction,  to  which  spell. 

80  fond,  that  with  her  every  tear 

The  light  of  that  love  star  is  mix'd !  — 

&.U  this  she  sung,  and  such  a  soul 

1  "  Ijen  Bpyptlen*  dlnmt  que  la  MuitqiiF  e«t  Sr»r  ii  ■ 

Of  pi^'.y  VI  OS  in  that  song. 

UUgion," —  Voyasu  dt  P^Uuftrt  turn.  i.  p.  4ZL 

no 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGEtS. 


Love,  Music,  or  Devotion,  most 
His  soul  xii  that  sweet  hour  was  lost. 

^weet  was  the  hour,  though  dearly  won, 

And  pure,  as  aught  of  earth  could  be, 
*'or  then  first  did  the  glorious  sun 

Before  religion's  altar  see 
Two  hearts  in  wedlock's  golden  tie 
Self-pledg'd,  in  love  to  live  and  die. 
Blest  union !  by  that  Angel  wove. 

And  worthy  from  such  hands  to  come  ; 
Safe,  sole  asylum,  in  wlvich  Love, 
When  fall'n  or  exil'd  from  above. 

In  this  dark  world  can  find  a  home. 

And  though  the  Spirit  had  transgress' d, 
Had,  from  his  station  'mong  the  blest 
Won  down  by  woman's  smile,  aUow'd 

Terrestial  passion  to  breathe  o'er 
rhe  mirror  of  his  heart,  and  cloud 

God's  image,  there  so  bright  before  — 
Yet  never  did  that  Power  look  down 

On  error  with  a  brow  so  mild ; 
Never  did  Justice  wear  a  frown, 

Through  which  so  gently  Mercy  smil'd. 
For  humble  was  their  love  —  with  awe 

And  trembling  like  some  treasure  kept, 
That  was  not  theirs  by  holy  law  — 
Whose  beauty  with  remorse  they  saw. 

And  o'er  whose  preciousness  they  wept. 
Humility,  that  low,  sweet  root, 
From  which  all  heavenly  virtues  shoot. 
Was  in  the  hearts  of  both  —  but  most 

In  Nama's  heart,  by  whom  alone 
Those  charms,  for  which  a  heaven  was  lost, 

Scem'd  all  unvalued  and  unknown ; 
And  when  her  Seraph's  eyes  she  caught, 

And  hid  hers  glowing  on  his  breast, 
Ev'n  bliss  was  humbled  by  the  thought  — 

«•  What  claim  have  I  to  be  so  blest  ? " 
BtiU  less  could  maid,  so  meek,  have  nurs'd 
Desire  of  knowledge  —  that  vain  thirst, 
With  which  the  sex  hath  all  been  curs'd. 
From  luckless  Eve  to  her,  who  near 
1  be  Ta'^ernacle  stole  to  hear 


I  Sara. 

•  An  allusion  to  the  Sephiroths  or  Splendors  of  the  Jew- 
ish Cabbala,  represented  as  a  tree,  of  whicli  God  is  the 
trown  or  summit 

The  Sephiroths  are  the  higher  orders  of  emanative  beings 
hi  the  strange  an<l  incomprehensible  system  of  the  Jewish 
Cabbala.  They  are  called  by  various  names,  Pity,  Beauty, 
to.  tc. ;  and  their  influences  are  supposed  to  act  through 
eertnin  canals,  which  commiinicato  with  each  other. 

'  Th«  leader  may  judge  of  the  rationality  of  this  Jewish 
qrMca  ^j  the  following  explanation  of  part  of  the  machine- 


The  secrets  of  the  angels  ' :  no  — 

To  love  as  her  own  Seraph  lov'd. 
With  Faith,  the  same  through  bliss  and  vfot  - 

Faith,  that,  were  ev'n  its  light  remov'd, 
Could,  like  the  dial,  fix'd  remain, 
And  wait  till  it  shone  oUt  again  ;  — 
With  Patience  that,  though  often  bow'd 

By  the  rude  storm,  can  rise  anew ; 
And  Hope  that,  ev'n  from  Evil's  cloud, 

Sees  sunny  Good  half  breaking  through  I 
This  deep,  relying  Love,  worth  more 
In  heaven  than  all  a  Cherub's  lore  — 
This  Faith,  more  sure  than  aught  besiae. 
Was  the  sole  joy,  ambition,  pride 
Of  her  fond  heart  —  th'  unreasoning  scope 

Of  all  its  views,  above,  below  — 
So  true  she  felt  it  that  to  hope. 

To  trust,  is  happier  than  to  know. 
And  thus  in  humbleness  they  trod. 
Abash' d,  but  pure  before  their  God  ; 
Nor  e'er  did  earth  behold  a  sight 

So  meekly  beautiful  as  they, 
When,  with  the  altar's  holy  light 

Full  on  their  brows,  they  knelt  to  pray. 
Hand  within  hand,  and  side  by  side, 
Two  links  of  love,  a  while  untied 
From  the  great  chain  above,  but  fast 
Holding  together  to  the  last !  — 
Two  fallen  Splendors,*  from  that  tree, 
Which  buds  with  such  ettTnally,' 
Shaken  to  earth,  yet  keeping  all 
Their  light  and  freshness  in  the  fall. 

Their  only  punishment,  (as  wrong, 

However  sweet,  must  bear  its  brand,) 
Their  only  doom  was  this  —  that,  long 

As  the  green  earth  and  ocean  stand, 
I'hey  both  shall  wander  here  —  the  same. 
Throughout  all  time,  in  heart  and  frame  — 
Still  looking  to  that  goal  sublime. 

Whose  light  remote,  but  sure,  they  see  ; 
Pilgrims  of  Love,  whose  way  is  Time, 

Whose  home  is  in  Eternity  ! 
Subject,  the  while,  to  all  the  strife, 
•True  Love  encounters  in  this  life  — 

ly:  — "  Les  canaux  qui  sortent  de  la  Mis^ricurdo  et  de  la 
Force,  et  qui  vont  alwutir  A  la  neaut6,  si)nt  diarges  d'un 
grand  nombre  d'Anges.  II  y  en  a  trente-cinq  sut  lo  canal 
de  la  Misiricorde,  qui  recompensent  et  qui  courciiuent  la 
vertu  des  Saints,"  &,c.  &.C.  —  For  a  concise  account  of  th« 
Cabalistic  Philosophy,  see  Enfield'a  very  useful  compon- 
dium  of  Brucker. 

"  On  les  repr^sente  qiielqucfois  sous  la  figure  d'un  arbri 
....  I'Ensoph  qu'on  met  au-dessus  de  I'arbre  Sephirotiquf 
ou  des  Splendeurs  divins,  est  I'Infini." — L'Hutairt  *m 
Juifs,  liv  ix.  11 


i 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEM». 


Ml 


The  M  ishcs,  hopes  he  breathes  in  vain  ; 

Ihc  cliill,  that  turns  his  warmest  sighs 

To  earthly  yapor,  ere  they  rise  ; 
Ihe  doubt  he  feeds  on,  and  the  pain 

That  in  his  very  sweetness  lies :  — 
Still  worse,  th'  illusions  that  betray 

His  footsteps  to  their  shining  brink ; 
Ihat  tempt  him,  on  his  desert  way 

Tlirough  the  bleak  world,  to  bend  and  drink, 
Tnere  nothing  meets  his  lips,  alas,  — 
tivit  he  again  must  sighing  pass 
On  to  that  far-off  home  of  peace. 
In  w  hich  alone  his  thirst  will  cease. 

All  this  they  bear,  but,  not  the  less, 
Have  moments  rich  in  happiness  — 
bleat  meetings,  after  many  a  day 
Of  widowhood  pass'd  far  away, 
When  the  lov'd  face  again  is  seen 
(/'lose,  close,  with  not  a  tear  between  — 
Confidings  frank,  without  control, 
Pour'd  mutually  from  soul  to  soul ; 
Afl  free  from  any  fear  or  doubt 

As  is  that  light  from  chill  or  stain, 
The  sun  into  the  stars  sheds  out. 

To  be  by  them  shed  back  again  I  — 
That  happy  minglement  of  hearts, 

Where,  chang'd  as  chcmic  compounds  are. 
Each  with  its  own  existence  parts. 

To  tind  a  new  one,  happier  far  ! 
Such  are  their  joys  —  and,  crowning  all. 

That  blessed  hope  of  the  bright  hour, 
Wu^n,  hajjpy  and  no  more  to  fall. 

Their  spirits  shall,  with  freshen' d  pow«r, 
Rise  up  rewarded  for  their  trust 

[n  Jiim,  from  whom  all  goodness  springs, 


And,  shaking  off  earth's  soiling  dust 

From  their  emancipated  wings. 
Wander  forever  through  those  skies 
Of  radiance,  where  Love  never  dies  I 

In  what  lone  region  of  the  earth 

These  Pilgrims  now  may  roam  or  dii  elU 
God  and  the  Angels,  who  look  foith 

To  watch  their  steps,  alone  can  tell. 
But  should  we,  in  our  wanderingb. 

Meet  a  young  pair,  whose  beauty  wants 
But  the  adornment  of  bright  wings. 

To  look  like  heaven's  inhabitants  — 
Who  shine  where'er  they  tread,  and  yt 

Are  humble  in  their  earthly  lot. 
As  is  the  wayside  violet. 

That  shines  unseen,  and  were  it  not 

For  its  sweet  breath  would  be  forgot  — 
Whose  hearts,  in  every  thought,  are  one. 

Whose  voices  utter  the  same  wills  — 
Answering,  as  Echo  doth  some  tone 

Of  fairy  music  'mong  the  hills, 
So  like  itself,  we  seek  in  vain 
Which  is  the  echo,  which  the  strain  - 
Whose  piety  is  love,  whose  love. 

Though  close  as  'twere  their  souls'  embraoK 
Is  not  of  earth,  but  from  above  — 

Like  two  fair  mirrors,  face  to  face. 
Whose  light,  from  one  to  th'  other  thrown. 
Is  heaven's  reflection,  not  their  own 
Should  we  e'er  meet  with  aught  so  pure* 
So  perfect  here,  we  may  be  sure 

'Tis  Zaoaph  and  his  bride  we  see ; 
And  call  young  lovers  round,  to  view 
The  pilgrim  pair,  as  they  pursue 

Their  pathway  towards  eternity. 


MISCBLLAlsEOUS    POEMS. 


SCEPTICISM. 

Br>  Fiyche  drank  the  cup,  that  shed 

Immortal  Life  into  her  soul, 
feome  ?vil  spirit  pour'd,  'tis  said. 

One  drop  v,f  Doubt  into  the  bowl  — 

Which,  mingling  darkly  with  the  stream. 
To  Psyihe's  lips—  she  knew  not  why  — 

blade  ev'n  that  blessed  nectar  seem 
As  ihoui;h  i's  sveetness  soon  would  die. 


Oft,  in  the  very  arms  of  Love, 
A  chill  came  o'er  her  heart  —  a  fear 

That  Death  might,  even  yet,  remove 
Uer  spirit  from  that  happy  sphere. 

'•  Those  sunny  ringlets,"  she  exclaim' d. 
Twining    them    round    her    snowy    As 
gers; 

"  That  forehead,  where  a  light,  unnam'd, 
"  Unknown  on  earth,  forever  lingers ; 


562 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


"  Those  lips,  through  which  I  feel  the  breath 
"  Of  Heav'n  itself,  whene'er  they  sever  — 

»'  Say,  are  they  mine,  beyond  all  death, 
"  My  own,  hereafter,  and  forever  ? 

"  Smile  not  —  I  know  that  starry  brow, 
•'  Those  ringlets,  and  bright  lips  of  thine, 

•  Will  always  shine,  as  they  do  now  — 
"  But  shall  /  live  to  see  them  shine  ? " 

In  va  n  did  Love  say,  "  Turn  Jhine  eyes 
•*  On  all  that  sparkles  round  thee  here  — 

"  Thou'rt  now  in  heaven,  where  nothing  dies, 
"  And  in  these  arms  —  what  canst  thou  fear  ? ' 

In  vain  —  the  fatal  drop,  that  stole 
Into  that  cup's  immortal  treasure. 

Had  lodg'd  its  bitter  near  her  soul, 
And  gave  a  tinge  to  every  pleasure. 

And  though  there  ne'er  was  transport  given 
Like  Pyche's  with  that  radiant  boy, 

Hers  is  the  only  face  in  heaven, 
Th#t  wears  a  cloud  amid  its  joy. 


A  JOKE  VERSIFIED. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Tom's  father,  "  at  your 
time  of  life, 
"  There's  no  longer  excuse  for  thus  playing 
the  rake  — 
"  It  is  time  you  should  think,  boy,  of  taking  a 
wife  "  — 
"  Why,  so  it  is,  father  —  whose  wife  shaU  I 
take  ? " 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FRIEND. 

Pche  as  the  mantle,  which,  o'er  him  who  stood 

By  Jordan's  stream,  descended  from  the  sky, 
ts  that  remembrance,  which  the  wise  and  good 

Leave  in  the   hearts  that  love  them,  when 
they  die. 
80  pure,  so  precious  shall  the  memory  be, 
Bequeath'd,  in  dying,  to  our  souls  by  thee  — 
Bo  shall  the  love  we  bore  thee,  chcrish'd  warm 

Within  our  souls  through  grief,  and  pain,  and 
strife, 
3e,  like  Elisha's  cruise,  a  holy  charm, 

Wlierewith  to  "  heal  the  waters  "  of  this  life ! 


TO  JAilES  CORRY,  ESa 


ON     HIS     MAKING 


HE     A     FBESENT 
8TKAINEB. 


OF  A  wan 


Brighton,  June,  !9J5> 
This  life,  dear  Corry,  who  can  doubt  ?  — 

Resembles  much  friend  Ewart's '  wine, 
"When  Jirst  the  rosy  drops  come  out, 

How  beautiful,  how  clear  they  shine ! 

And  thus  a  while  they  keep  their  tint. 
So  free  from  even  a  shade  with  some, 

That  they  would  smile,  did  you  but  hint, 
That  darker  drops  would  ever  come. 

But  soon  the  ruby  tide  luns  short, 
Each  minute  makes  the  sad  truth  plainer^ 

Till  life,  like  old  and  crusty  port. 

When  near  its  close,  requires  a  strainer 

This  friendship  can  alone  confer, 
Alono  can  teach  the  drops  to  pass. 

If  not  as  bright  as  once  they  were. 
At  least  unclouded,  through  the  glass. 

Nor,  Corry,  could  a  boon  be  mine, 

Of  which  this  heart  were  fonder,  vainer/ 

Than  thus,  if  life  grow  like  old  wine, 
To  have  thi/  friendship  for  its  strainer. 


FRAGMENT  OF  A  CHARACTEB. 

Here  lies  Factotum  Ned  at  last ; 

Long  as  he  brcath'd  the  vital  air. 
Nothing  throughout  all  Europe  pass'd, 

In  which  Ned  hadn't  some  small  share. 

Whoe'er  M'as  m,  whoe'er  was  out, 
Whatever  statesmen  did  or  said, 

If  not  exactly  brought  about, 
'Twas  all,  at  least,  contriv'd  by  Ned4 

With  Nap,  if  Russia  went  to  war, 
'Twas  owing,  under  Providence, 

To  certain  hints  Ned  gave  the  Czar  — 
(Vide  his  pamphlet  —  price,  sixpence.  1 

If  France  was  beat  at  Waterloo  — 
As  all  but  Frenchmen  think  she  wa« 

To  Ned,  as  Wellington  well  knew, 
Was  owing  half  that  day's  applauxp 


I  A  wine  merchant. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


651 


rhcn  for  his  news  —  no  envoy's  bag 
E'er  pass'd  so  many  secrets  through  it ; 

Scarcely  a  telegraph  could  wag 
Its  wooden  finger,  but  Ned  knew  it. 

Buch  tales  he  had  of  foreign  plots. 
With  foreign  names,  one's  ear  to  buzz  in  I 

From  Russia,  c/iefa  and  of  a  in  lots, 
From  Poland,  owtkis  hj  the  dozen. 

When  George,  alarm'd  for  England's  creed, 
Turn'd  out  the  last  Whig  ministry, 

And  men  ask'd  —  who  advis'd  the  deed  ? 
Ned  modestly  confess'd  'twas  he. 

For  though,  by  some  unlucky  miss. 
He  had  not  downright  seen  the  King, 

He  sent  such  hints  through  Viscount  This, 
To  Marquis  That,  as  clinch'd  the  thing. 

rhe  same  it  was  in  science,  arts, 
The  Drama,  Books,  MS.  and  printed  — 

Kean  learn'd  from  Ned  his  cleverest  parts, 
And  Scott's  last  work  by  him  was  hinted. 

Jhilde  Harold  in  the  proo&  he  read, 
And,  here  and  there,  infused  some  soul  in't — 

Nay,  Davy's  Lamp,  till  seen  by  Ned, 
Had  —  odd  enough  —  an  awkward  hole  in't. 

Twas  thus,  all-doing  and  all-knowing, 
Wit,  statesman,  boxer,  chemist,  eingcr. 

Whatever  was  the  best  pie  going. 
In  t/iat  Ned  —  trust  him  —  had  his  finger. 


WHAT  SHALL  I  SING  THEE? 


WiTATrthall  I  sing  thee  ?     Shall  I  tell 
Of  thai  bright  hour,  remembcr'd  well 
As  tho  igh  it  shmc  but  yesterday, 
When,  loitering  idly  in  the  ray 
.)f  a  spring  sun,  I  heard,  o'crhead, 
II)  name  as  by  some  spirit  said, 
Aiid,  looking  up,  saw  two  bright  eyes 

Above  me  from  a  casement  shine. 
Dazzling  my  mind  with  such  surprise 

As  they,  who  sail  beyond  the  Line, 
Fa«l  when  new  stars  above  them  rise ;  - 
And  it  was  thine,  the  voice  that  spoke. 

Like  Ariel's,  in  the  mid  air  then  ; 
4jid  thine  the  eye,  whose  lustre  broke - 

N"ver  to  be  forjot  again  ! 
70 


^Vhat  shall  I  sing  thee  ?    Shall  I  wear* 
A  song  of  that  sweet  summer  eve, 
(Siunmer,  of  which  the  sunniest  part 
Was  that  wo,  each,  had  in  the  heart,) 
When  thou  and  I,  and  one  like  thee. 

In  life  and  beauty,  to  the  sound 
Of  our  own  breathless  minstrelsy, 

Danc'd  till  the  sunlight  faded  round. 
Ourselves  the  whole  ideal  Ball, 
Jjights,  music,  company,  and  all ! 
O,  'tis  not  in  the  languid  strain 

Of  lute  like  mine,  whose  day  It  paasTd 
To  call  up  cv'n  a  dream  again 

Of  the  firesh  light  those  moments  ca«t. 


COUNTRY  DANCE  AND   QUADRILLB. 

0n3  night  the  nymph  call'd  CouNtky  Damcb  — 
(Whom  folks,  of  late,  have  us'd  »o  ill* 

Preferring  a  coquette  from  France, 
That  mincing  thing,  Mamsello  Qcadbillb)  — > 

Having  been  chased  from  London  down 
To  that  most  humble  haunt  of  all 

She  used  to  grace  —  a  Country  Town  • 
Went  smiling  to  the  New  Year's  BalL 

"  Here,  here,  at  least,"  she  cried,  "  though  driv  r 
"  From  London's  gay  and  shining  tracks  — 

"  Though,  like  a  Peri  cast  from  heaven, 
"  I've  lost,  forever  lost,  Almack'a  - 

"  Though  not  a  Londoi  Miss  alive 

"  Would  now  for  her  acquaintance  own  me  | 
"  And  spinsters,  ev'n,  of  forty-five, 

"  Upon  their  honors  ne'er  have  known  me  ; 

••  Here,  here,  at  least,  I  triumph  still, 

•*  And  —  spite  of  some  few  dandy  Lancers, 

"  Who  vainly  try  to  preach  Quadrille  — 
"  See  nought  but  true-blue  Country  Dancer* 

"  Here  still  I  reign,  and,  fresh  in  charms, 
"  My  throne,  like  Magna  Charta,  raise 

"  'Mong  sturdy,  free-bom  legs  and  arms, 
"  That  scorn  tho  thrcaten'd  chaine  AngUdm 

'Twas  thus  she  said,  as  'mid  tho  din 

Of  footmen,  and  the  town  sedan. 
She  lighted  at  the  King's  Head  Inn, 

And  up  the  stairs  triumphant  rsn. 

The  Squires  and  their  Squircsses  all« 
With  young  Squirinas,  just  come  o«t. 


554 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


A.nd  my  Lord's  daughters  from  the  Hall, 
(Quadrillers,  in  their  hearts,  no  doubt,)  — 

^11  those,  as  light  she  tripp'd  up  stairs, 
Were  in  the  cloak  room  seen  assembling  — 

When,  hark  !  some  new,  outlandish  airs, 
Yiom  the  First  y.ddle,  set  her  trembling. 

31ie  Ftops  —  she  listens  —  can  it  be  .•■ 
Alas,  in  vain  her  ears  would  'scape  it  — 

It  is  "Di  tanti  palpiti" 
As  plain  as  English  bow  can  scrape  it, 

•'  Courage  !  "  however  —  in  she  goes, 
"With  her  best,  sweeping  country  grace  ; 

When,  ah  too  true,  her  worst  of  foes, 
Quadrille,  there  meets  her,  face  to  face. 

O  for  the  lyre,  or  violin, 

Or  kit  of  that  gay  Muse,  Terpsichore, 
To  sing  the  rage  those  nymphs  were  in. 

Their  looks  and  language,  airs  and  trickery. 

There  stood  Quadrille,  with  catlike  face 
(The  beau  ideal  of  French  beauty), 

A  bandbox  thing,  all  art  and  lace 
Down  from  her  nose  tip  to  her  shoetie. 

Her  flounces,  fresh  from  Victorine  — 
From  Ilippoli/te,  her  rouge  and  hair  — 

Her  poetry,  from  Lamartine  — 
Her  morals,  from  —  the  Lord  knows  where. 

And,  when  she  danc'd  —  so  slidingly, 
So  near  the  ground  she  plied  her  art, 

You'd  Gwear  her  mother  earth  and  she 
Had  made  a  compact  ne'er  to  part. 

Her  face  too,  all  the  while,  sedate, 
No  signs  of  life  or  motion  showing, 

Like  a  bright  pendtile's  dial  plate  — 

So  still,  you'd  hardly  think  'twas  going, 

F'iP.  fronting  her  stood  Country  Dance  — 

A  fresh,  fiank  nymph,  whom  you  would  know 

tct  Engl;sh,  at  a  single  glance  — 
Erglish  all  o'er,  from  top  to  toe. 

V  little  gauche,  'tis  fair  to  own. 
And  rather  given  to  skips  and  bounces ; 

Endangf  ring  thereby  many  a  gown, 
And  playing,  oft,  the  dev'l  with  flounces. 

Unlike  Mamselle  —  who  would  prefer 
f  As  morally  a  lesser  ill) 


A  thousand  flaws  of  character. 
To  one  vile  rumple  of  a  frill. 

No  rouge  did  She  of  Albion  wear  ; 

Let  her  but  run  that  two-heat  race 
She  calls  a  Set,  not  Dian  e'er 

Came  rosier  from  the  woodland  chase. 

Such  was  the  njnnph,  whose  soul  had  in't 
Such  anger  now  —  whoso  eyes  of  blue 

(Eyes  of  that  bright,  victorious  tint, 

AVhich  English  maids  call  "  Waterloo")  — 

Like  summer  lightnings,  in  the  dusk 
Of  a  warm  evening,  flashing  broke. 

While  —  to  the  tune  of  "  Money  Musk,"  ' 
Which  struck  up  now  —  she  proudly  spoke— 

'  Heard  you  that  strain  —  that  joyous  strain  ? 
••  'Twas  such  as  England  lov'd  to  hear, 

•  Ere  thou,  and  all  thy  frippery  train, 
"  Corrupted  both  her  foot  and  ear  — 

'  Ere  Waltz,  that  rake  from  foreign  lands, 
"  Presum'd,  in  sight  of  all  boholden», 

•  To  lay  his  rude,  licentious  hands 

'« On    virtuous   English    backs    and    shou] 
dors  — 

'  Ere  times  and  morals  both  grew  bad, 
"  And,  yet  unfleec'd  by  funding  blockheads, 

'  Happy  John  Bull  not  only  had, 
"  But  danc'd  to,  '  Money  in  both  pockets.' 

'  Alas,  the  change  !  —  O,  L — d — y, 
•'  Where  is  the  land  could  'scape  disasters, 

•  With  such  a  Foreign  Secretary, 

"  Aided  by  Foreign  Dancing  Masters  i 

•  Woe  to  ye,  men  of  ships  and  shops  ! 
"  Rulers  of  daybooks  and  of  waves  ! 

'  Quadrill'd,  on  one  side,  into  fops, 
"  Ajid  drill'd,  on  t'other.  Into  slaves ! 

'  Ye,  too,  ye  lovely  victims,  seen, 
"  Like  pigeons,  truss'd  for  exhibition, 

■  With  elbows,  h  la  crapaudine, 
"  And  feet,  in  —  God  knows  wiiat  position  | 

'  Hemm'd  in  by  watchful  chaperons, 
"  Inspectors  of  your  airs  and  gracen, 

'  Who  intercept  all  whisper'd  tones, 
"  And  read  your  telegraphic  faces ; 

1  An  old  English  Counnjr  DtBMb 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.                                                 65r 

'  Urable  with  the  youth  adoi'd, 

The  streamlet  frozen  on  its  way. 

"  In  that  grim  cordon  of  Mammas, 

To  feed  the  marble  Founts  of  Kings, 

'  To  intercliange  one  tender  word, 

Now,  loosen'd  by  the  vernal  ray, 

"  ThougL  whisper' d  but  in  queue-da-ehatt. 

Upon  its  path  exulting  springs  — 

Af  doth  this  bounding  heart  to  the«^ 

^  Ah  did  you  know  how  bless'd  we  rang'd, 

My  ever  blissful  Maami ! 

♦•  Ert  vile  Quadrille  usurp'd  the  fiddle  — 

<  What  looks  in  setting  were  exchang'd. 

Such  bright  hours  were  not  made  to  ^/ 

••  What  tender  words  in  dotcti  the  middle  ; 

Enough  if  they  a  while  remain, 

Like  Irem's  bowers,  that  fade  away, 

•  How  many  a  couple,  like  the  wind. 

From  time  to  time,  and  come  aga/ 

••  Which  nothing  in  its  course  controls, 

And  life  shall  all  one  Irem  be 

'  Left  time  and  chaperons  far  behind, 

For  us,  my  gentle  MaamL 

"  And  gave  a  loose  to  legs  and  souls  ; 

0  haste,  for  this  impatient  heart. 

How  matrimony  throve  —  ere  stopp'd 

Is  like  the  rose  in  Yemen's  vale, 

•'  By  this  cold,  silent,  foot  coquetting  — 

That  rends  its  inmost  leaves  apart 

'  How  charmingly  one's  partner  popp'd 

With  passion  for  the  nightingale ; 

«'  Th'  important  question  in  poutseUing. 

So  languishes  this  soul  for  thee, 

My  bright  and  blushing  Maami  I 

'•  While  now,  alas  —  no  sly  advances  — 

"  No  marriage  hints  —  all  goes  on  badly  — 

•'  'Twixt  Parson  Malthus  and  French  Dances, 

"  We,  girls,  are  at  a  discount  sadly. 

LINES 

'«  Sir  William  Scott  (now  Baron  Stowell) 

"  Declares  not  half  so  much  is  made 

OH  THB  DEATH  OF 

'•  By  Licenses  —  and  he  must  know  well — 

JOSEPH  .ATKINSON,  ESQ.  OF  DUBLL» 

'•  Since  vile  Quadrilling  spoil'd  the  trade," 

Ip  ever  life  was  prosperously  cast. 

She  ceas'd  —  tears  fell  from  every  Miss  — 

If  ever  life  was  like  the  lengthen'd  flow 

She  now  had  touch'd  the  true  pathetic  :  — 

Of  some  sweet  music,  sweetness  to  the  last 

One  such  authentic  fact  as  this, 

'Twas  his   who,  moum'd   by   many,  ai    pi 

Is  worth  whole  volumes  theoretic. 

below. 

Instant  the  cry  was  "  Country  Dance  !  " 

The  sunny  temper,  bright  where  all  is  strife 

And  the  maid  saw,  with  brightening  face, 

The  simple  heart  above  all  worldly  wiles  ; 

rhfe  Steward  of  the  night  advance, 

Light  wit  that  plays  along  the  calm  ol  life, 

And  lead  her  to  her  birthright  place. 

And  stirs  its  languid  surface  into  smiles  ; 

rhe  fiddles,  which  a  while  had  ceas'd. 

Pure  charity,  that  comes  not  in  a  shower, 

Now  tun'd  again  their  summons  sweet. 

Sudden  and  loud,  oppressing  what  it  feeds. 

i.id,  for  ono  happy  night,  at  least. 

But,  like  the  dew,  with  gradual  silent  power, 

Old  England's  triumph  was  complete. 

Felt  in  the  bloom  It  leaves  along  the  meads 

The  happy  grateful  spirit,  that  improves 

And  brightens  every  gift  by  fortune  given  { 

GAZET.. 

That  wander  where  it  will  with  those  it  loves, 

Mokes  every  place  a  home,  and  home  a  heaven 

Hatte,  Maami,  the  spring  is  nigh ; 

Already,  in  th'  unopen'd  flowers 

All  these  were  his.  —  0,  thou  who  twid'st  thii 

That  sleep  around  us.  Fancy's  eye 

stone, 

"^an  sec  the  blush  of  future  bowe* '  , 

When  for  thyself;  thy  children,  to  the  sky 

hx.l  joy  it  brings  to  thee  and  me. 

Thou  humbly  prayest,  ask  this  boon  alone. 

My  own  belorsd  Maami  1 

That  ye  like  him  may  live,  like  him  may  di«  1 

IM 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


GENIUS  AND   CRITICISM. 

Scripsit  quidem  fata,  sed  sequitur. 

Sehkca. 

Of  o.d,  the  Sultan  Genius  reigr'd, 
As  Nature  meant,  supreme,  alone ; 

With  mind  uncheck'd,  and  hands  unchain' d, 
Hi8  views,  his  conquests  were  his  own. 

But  power  like  his,  that  digs  its  grave 
With  its  own  sceptre,  could  not  last ; 

So  Genius'  self  became  the  slave 
Of  laws  that  Genius'  self  had  pass'd. 

As  Jove,  who  forg'd  the  chain  of  Fate, 
"Was,  ever  after,  doom'd  to  wear  it ; 

His  nods,  his  struggles  all  too  late  — 
"  Qui  semeljussit,  semper  parct." 

To  check  young  Genius'  proud  career, 
The  slaves,  who  now  his  throne  invaded, 

Made  Criticism  his  prime  Vizir, 

And  from  that  hour  his  glories  faded. 

Tied  down  in  Legislation's  school, 
Afraid  of  even  his  own  ambition, 

His  very  victories  were  by  rule. 
And  he  was  great  but  by  permission. 

His  most  heroic  deeds  —  the  same, 
That  dazzled,  when  spontaneous  actions  — 

Now,  done  by  law,  scem'd  cold  and  tame, 
And  shorn  of  all  their  first  attractions. 

if  he  but  stirr'd  to  take  the  air, 
Instant,  the  Vizir's  Council  sat  — 

'•  Good  Lord,  your  Highness  can't  go  there  — 
"  Bless  me,  your  Highness  can't  do  that." 

[f,  loving  pomp,  he  chose  to  buy 

Rich  jewels  for  his  diadem, 
'*  The  taste  was  bad,  the  price  was  high  — 

♦*  A  flower  were  simpler  than  a  gem." 

To  please  them  if  he  took  to  flowers  — 
"  What  trifling,  what  unmeaning  things  ! 

*  Fit  for  a  woman's  toilet  hours, 
••  But  not  at  aU  the  style  for  Kings." 

\f,  fond  of  his  domestic  sphere, 
He  play  d  no  more  the  rambling  comet  — 


"  A  dull,  good  sort  of  man,  'twas  clear, 
"  But,  as  for  great  or  brave,  far  from  it." 

Did  he  then  look  o'er  distant  oceans. 

For  realms  more  worthy  to  enthrone  him  !  — 

"  Saint  Aristotle,  what  wild  notions  ! 
'•  Serve  a  •  ne  exeat  regno '  on  liim." 

At  length,  their  last  and  worst  to  do. 
They  round  him  plac'd  a  guard  of  watchmeili 

Reviewers,  knaves  in  brown,  or  bluo 
Tum'd  up  with  yellow. —  chiefly  Scotchmen  j 

To  dog  his  footsteps  all  about, 

Like  those  in  Longwood's  prison  grounds. 
Who  at  Napoleon's  heels  rode  out. 

For  fear  the  Conqueror  should  break  bounds 

O  for  some  Champion  of  his  power, 

Some  Ultra  spirit,  to  set  free. 
As  erst  in  Shakspeare's  sovereign  houi, 

The  thunders  of  his  Royalty  !  — 

To  vindicate  his  ancient  line. 

The  first,  the  true,  the  only  one, 
Of  Right  eternal  and  divine. 

That  rules  beneath  the  blessed  sun. 


TO  LADY  J  *  R  *  *  Y, 

ON    BEINO   ASKED  TO   WBITE   SOHETHIxa   IN    HJEl 
ALBUM. 

Written  at  Middleton. 
O  ALBUMS,  albums,  how  I  dread 

Your  everlasting  scrap  and  scrawl ! 
How  often  wish  that  from  the  dead. 
Old  Omar  would  pop  forth  his  head, 

And  make  a  bonfire  of  you  all ! 

So  might  I  'scape  the  spinster  band, 

The  blushless  blues,  who,  day  and  night. 
Like  duns  in  doorways,  take  their  stand. 
To  waylay  bards,  with  book  in  hand. 
Crying  forever,  "  Write,  sir,  vmta    ' 

So  might  I  shun  the  shame  and  pain, 
That  o'er  me  at  this  instant  come, 

When  Beauty,  seeking  Wit  in  vain, 

Knocks  at  the  portal  of  my  brain. 
And  gets,  for  answer,  "  Not  at  home  1 
M'cvember,  1838  . 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


«1 


TO  THE   SAME. 


OM  LOOUXa  THBOUOB   HEB   ALBVK. 


Ko  wonder  bards,  both  high  and  low, 
Prom  BjTon  down  to  *  *  ♦  *  *  and  me. 


Should  seek  the  fame,  which  all  bestow 
On  him  whose  task  is  praising  thee. 

Let  but  the  theme  be  J  *  r  *  *  7*8  eyas, 
At  once  all  errors  are  forgiven ; 

As  ev'n  old  Stcrnhold  still  we  prize, 
Because,  tl  ough  dull,  he  sings  of  hMSvas 


SATIRICAL    AND    HUMOROUS    POEMS, 


Thk  following  trifles,  having  enjoyed,  in  their 
circulation  through  the  newspapers,  all  the  ce- 
lebrity and  length  of  life  to  which  they  were 
entitled,  would  have  been  suffered  to  pass  qui- 
etly icto  oblivion  without  pretending  to  any 
further  distinction,  had  they  not  already  been 
published,  in  a  collective  form,  both  in  London 
and  Paris,  and,  in  each  case,  been  mixed  up 
with  a  number  of  other  productions,  to  which, 
whatever  may  be  their  merit,  the  author  of  the 
following  pages  has  no  claim.  A  natural  desire 
to  separate  his  own  property,  wortliless  as  it  is, 
from  that  of  others,  is,  he  begs  to  say,  the  chief 
motive  of  the  publication  of  this  volume. 


TO  SIR  HUDSON  LOWE 

Efnire  causam  nominis, 

Ucrumne  ninres  hoc  tiii 

Nnmen  deilrre,  an  nornen  hoe 

Secuta  morum  regiila.  Acsoifnrt. 

1816. 
81H  Hudson  Lowe,  Sir  Hudson  Lou>, 

(By  name,  and  ah !  by  nature  so) 

As  thou  art  fond  of  persecutions, 

Perhaps  thou'st  read,  or  heard  repeated, 

How  Captain  Gulliver  was  treated. 

When  thrown  among  the  Liliputians. 

Tiry  tied  him  down  —  these  little  men  did — 
And  having  valiantly  ascended 

Upon  the  Mighty  Man's  protuberance, 
They  did  so  strut !  —  upon  my  soul, 
It  must  have  been  extremely  droll 

To  sec  their  pygmy  pride's  exuberance  I 

And  how  the  doughty  manikins 
Am\is'd  themse. '  »  w<>h  sticking  pin* 


And  needles  in  the  great  man's  bretchea  ; 
And  how  some  very  little  things. 
That  pass'd  for  Lords,  on  scaffoldings 

Got  up,  and  worried  him  with  speeches. 

Alas,  alas  !  that  it  should  happen 

To  mighty  men  to  be  caught  napping  !  — 

Though  different,  too,  these  persecutions ; 
For  Gulliver,  there,  took  the  nap, 
While,  here,  the  Nap,  O  sad  mishap, 

Is  taken  by  the  Liliputians ' 


AMATORY  COLT-OQ"'n^  BETWEEN  BANK 
AND   GOVRRNMENT. 


Bank. 


1826. 


Is  all  then  forgotten  ?  those  amorous  prMiks 
You  and  I,  in  our  youth,  my  dear  Govern- 
ment, play'd ; 
When  you  call'd  mo  the  fondest,  the  truest  <^ 
Banks, 
And  enjoy' d  the  endearing  advances  I  made  I 

When  left  to  cursives,  unmolested  and  free, 
To  do  all  that  a  dashing  young  :ouple  should 
do, 

A  law  against  paying  was  laid  upon  me. 
But  none  against  owing,  dear  he.')  mate,  on  jo^ 

Andisitthenyanisl  'd? — that  "LoTir  (as Others 
So  happily  calls  it)  of  Love  and  I  Erection  f  "  ' 
And  must  we,  like  other  fond  doves,  my  deal 
fellow. 
Grow  good  in  our  old  age,  and  cut  the  con- 
nection i 


"An  bow 

Of  lore,  of  worldly  matter  and  iinetifm 


fB8 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


Government. 

Even  so,  my  belov'd  Mrs.  Bank,  it  must  be  ; 
This  paying  in  cash  plays  the  devil  with  woo- 
ing;' 
We've  both  had  our  swing,  but  I  plainly  foresee 
There  must  soon  be  a  stop  to  our  bili-ing  and 
cooing. 

Propagation  in  reason  —  a  small  child  or  two  — 
Even  Reverend  Malthus  himself  is  a  friend  to ; 

'Hie  issue  of  some  folks  is  mod'rate  and  few  — 
But  ours,  my  dear  corporate  Bank,  there's  no 
end  to ! 

So  —  hard  though  it  be  on  a  pair,  who've  already 
Disposed  of  so  many  pounds,  shillings,  and 
pence ; 

And,  in  spite  of  that  pink  of  prosperity,  Freddy,' 
So  lavish  of  cash  and  so  sparing  of  sense  — 

The  day  is  at  hand,  my  Papyria  '  Venus, 
When  —  high  as  we  once  us'd  to  carry  our 
capers  — 
Those  soft  billet  doux  we're  now  passing  between 
us, 
Will  serve  but  to  keep  Mrs.  Coutts  in  curl 
papers. 

And  when  — if  we  still  must  continue  our  love, 
(After  all  that  has  pass'd)  —  our  amour,  it  is 
clear, 

jike  that  which  Miss  DanSc  manag'd  with  Jove, 
Must  all  be  transacted  in  bullion,  my  dear  I 
February,  18SC. 


:)IALOGUE    BETWEEN  A  SOVEREIGN 
AND  A  ONE-POUND  NOTE. 

'li    "  O  ego  noil  felix,  qnam  tu  fugis,  ut  pavet  acres 
Agna  lu|r.8,  caprcieque  leones."  Hoiu 

Said  a  Sovereign  to  a  Note, 

In  the  pocket  of  my  coat, 
v\"tM:re  they  met  in  a  neat  purse  of  leather, 

"  How  happens  it,  I  prithee, 

"  That,  though  I'm  wedded  with  thee, 
•  Fair  Pound,  we  can  never  live  together  ? 

••  like  your  sex,  fond  of  change, 
"  With  Silver  you  can  range, 

It  appears,  however,  that  Ovid  was  a  friend  to  the  re- 
•iiptiiiH  of  payment  in  specie:  — 

"  flnein,  specie  celeste  re.iwmt&, 

l4UCti\iis  imposuit   venitque  filutifer  iirbi." 

-Vet.  1.  15,  V.  743. 


•'  And  of  lots  of  young  sixpences  be  mctner ; 

"  While  with  me  —  upon  my  word, 

"  Not  my  Lady  and  my  Lord 
"  Of  W — stm — th  see  so  little  of  each  other  ! 

The  indignant  Note  replied 

(Lying  crumpled  by  his  side), 
"  Shame,  shame,  it  is  yourself  that  roam,  Sir  — 

"  One  cannot  look  askance, 

"  But,  whip  !  you're  off  to  France, 
"  Leaving  nothing  but  old  rags  a.1  nome.  Sir." 

"  Your  scampering  began 

"  From  the  moment  Parson  Van, 
"  Poor  man,  made  us  one  in  Love's  fetter  ; 

*' '  For  better  or  for  worse ' 

"  Is  the  usual  marriage  cxxrse, 
'•  But  ours  is  all  '  worse  '  and  no  *  better.' 

"  In  vain  are  laws  pass'd, 

"  There's  nothing  holds  you  fast, 

"  Though  you  know,  sweet  Sovereign,  I  adore 
you  — 
"  At  the  smallest  hint  in  life, 
'•  You  forsake  your  lawful  wife, 

"  As  other  Sovereigns  did  before  you. 

"  I  flirt  with  Silver,  true  — 

"  But  what  can  ladies  do, 
"  When  disown'd  by  their  natural  protectors  ? 

"  And  as  to  falsehood,  stuff ! 

"  I  soon  shall  he  false  enough, 
"  When  I  get  among  those  wicked  Bank  D»- 
rectors." 

The  Sovereign,  smiling  on  her, 

Now  swore,  upon  his  honor. 
To  be  henceforth  domestic  and  loyal ; 

But,  within  an  hour  or  two, 

Why  —  I  sold  him  to  a  Jew, 
And  now  he's  at  No.  10  Palais  Royal. 


AN  EXPOSTULA-nON  TO  LORD  KINO. 

"  Quem  das  finem,  Rex  magna,  labonim?"—  Vibgii. 

1626. 

How  can  you,  my  Lord,  thus  delight  to  tor- 
ment all 
Tlie  Peers  of  the  realm  about  cheapening  their 
com,* 

*  Honorable  Frederic  R— b — ns— n. 

*  So  called,  to  distinguish   her  from   the  "Auiea"  oi 
Qolden  Venus. 

4  See  the  proceedings  of  the  Lords,  Wednesday,  Alarcb  1 
1826,  when  Lord  King  was  severely  reproved  by  several  of 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


Mt 


Wlien  you  Know,  if  one  hasn't  a  very  li'gh  rental, 
'Tia  hardly  worth  while  being  very  lugh  born  ? 

WTiy  bore  them  so  rudely,  each  night  of  your 
Ufe, 
On  a  question,  my  Lord,  there's  so  much  to 
abhor  in  ? 
A    question  —  like  asking  one,  "  How  is  your 
wife  r "  — 
A  ''.  once  sc  confounded  domestic  KaA  foreign. 

^8  to  weavers,  no  matter  how  poorly  they  feast ; 

But  I'eors,  and  such  animals,  fed  up  for  show, 

^I.ike  the  well-physick'd  elepnant,  lately   de- 

ceas'd,) 

ThUc  a  wonderful  quantum  of  cramming,  you 

know. 

yfou  might  see,  my  dear  Baron,  how  bor'd  and 

distress'd 

Were  their  high  noble  hearts  by  yoiir  merci- 
less tale. 
When  the  force  of  the  agony  -wrung  ev'n  a  jest 

From  the  frugal    Scotch   wit   of   my   Lord 
L— d— d— le  ! ' 

Bright  Peer  !  to  whom  Nature  and  Berwick- 
shire gave 
A  liumor,  endow'd  with  effects  so  provoking, 
I'nat,  when  the  whole  House  looks  unusually 
grave, 
You  may  always  conclude  that  Lord  L — d- 
—A — le*s  joking  ! 

A^i.'d  then,  those  unfortunate  weavers  of  Perth  — 
Not  to  know  the  viust  difference  Providence 
dooms 
Between  weavers  of  Perth  and  Peers  of  high 
birth, 
'Twixt  those  who  have  A^trlooms,  and  those 
who've  but  looms  ! 

"  To  talk  •j'-w  of  starving  !  "  —  as  great  Ath — ^1 
said  *  — 
'Ar.d  the  noo.es  nil  sheer' d,  and  the  bishops 
all  wondcr'd,^ 
•  V\  h«rn,  some  years  ago,  he  and  others  had  fed 
Of  these  same  hungry  devils   about  fifteen 
hundred  I " 


0ie  n<>lile  Peers,  for  making  to  manjr  apeeehw  agmiiMt  Ibe 
f..ni  I.iwd. 

I  Tliid  niihle  &irl  said,  that  "  when  he  heard  the  petition 
•aiiie  f-ntti  Indies'  Niot  atnl  t^lHieinaken),  he  thought  it  miiKt 
<e  iiEiiin.'i  ilir  ' Kirns'  which  lli»'>  inflicted  on  Ihe  fair  sex." 

1  'I'lie  U'ice  ui  AtiMil  Maid,  Uut  "at  a  nriner  period, 


It  follows  ftoTO.  hence  —  and  the  Duke's  rerj 
words 
Should  be  publish' d  wherever  poor  roguea  of 
this  craft  are  — 
That  weavers,  once  rescued  from  starr'jig  by 
Lords, 
Are  bound  to  be  starved  by  said  Lords  erai 
after. 

When  Rome  was  uproarious,  her  knowing  pa- 
tricians 
Made  *'  Bread  and  the  Circtis  "  a  cure  for  each 
row ; 
But  not  so  the  plan  of  ottr  noble  physicians, 
"  No  Bread  and  the  Treadmill's  "  the  regimen 
now. 

So  cease,  my  dear   Baron  of  Ockham,    youi 
prose, 
As  I  shall  my  poetry  —  neither  convmces  ; 
And  all  we  have  spoken  and  written  but  shows, 
When  you  tread  on  a  noblman's  corn,*  how 
he  winces. 


THE  SINKING  FUND   CRIED. 

*'  Now  what,  we  ask,  is  become  of  ilii«  Sinking  Fund 
these  eight  niilliuns  of  surplus  above  expenditure,  wnick 
were  to  reduce  the  intcrext  of  the  national  debt  by  ttie 
amount  of  four  hundred  thousand  pounds  annually? 
Where,  indeed,  is  the  Sinkin;  Fund  itself?"— 7^ 
Timti. 

Take  your  bell,  take  your  bell. 

Good  Crier,  and  tell 
To  the  Bulls  and  the  Bears,  till  their  cars  are 
stunn'd. 

That,  lost  or  stolen. 

Or  fall'n  through  a  hole  in 
The  Treasury  floor,  is  the  Sinking  Fund  ! 

O  yes  !  0  yes  ! 
Can  any  body  guess 
Whit  the  dense  has  become  of  this  Tr«fc«n»^ 
wonder  ? 

It  has  Pitt's  name  on't, 
All  brass,  in  the  front, 
And  R — b — ns — n's,  scrawl'd  with  a  goose  \:  Ui, 
under. 

wtea  tbeM  weavers  were  in  great  dintreas,  the  landed  intM 
CM  of  Perth  liad  supimned  15(10  of  them.  It  waa  a  poor  It 
turn  for  the;^  *'ery  men  now  t<i  pe'':ion  against  Uie  ;«nY  • 
who  h'ld  fe<l  thcni." 

»  An   improTement,  we  fl'ter  ouiaelvea,  of   \*mi  I 
Joke. 


960                                    SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOHOITS  POEMS. 

Folks  well  knew  what 

Adorn' d  with  somniferous  poppies,  to  show 

Would  soon  be  its  lot, 

Thou  wert  always  a  true  Country-gentleman'i 

When  Frederic  and  Jenky  set  hobnobbing,' 

Goddess. 

And  said  to  each  other. 

"  Suppose,  dear  brother. 

Behold,  in  his  best  shooting  ;acket,  before  theo, 

'« We  make  this  funny  old  Fund  worth  robbing." 

An  eloquent  Squire,  who  most  humbly  be- 

seeches. 

We  are  come,  alas  ! 

Great  Queen  of  Mark  Lane  (if  the  thing  doesn't 

To  a  very  pretty  pass  — 

bore  thee). 

tSight  Hundred  Millions  of  score  to  pay, 

Thoul't  read  o'er  the  last  of  his  —  never-\«t- 

With  but  Ffve  in  the  tUl, 

speeches. 

To  discharge  the  bill. 

And  even  that  Five,  too,  whipp'd  away  ! 

Ah,  Ceres  !  thou  knows't  not  the  slander  and 

. 

scorn 

Stop  thief!  stop  thief!  — 

Now  heap'd  upon  England's  Squirearchy,  so 

From  the  Sub  to  the  Chief, 

boasted' ; 

These  Gemmen  of  Finance  are  plundering  cat- 

Improving on  Hunt,'  'tis  no  longer  the  Corn, 

tle- 

'Tis  the  growers  of  Com  that  are  now,  alas  I 

Call  the  watch  —  call  Brougham, 

roasted. 

Tell  Joseph  Hume, 

That  best  of  Charleys,  to  spring  his  rattle. 

In  speeches,  in  books,  in  all  shapes  they  attack 
us  ~-~ 

Whoever  will  bring 

Reviewers,  economists — fellows,  no  doubt. 

This  aforesaid  thing 

That  you,  my  dear  Ceres,  and  Venus,  and  Bac- 

To the  well-known  House   of   Bobinson   and 

chus, 

Jenkin, 

And  Gods  of  high  fashion  know  little  about. 

Shall  be  paid,  with  thanks, 

In  the  notes  of  banks, 

There's  B — nth— m,  whose  English  is  all  his 

Whose  Funds  have  all  learn'd  "the  Art  of 

own  making,  — 

Sinking." 

Who  thinks  just  as  little  of  settling  a  nation 

As  he  would  of  smoking  his  pipe,  or  of  taking 

0  yes  !  0  yes  ! 

(What  he,  himself,  calls)  his  '« post-prandia 

Can  any  body  guess 

vibration."  * 

What  the  dev'l  has  become  of  this  Treasury 

wonder  ? 

There  are  two  Mr.  M Us,  too,  whom  those 

It  has  Pitt's  name  on't. 

that  love  reading 

All  brass,  in  the  front. 

Through    all    that's    unreadable,    call    very 

And  R — b — ns — n's,  scrawl'd  with  a  goose  quill. 

clever ;  — 

xmder. 

And,  whereas  M 11  Senior  mafccs  war  en 

good  breeding. 

M 11  Junior  makes  war  on   all  breeding 

ODE  TO  THE  GODDESS  CERES. 

whatever  ! 

BT  8IK  TH — M — 8   L — THBB — E. 

In  short,  my  dear  Goddess,  Old  England's  di. 

"  LegifersB  Cereri  Phoeboque."         ViaaiL. 

vided 
Between  uUra  blockheads  and  superfine  sages ; 

Dear  Goddess  of  Corn,  whom  the  ancients,  we 

With  which  of  these  cla-^ses  we,  landlords,  have 

know. 

sided 

(Among  other  odd  whims  of  those  comical 

Thou'lt  find  in  my  Speech,  if  thou'lt  read  d 

bodies,) 

few  pages. 

I  If  1824,  when  tlio  Sinking  Fund  was  raised  by  the  im- 

CO  n,  was  about  this  time  introduced  by  Mr.  Hunt,  as  a  sut 

noal  'viA  of  nt  k  ttxes  to  the  sum  of  five  millions. 

stitute  for  coffee. 

'  li  sort  of  "  breakfast  powder,"  composed  of  roasted 

3  The  venerable  Jeremy's   phrase  for  his   after-dlnna 

walk 

' 

SATTRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


Ml 


For  thsrein  I've  prov''J  to  my  own  satisfaction, 
And  that  of  all  Squires  I've  the  honor  of 
meeting, 
That  'tis  the  rort  senseless  and  foul-mouth'd 
detraction 
To  say  tha'  poor  people  are  fond  of  cheap 
eating. 

On  the  c'>n'  rjr/,  such  the  "  chaste  notions  "  •  of 
fool 
Thit  dvell  in  each  pale  manufacturer's  heart, 
They  TPould  scorn  any  law,  be  it  ever  so  good, 
That  would  make  thee,  dear   Goddess,  less 
near  than  thou  art ! 

»n  1,  O,  for  Monopoly  what  a  bless'd  day, 
vVhen  the  Land  and  the  Silk  *  shall,  in  fond 
combination, 
tike  Sulky  and  Silky,  that  pair  in  the  play,') 
Cry  out,  with  one  voice,  for  High  Rents  and 
Starvation  ! 

/»ng  life  to  the  Minister  !  —  no  matter  who, 
Or  how  dull  he  may  be,  ifi  with  dignified 
spirit,  he 
'eeps  the  ports  s'aut — and  the  people's  mouths, 
too  — 
We  shall  all  have  a  long  nin  of  Freddy's 
prosperity. 

ind,  as  for  myself,  who've,  like  Hannibal,  sworn 
To  hate  th*  whole  crew  who  would  take  our 
reiit%  from  us, 
frid  Er4''.and  but  One  to  stand  by  thee.  Dear 
Cjm, 
Th-f  last,  honest  Uni-Com*  would  be   Sir 
Th— m— s  ! 


k  HYMN  OF  WELCOME  AFTER  THE 
RECESS. 

"  Animas  rapientior«8  fieri  quiescenda" 

Arro  now  —  cross  buns  and  pancakes  o'er  - 
EaiI,  Lords  and  Gentlemen,  once  more  ! 

1  A  phrase  in  one  of  Sir  T-m— s's  last  Hpeeches. 
<  flroat  efforts  wrre,  at  that  time,  making  for  the  exclu- 
sion of  forcigii  silk. 
s"RoHd  to  Rain  " 

*  Thl4  U  meant  not  so  much  for  a  pan,  as  in  allusion  to 
the  iiat  'tal  history  of  the  irnlcom.  which  Issupposrd  to  be 
something  between  the  Uos  anM  tli«  Aslnun,  iind,  as  ItcesV 
Ci'clopa:dla  ass  ires  us.  has  a  particular  liking  for  e^ory 
thin;;  "  chaste. " 

*  .An  Item  of  expense  which  Mr.  Ilame  In  vatn  cndeav- 


7J 


Thrice  hail  and  welcome,  Houses  Twmb  ' 

The  short  eclipse  of  April  Day 
Having  (God  grant  it !)  pass'd  away, 
Collective  Wisdom,  shine  again  ! 

Come,    Ayes    and    Noes,   through   thick    lud 

thin  — 
With  Paddy  H — Imes  for  whipper-in,   - 

Whate'er  the  job,  prepar'd  to  back  it  t 
Come,  voters  of  Supplies  —  bestowers 
Of  jackets  upon  trumpet  blowers. 

At  eighty  mortal  pounds  the  jacket !  • 

Come  —  free,  at  length,  from  Joint-Stock  carij>- 
Ye  Senators  of  many  Shares, 

Whose  dreams  of  premium  knew  no  bound 
ary ; 
So  fond  of  aught  like  Company, 
That  you  would  even  have  taken  tr.a 

(Had  you  been  osk'd)  with  Mr.  Go  indry. 

Come,  matchless  country  gentlemen  ; 
Come,  wise  Sir  Thomas  —  wisest  then. 

When  creeds  and  com  laws  are  debatad  r 
Come,  rival  ev'n  the  Harlot  Red, 
And  show  how  wholly  into  bread 

A  Squire  is  transubstantiated. 

Come,  L — derd — e,  and  tell  the  world, 
That  —  surely  as  thy  scratch  is  curl'd, 

As  never  scratch  was  curl'd  before  — 
Cheap  eating  does  more  harm  than  good 
And  working  people,  spoil'd  by  food. 

The  less  they  eat,  will  work  the  more 

Come,  G — lb — m,  with  thy  glib  defence 
(Which  thou'dst  have  made  for  Peter's  Pence) 

Of  Church  Rates,  worthy  of  a  halter ; 
Two  pipes  of  port  (old  port,  'twas  said 
By  honest  A'ewport^)  bought  and  paid 

By  Papists  for  the  Orange  Altar !  ' 

Come  H — rt — n,  with  thy  plan,  so  merry. 
For  peopling  Canada  from  Kerry  -  • 
Not  so  much  rendering  Ireland  quiet, 

orod  to  pet  rid  of:  —trumpeters,  It  appears,  like  the  men 
of  .Vil-Souls,  must  be  "bene  vesti/i." 

0  The  (.'ciitiem  ui  lately  before  the  public,  who  kept  his 
/otn(-Stock  Tea  Company  all  to  bimself,  singing  '*  TeBolo 
adoro." 

'  Sir  .John  Newport 

*  This  charge  of  two  pipes  of  port  for  the  sacramental 
wino  IS  a  prec  uus  specimen  of  the  sort  of  rates  levied  upon 
t'li  Ir Catholic  fillow-pnrlsliioners by  the  Irish  Protestants : 
IL  "The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise 

Doth  ask  a  drink  divine." 


HS 


SAMRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


As  grafting  on  the  dull  Canadians 
That  liveliest  of  earth's  contagions, 
rhe  buU-pock  of  Hibernian  riot ! 

Come  all,  in  short,  ye  wond'rous  men 
llf  wit  and  wisdom,  come  again ; 

Though  short  your  absence,  all  deplore  it  ■ 
O,  come  and  show,  whate'er  men  s&y, 
Thnt  you  can,  after  April  Day, 

He  just  as  —  sapient  as  before  it. 


MEMORABILIA  OF  LAST  WEEK. 

MONDAY,    MARCH    13,    1826. 

Thb  Budget  —  quite  charming  and  witty  —  no 
hearing, 
For  plaudits  and  laughs,  the  good  things  that 
were  in  it ;  • 
Oteat  comfort  to  find,  though  the  Speech  isn't 
cheer  itiff. 
That  all  its  gay  auditors  were,  every  minute. 

What,  still  more  prosperity  !  —  mercy  upon  us, 
"  This  boy  '11  be  the  death  of  me  "  —  oft  as, 
already, 
Buch  smooth  Budgeteers  have   genteelly  un- 
done us, 
For  Ruin  made  cosy  there's  no  one  like  Freddy. 

TUESDAY. 

Much   grave    apprehension  express'd    by    the 
Peers, 
Lest  —  calling  to  life  the  old  Pcachums  and 
Lockitts  — 
The  large  stock  of  gold  we're  to  have  in  three 
years, 
Should  all  find  its  way  into  highwaymen's 
pockets  ! !  ' 


WEDNESDAY. 

Little  doing — for  sacred,  O  "Wednesday,  thou  art 
To  the  seven-o'clock  joys   of  full  many  a 
table  — 
When  the  Members  all  meet,  to  make  much  of 
that  part. 
With  which  they  so  rashly  fell  out,  in  the 
Fable. 


It  appear'd,  though,  to-niyht,  that  —  as  church 
waraens,  yearly, 
Eat  up  a  small  baby  —  those  cormorant  sin 
ners, 
The  Bankrupt  Commissioners,  bolt  very  nearly 
A  mod'rate-sized   bankrupt,   tout   chaud,  foi 
their  dinners  ! ' 

Nota  bene  —  a  rumor  to-day,  in  the  City, 
"Mr.  R — b — ns — n  just  has  resign'd"  —  wha' 

a  pity ! 
The  Bulls  and  the  Bears  all  fell  a-sobbing. 
When  they  heard  of  the  fate  of  poor  Cock  Robin , 
While  thus,  to  the  nursery  tunc,  so  pretty, 
A  murmuring  Stock  dove  breath' d  her  ditty  :  — 

Alas,  poor  Robin  he  crow'd  as  long 
And  as  sweet    as   a  prosperous  Cock  could 
crow; 
But  his  note  was  small,  and  the  gold&n(ih'i  song 
Was  a  pitch  too  high  for  Robin  to  go. 

Who'll  make  his  shroud  ? 

«'  I,"  said  the  Bank,  '•  though  he  play'd  me  a 

prank, 
"  Whjle  I  have  a  rag,  poor  Rob  shall  be  roll'd 

in't, 
"  With  many  a  pound  I'll  paper  him  round, 
•    "Like  a  plump  rouleau  —  without  the  gold 

in't." 

•  •  •  •  • 


ALL  IN  THE  FAMIL"i    WAY. 

A   NEW   PASTORAL    BALLAD. 
(■VHO  IH  THE  CHABACTEK  0»  BEITANirtA.) 

•'  The  Public  Debt  is  due  from  ourselves  to  ourselves,  and 
resolves  itself  into  a  Family  Account."—  Sir  Robert  Ptti 
LeUer. 

Tune  —  JUv  banks  are  all  fumish'd  wirt  ieei. 

My  banks  are  all  fumish'd  with  rags  ; 

So  thick,  even  Freddy  can't  thin  'em  ; 
I've  torn  up  my  old  money  bags, 

Having  little  or  nought  to  put  in  'em. 
My  tradesmen  are  smashing  by  dozens. 

But  this  is  all  nothing,  they  say  ; 
For  bankrupts,  since  Adam,  are  cousins,  — 

So,  it's  all  in  the  family  way. 


1  «« Another  object  ion  to  a  metallic  currency  was,  that  it  Mr.  Abercromby's  statement  o(  the  eromouH  avmi 

produced  a  grjatei  n  imber  of  highway  robberies."  — i>«4aU     bilk  of  the  Commissioners  of  Bankrupts. 
M  Ou  Lord".  1 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


Mf 


Ky  Debt  not  a  penny  takes  from  me, 

As  sages  the  matter  explain  ;  — 
Bob  owes  it  to  Tom,  and  then  Tommy 

Jiist  owes  it  tc  Bob  back  again. 
Since  all  ha^  i  thus  taken  to  owing, 

There's  nobody  left  that  can  pay  ; 
And  this  is  the  way  to  keep  going, — 

AH  quite  in  the  family  way. 

II  y  senators  vote  away  millions, 

1  0  put  in  Prosperity's  budget ; 
And  though  it  were  billions  or  trillions, 

I'he  generous  rogues  wouldn't  grudge  it. 
Tis  all  but  a  family  hop, 

'Twas  Pitt  began  dancing  the  hay  ; 
Hands  round  !  —  why  the  dense  should  we  stop } 

'Tis  all  in  the  family  way. 

bSy  laborers  used  to  eat  mutton, 

As  any  great  man  of  the  State  does  ; 
And  now  the  poor  devils  are  put  on 

Small  rations  of  tea  and  potatoes. 
Dut  cheer  up,  John,  Sawney,  and  Paddy, 

The  King  is  your  father,  they  say  ; 
So,  ev'n  if  you  starve  for  your  Daddy, 

'Tis  all  in  the  family  way. 

My  rich  manufacturers  tumble. 

My  poor  ones  have  nothing  to  chew ; 
\nd,  cv'n  if  themselves  do  not  grumble, 

Their  stomachs  undoubtedly  do. 
dut  coolly  to  fast  en  famille. 

Is  as  good  for  the  soul  as  to  pray ; 
ilnd  famine  itself  is  genteel, 

MThen  one  starves  in  a  family  way. 

'  have  found  out  a  secret  for  Freddy, 

A  secret  for  next  Budget  day  ; 
niough,  perhaps,  he  may  know  it  already. 

As  he,  too,  's  a  sage  in  his  way. 
tV^hen  next  for  the  Treasury  scene  he 

Announces  "  the  Devil  to  pay," 
[<et  him  write  on  the  bills,  <*  Nota  bene, 

"  Tis  all  in  the  family  way." 


bAIilAD    FOR    THE    CAMBRIDGE 
ELECTION. 

I  authnriz**]  my  Committee  to  take  the  step  whirh  they 
did,  of  pmiKting  a  fnir  comimrison  of  strength,  upon  the 
understanding  that  whichever  of  the  two  should  prove  to  be 
the  weakest,  should  give  way  to  the  nther." —  Extract  from 
Mr.  W.  J  B—ketft  Letter  to  Mr.  O—lb—u. 

B — K  ■»  is  weak,  and  G — Ib^n  too. 
No  ;ne  e'er  the  fact  denied ;  — 


Which  is  "  tceakest "  of  the  two, 

Cambridge  can  alone  decide. 
Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pnv, 
"WTiich  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

G — lb — n  of  the  Pope  afraid  is, 
B — kes,  as  much  afraid  as  he  : 

Never  yet  did  two  old  ladies 
On  this  point  so  well  agree. 

Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  praT 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Each  a  different  mode  pursues, 
Each  the  same  conclusion  reaches  ; 

B — kes  is  foolish  in  Reviews, 

G — lb — n,  foolish  in  his  speeches. 

Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray. 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Each  a  different  foe  doth  damn. 

When  his  own  affairs  have  gone  ill ; 

B — kes  he  damneth  Buckingham, 
C — lb — n  damneth  Dan  O'Connell. 

Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray. 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say 

Once,  we  know,  a  horse's  neigh 
Fix'd  th'  election  to  a  throne. 

So,  whichever  first  shall  braij, 
Choose  him,  Cambridge,  for  thy  own. 

Choose  him,  choose  him  by  his  brav 

Thus  elect  him,  Cambridge,  pray. 
June,  1826. 


MR.  ROGER  DODSWORTH. 


TO   THE    EDITOR   OF   THE    TIMES. 


1826. 


Sir, —  Having  Just  heard  of  the  wonderful  resurrection  of 
Mr.  Roger  Uodsworth  from  under  an  avalanche,  where  h« 
had  remained,  bien  frappi,  it  seems,  for  the  last  16C  years,  ' 
hasten  to  impart  to  you  a  few  reflections  on  the  subject — 
Yours,  tec  Ladoatob  Tempokii  Acti. 


What   a  lucky  turn  up  1  — just   as   Eld — n't 
withdrawing, 
To  find  thus  a  gentleman,  froz'n  in  the  yeai 
Sixteen  hundred   and   sixty,  who   only  warli 
thawing. 
To  serve  for  our  times  quite  as  well  as  tin 
Peer ;  — 

To  bring  thus  to  light,  not  the  Wisdom  oljne 
Of  our  Ancestors,  such  as  'tis  found  on  ooi 
ahelveit, 


ift4 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


But,  in  perfect  condition,  full  wigg'd  and  full 
grov^^l, 
To  shovel  up  one  of  those  wise  bucks  them- 
selves ! 

O  thaw  Mr.  Dodsworth,  and  send  him  safe 
home  ! 
Let  him  learn  nothing  useful  or  new  on  the 
way ; 
With  his  wisdom  kept  snug  from  the  light  let 
liim  come. 
And  our  Tories  will  hail  him  with  "  Hear  !  " 
and  "  Hurrah  !  " 

What  a  Godsend  to  them  !  —  a  good,  obsolete 
man. 
Who  has  never  of  Locke  or  Voltaire  been  a 
reader ;  — 
0  thaw  Mr.  Dodsworth  as  fast  as  you  can, 
And  the  L — nsd — les  and  H — rtf — rds  shall 
choose  him  for  leader. 

Yes,  Sleeper  of  Ages,  thou  shalt  be  their  chosen  ! 
And  deeply  with  thee  will  they  sorrow,  good 
men, 
To  think  that  all  Europe  has,  since  thou  wert 
frozen, 
So  alter' d,  thou  hardly  wilt  know  it  again. 

And  Eld — n  will  weep  o'er  each  sad  innovation 
Such  oceans  of  tears,  thou  wilt  fancy  that 
he 
Has  been  also  laid  up  in  a  long  congelation. 
And  is  now  only  thawing,  dear  Roger,  like 
thee. 


COPY  OF  AN  INTERCEPTED  DESPATCH. 

InOH  HIS  EXCELLENCY  DON  STREPITOSO  DIABOLO, 
ENVOY  EXTRAOBDINARY  TO  HIS  SATANIC  MA- 
JESTY. 

St  James's  Street,  July  1,  1826. 
Great  Sir,  having  just  had  the  good  luck  to 
catch 
An  official  young  Demon,  preparing  to  go, 
Roady  booted  and  spurr'd,  with  a  blackleg  de- 
spatch 
From  the  Hell  here,  at  Cr — ckf — rd's,  to  our 
Hell,  below  — 

I  -write  these  few  lines  to  your  Highness  Satanic, 
To  say  that   first  having  obey'dyour  direc- 
tions, 


And  done   all   the  mischief  I  could   in  "thi 
Panic," 
My  next  special  care  was  to  help  the  Elec* 
tions. 

Well  knowing  how  dear  were  those  times  to  th» 
soul, 
When   ev'ry  good  Christian    tormented  hii 
brothci, 
And  caus'd,  in  thy  realm,  such  a  saving  of  (oal, 
From  all  coming  down,  ready  grill' d  by  each 
other ; 

Rememb'ring,  besides,  how  it  pain'd   thee  to 
part 
With  the  Old  Penal  Code  —  that  chef-d^aeuvn 
of  Law, 
In  which  (though  to  own  it  too  modest  thou 
art) 
"We  could  plainly  perceive  the  fine  touch  of 
thy  claw ; 

I  thought,  as  we  ne'er  can  those  good  times  re- 
vive, 
(Though  Eld  — n,  with  help  from  your  High- 
ness would  try,) 
'Twould  still  keep   a    taste   for   Hell's  music 
alive, 
Could  we  get  up  a  thund'ring  No-Popery 
cry;  — 

That  yell  which,  when  ohorus'd  by  laics  aa.d 
clerics, 
So  like  is  to  ours,  in  its  spirit  and  tone, 
That  I  often  nigh  laugh  myself  into  hysterics, 
To  think  that  Religion  should  make  it  hei 
own. 

So,  having  sent  down  for  th'  original  notes 
Of  the   chorus,  as   sung  by  your  Majesty's 
choir. 
With  a  few  pints  of  lava,  to  gargle  the  throats 
Of  myself  and  some  others,  who  sing  it  "  with 
fire,"  * 

Thought   I,    «'if  the   Marseillois  Hymn    2ou;d 
command 
"Such  audience,  though   yell'd  by  a  Sans- 
culotte crew, 
••  What  wonders  shall  we  do,  who've  men  In  oui 
band, 
"  That  not  only  wear  breeches,  out  petticcati 
too." 

1  Confiueo  —  a  music-book  directea. 


inirnb.  then  were  my  hop«s ;  but,  with  sorrow, 
your  Highness, 
I  m  fore  d  to  confess  -  -  be  the  cause  what  it 
wUl, 
SVhether  fewness  of  Toices,  or  hoarseness,  or 
shyness.  —  , 

Our  Beelz«!bub  Chorus  has  gone  off  but  ilL 

rhe  truth  ii>,  no  placeman  now  knows  his  right 
key. 
The  Treasury  pitch  pipe  of  late  is  so  various  ; 
And  certain  base  voices,  that  look'd  for  a  fee 
At  the  York  music  meeting,  now  think  it  pre- 
carious. 

Even  some  of  our  Reverends  miffht  have  been 
warmer,  — 
Though  one  or  two  capital  roarers  we've  had ; 
Doctor  Wise  '  is,  for  instance,  a  charming  per- 
former, 
And  UvuUingdon  Maberley's  yell  was  not  bad  ! 

Altogether,  however,  the  thing  was  not  hearty  ; 

Even  Eld — n  allows  we  got  on  but  so  so ; 
And  when  next  we  attempt  a  No-Popery  party. 

We  muatf  please  your  Highness,  recruit  from 
below. 

But,  hark,  the  young  Blackleg  is  cracking  his 
whip  — 
Excuse  me,  Great  Sir  —  there's  no  time  to  be 
civil;  — 
rhe  next  opportunity  shan't  be  let  slip. 
But,  till  then, 

I'm,  in  baste,  your  most  dutiful 

Devil. 

<Uv,  1836 


?HE  illLLENNIUM. 

rCQOESTED     B-*     THE     LATE     WOUK     OF     THE     KEV- 

EHEND    >tK.  IKV NO    "  ON    PBOPHECY." 

1806. 

A  MiLLEN'>""M   at  hand  !  —  I'm   delighted  to 
hear  it  — 
As  matt«w»,  hoth  pubUc  and  private,  now  go, 

1  This  rcvuiend  gentleman  diitinguifhed  hmuself  at  the 
leading  elpcl.n. 

*  "  A  mei.at.t,  of  wheat  fur  a  penny,  and  three  measure* 
^l-arley  for  a  nrnny.'' —  Rev.  vi. 

*  See  the  oration  of  thi«  reverend  tientleman,  where  ho 
|«a..ribei  the  cunnubini  joys  of  Paradl!<e,  and  paints  the  an- 
relk  horering  round  "  each  happy  fair." 

*  W'b'^n  Whiston  pr««ented  to  Prince  Eugene  the  Essay 


With  multitudes  round  us  all  starving,  ox  near  i^ 
A  good,  rich  Millennium  will  come  liptupo* 

Only  think,  Master  Fred,  what  deligh    ♦o  !)•• 
hold, 
Instead  of  thy  bankrupt  old  City  of  Rags, 
A  bran  new  Jerusalem,  built  all  of  gold, 

Sound  bullion  throughout,  from  the  roof  i» 
the  flags  — 

A   City,   where  wine   and  cheap   corn  *  shaL 
abound  — 
A  celestial  Cocaigne,  on  whose  buttery  shelves 
We  may  swear  the  best  things  of  this  world  will 
be  found, 
As  your  Saints  seldom  fail  to  take  caie  of 
themselves  I 

Thanks,  reverend  expounder  of  raptures  £ly»> 

ian,' 

Divine  Squintifobus,  who,  plac'd  within  reack 

Of  two  opposite  worlds,  by  a  twist  of  your  vision, 

Can  cast,  at  the  same  time,  a  sly  look  at 

each ;  — 

Thanks,  thanks  for  the  hope  thou  affordest,  that 
we 
May,  ev'n  our  own  times,  a  Jubilee  share, 
Which  so  long  has  been  promis'd  by  prophets 
like  thee, 
And  60  often  postpon'd,  we  began  to  despair. 

There  was  Whiston,*  who  learnedly  took  Prince 
Eugene 
For  the  man  who  must  bring  the  Iilillennium 
about ; 
There's  Faber,  whose  pioTis  productions  have 
been 
All  belied,  ere  his  book's  first  edition  was 
out ;  — 

There  was  Counsellor  Dobbs,  too,  an  Insh  M  P., 
Who  discours'd  on  the  subject  with  sigdal 
icldt. 
And,  each  day  of  his  life,  sat  expecting  t<>  se« 
A  Millennium  break  out  in  the  town  of  Ar- 
magh ! ' 

in  which  he  attempted  to  connect  his  victorie*  over  tke 
Turks  with  Revelation,  the  Prince  is  said  to  have  replied, 
that  "  lie  was  not  nware  he  bad  ever  bad  the  honor  ofbeini 
known  to  St.  John." 

*  Mr.  Dobbs  was  a  member  of  the  Irish  Parliament,  and, 
on  t\\  other  subjects  but  the  Millennium,  a  very  sensibli 
person  :  he  chose  Annaph  as  the  scene  of  his  Millennium 
on  account  of  the  name  Armageddon,  uentioo  )d  In  Kev« 
latkm. 


JThere  was  «dso  —  but  why  should  I  burden  my 
lay 
With  your  Brotherses,  Southcotes,  and  names 
less  deserving, 
When  all  past  Millenniums  henceforth  must  give 
v=ay 
T  i  *\e  last  new  MiUenniiun  of  Orator  Irv— ng. 

Go  on,   mighty  man,  —  doom  them  aU  to  the 
shelf,  — 
And  when  next  thou  with  Prophecy  troublest 
thy  sconce, 
I*  forgot  not,  I  pray  thee,  to  prove  that  thyself 
Art  the  Beast  (Chapter  iv.)  that  sees  nine 
ways  at  once. 


THE  THREE  DOCTORS. 


Doctoribiu  letamur  tribus. 


1826. 


Fhouqh  many  great  Doctors  there  be. 
There  are  three  that  all  Doctors  out-top, 

Doctor  Eady,  that  famous  M.  D., 
Doctor  S — th — y,  and  dear  Doctor  Slop.' 

rhe  purger — the  proser — the  bard  — 

All  quacks  in  a  different  style ; 
Doctor  S — th — y  writes  books  by  the  yard. 

Doctor  Eady  writes  puffs  by  the  mile !  * 

Doctor  Slop,  in  no  merit  outdone 

By  his  scribbling  or  physicking  brother, 

'^'an  dose  us  with  stuff  like  the  one. 
Ay,  and  doze  us  with  stuff  like  the  other. 

Doctor  Eady  good  company  keeps 

With  "  No-Popery  "  scribes,  on  the  walls  ; 

Doctor  S — th — y  as  gloriously  sleeps 
With  "  No-Popery  "  scribes,  on  the  stalls. 

'Doctoi  Slop,  upon  subjects  divine. 

Such  bedlamite  slaver  lets  drop. 
That,  if  Eady  should  take  the  mad  line, 

He'll  be  sure  of  a  patient  in  Slop. 

>  The  editor  of  the  Morning  Herald,  so  nicknamed. 

*  Alluding  to  the  display  of  tliis  doctor's  name,  in  chalk, 
•Ml  all  the  walls  round  the  metropolis. 

8  This  seraphic  doctor,  in  the  preface  to  his  last  work 
yindicia  EccUsue  AngUcaniB),  is  pleased  to  anathematize 
Dot  only  all  Cathcilics,  but  all  advocates  of  Catholics':  — 
"They  have  for  their  immediate  allies  (he  says)  every  fac- 
tion that  is  banded  against  the  State,  every  demagogue, 
trer}  irreligious  and  seditious  journalist,  every  open  and 
«rt>:y  insidious  enemy  to  Monarchy  and  to  Christianity." 


Seven  millions  of  Papists,  no  less, 
Doctor  S— th— y  attacks,  like  a  Turk :  * 

Doctor  Eady,  less  bold,  I  confess, 
Attacks  but  his  maid-of-all-work.« 

Doctor  S — th — y,  for  his  grand  attack. 
Both  a  laureate  and  pensioner  is  ; 

While  poor  Doctor  Eady,  alack. 
Has  been  luid  up  to  Bow  street,  for  his  I 

And  truly,  the  law  does  so  blunder, 

That,  though  little  blood  has  been  spilt,  ha 

May  probably  suffer  as,  under 
The  Chalking  Act,  known  to  be  guilty. 

So  much  for  the  merits  sublime 

(With  whose  catalogue  ne'er  should  I  stop) 
Of  the  three  greatest  lights  of  our  time. 

Doctor  Eady,  and  S — th — y,  and  Slop  ! 

Should  you  ask  me,  to  which  of  the  three 
Great  Doctors  the  pref  rence  should  fall, 

As  a  matter  of  course,  I  agree 
Doctor  Eady  must  go  to  tfie  wall. 

But  as  S — th — y  with  laurels  is  crown' d, 
And  Slop  with  a  wig  and  a  tail  is, 

Let  Eady's  bright  temples  be  bound 
With  a  swingeing  •«  Corona  Muralia  /  "  ' 


EPITAPH  ON  A  TUFT  HUNTEK 

Lament,  lament,  Sir  Isaac  Heard, 

Put  mourning  round  thy  page,  Debrett. 

For  here  lies  one,  who  ne'er  preferr'd 
A  Viscount  to  a  Marquis  yet. 

Beside  him  place  the  God  of  Wit, 

Before  him  Beauty's  rosiest  girls, 
Apollo  for  a  star  he'd  quit. 

And  Love's  own  sister  for  an  Earl'g. 

Did  niggard  fate  no  peers  afford, 
He  took,  of  course,  t  o  peers'  relations ; 

*  See  the  late  accounts  in  the  newspapers  of  tie  if 
pearance  of  this  gentleman  at  one  of  the  Police  offices,  ia 
consequence  of  an  alleged  assault  on  bis  "  maid.o(-all 
work." 

5  A  crown  granted  as  a  reward  among  the  Romans  u 
persons  who  ]>erformed  any  extraordinary  exploits  upoi 
walls,  such  as  scaling  them,  battering  them,  &c. —  Nt 
doubt,  writing  upon  them,  to  tiie  extent  Dr.  Eady  doet 
would  equally  establish  a  claim  1  u  the  honor. 


SATIRICAL   AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS.                                      5M 

And,  rather  than  not  sport  a  Lord, 

Who  knows  but  thou  mayst  deck  the  pate 

Put  up  with  ev"n  the  last  creations. 

Of  that  fam'd  Doctor  Ad— mth — te. 

(The  reverend  rat,  whom  we  saw  «tand 

Ev'n  Irish  names,  could  he  but  tag  'em 

On  his  hind  legs  in  Westmoreland,) 

With  "Lord"  and  "Duke,"  were  swset  to 

Who  chang'd  so  quick  from  blue  to  t/elkns. 

caU; 

And  would  from  yelioio  back  to  blu*. 

4  ad,  at  a  pinch,  Lord  Balljrraggum 

And  back  again,  convenient  fellow, 

Wat  'tetter  than  no  Lord  at  alL 

K  'twere  his  interest  so  to  do. 

Heav'n  grant  him  now  some  noble  nook, 

Or,  haply,  smartest  of  triangles, 

For,  rest  his  soul !  he'd  rather  be 

Thou  art  the  hat  of  Doctor  Ow — n ; 

Jenteelly  damn'd  beside  a  Duke, 

The  hat  that,  to  his  vestry  wrangles. 

Than  sav'd  in  vulgar  company. 

I'hat  venerable  priest  doth  go  in,  — 

And,  then  and  there,  amid  the  stare 

Of  all  St.  Olave's,  takes  the  chair. 

ODE  TO  A  HAT. 

And  quotes,  w  ith  phiz  right  orthodox, 

Th'  example  of  his  reverend  brothers. 

"kltum 

To  prove  that  priests  all  fleece  their  flocks 

iEdificat  caput"                 Jutbkau 

And  he  must  fleece  as  well  as  others. 

1626. 
Uail,  reverend  Hat !  —  sublime  'mid  all 

Bless'd  Hat  !  (whoe'r  thy  lord  may  be) 

The  minor  felts  that  round  thee  grovel ;  — 

Thus  low  I  take  off  mine  to  thee, 

Thou,  that  the  Gods  •'  a  Delta  "  call, 

The  homage  of  a  layman's  castor. 

While  meaner  mortals  call  thee  "  shovel." 

To  the  spruce  delta  of  his  pastor. 

0  mayst  thou  be,  as  thou  proceedest. 

When  on  thy  shape  (like  pyramid. 

Still  smarter  cock'd,  still  brush'd  the  brightei. 

Cut  horizontally  in  two ') 

Till,  bowing  all  the  way,  thou  leadest 

I  raptur'd  gaze,  what  dreams,  unbid, 

Thy  sleek  possessor  to  a  mitre  ! 

Of  stalls  and  mitres  bless  my  view ! 

That  brim  of  brims,  so  sleekly  good  — 

Not  flapp'd,  like  dull  Wesleyans',  doAvn, 

NEWS  FOR  COUNTRY  COUSINS. 

But  looking  (as  all  churchmen's  should) 

Devoutly  upward  —  towards  the  crown. 

leob. 

Dbas  Coz,  as  I  know  neither  you   nor  Mis* 

'Jods !  when  I  gaze  upon  that  brim, 

Draper, 

So  redolent  of  Church  all  over, 

When  Parliament's  up,  ever  take  in  a  paper, 

What  swarms  of  Tithes,  in  vision  dim,  — 

But  trust  for  your  ncAvs  to  such  stray  odds  and 

Some  pig-tail'd,  some  like  cherubim. 

ends 

With  ducklings'  wings  —  around  it  hover  I 

As  you  chance  to  pick  up  from  political  friends 

Tenths  of  all  dead  and  living  things, 

Being  one  of  this  well-inform'd  class,  I  sit  down 

That  Nature  into  being  brings, 

To  transmit  you  the  last  newest  hews  that's  in 

F.'om  :alve8  and  corn  to  chitterlings. 

town. 

Sny,  holy  Hat,  that  hast,  of  cocks. 

As  to  Greece  and  Lord  Cochrane,  things  couldn't 

The  very  cock  most  orthodox, 

look  better  — 

To  which,  of  all  the  well-fed  throng 

Hia  Lordship   (who  promises  now  to  ligbl 

Of  Zion,^  joy'st  thou  to  belong? 

faster) 

Xhou'rt  itot  Sir  Harcourt  Lees's  —  no  — 

Has  just  taken  Rhodes,  and  despatch'd  off  ■ 

For  hats  grow  like  the  heads  that  wear  'em ; 

letter 

And  hats,  on  heads  like  his,  would  grow 

To  Daniel  O'Connell,  to  make  him  Grand 

Particularly  Aon«m-«ca«n<m. 

Master  ; 

I  So  ilcscribed  by  a  Revcrena  Historian  of  the  Church:  — 

«  Archbishop  Moge«  affectionately  calU  the  (HiurcJi  Drtak 

»  A  Delta  !iat,  like  the  horizontal  scctiin  of  a  ^yximiA."  — 

Ushment  of  Ireland  "  tJie  little  Zion  »" 

iBAri'i  History  of  the  EnglUk  Churck. 

>d8 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


Engagjig  to  change  the  old  name,  if  he  can, 
From  the  Knights  of  St.  John  to  the  Knights 

of  St.  Dan ;  — 
Or,  if  Dan  should  prefer  (as  a  still  better  whim) 
Being  made  the  Colossus,  'tis  all  one  to  him. 

Fror  Russia  the  last  accounts  arerthat  the  Czar, 
Most  gen'rous  and  kind,  as  all  sovereigns  are, 
Ind  -whose  first  princely  act  (as  you  know,  I 

suppose) 
Was  to  give   away   all  his  late  brother's  old 

clothes '  — 
Ib  now  busy  collecting,  with  brotherly  care, 
The  late  Emperor's  nightcaps,  and  thinks  of 

bestowing 
One  nightcap  apiece  (if  he  has  them  to  spare) 

On  all  the  distinguish' d  old  ladies  now  going. 
/■"While   I  write,    an   arrival  from  Riga — the 

«'  Brothers  "  — 
Having  nightcaps  on  board  fpr  Lord  Eld — ^n  and 

others.) 

Last    advices    from    India  —  Sir   Archy,    'tis 

thought. 
Was  near  catching  a  Tartar  (the  first  ever  caught 
In  N.  Lat.  21.)  —  and  his  Highness  Burmese, 
Being  very  hard  press' d  to  shell  out  the  rupees. 
And  not  having  rhino  sufiicient,  they  say,  meant 
To  pawn  his  august  Golden  Foot  *  for  the  pay- 
ment. 
1  Ho'.v  lucky  for  monarchs,  that  thus,  when  they 

choose, 
Can  establish  a  running  account  with  the  Jews  !) 
The  security  being  what  RothschUd  calls  "  goot," 
A  loan  will  be  shortly,  of  course,  set  on  foot ; 
The  parties  are  Rothschild,  A.  Baring  and  Co. 
With  three  other  great  pawnbrokers ;  each  takes 

a  toe. 
And  esngages  (lest  Goldfoot  should  give  us  leg 

bail, 
A.S  he  did  once  before)  to  pay  down  on  the  nail, 

rhis  is  all  for  the  present  —  what  vile  pens  and 

paper ! 
fours  truly,  dear  Cousin  —  best  love  to  Miss 

Draper. 
Stfitmter,  1826.  

A  VISION. 

BY    THE   AITTHOH   OF   CHRISTABEL. 

'♦  Up  !  '  said  the  Spirit,  and,  ere  I  coxild  pray 
One  hasty  orison,  whirl'd  me  away 

I  A  distribution  was  made  of  the  Emperor  Alexander's 
nilitary  wardrobe  by  his  succei'aor. 


To  a  Limbo,  lying  —  I  wist  not  where  — 
Above  or  below,  in  earth  or  air  ; 
For  it  glimmer' d  o'er  with  a  doubtful  light, 
One  couldn't  say  whether  'twas  day  or  night ; 
And  'twas  cross' a  by  many  a  jnazy  track 
One  didn't  know  how  to  get  on  or  back ; 
And  I  felt  like  a  needle  that's  going  astray 
(With  its  one  eye  out)  through  a  bundle  of  hay 
When  the  Spirit  he  grinn'd,  and  whisper'd  me, 
"  Thou'rt  now  in  the  Court  of  Chancery  ! " 

Around  me  flitted  unnumber'd  swarms 
Of  shapeless,  bodiless,  tailless  forms ; 
(Like  bottled  up  babes,  that  grace  the  rooiii 
Of  that  worthy  knight,  Sir  Everard  Home) 
All  of  them,  things  half  kill'd  in  rearing ; 
Some  were  lame  —  some  wanted  hearing  • 
Some  had  through  half  a  century  run. 
Though  they  hadn't  a  leg  to  stand  upon. 
Others,  more  merry,  as  just  beginning, 
Around  on  a  point  of  law  were  spinning ; 
Or  balanc'd  aloft,  'twixt  Bill  and  Answer, 
Lead  at  each  end,  like  a  tight-rope  daucer. 
Some  were  so  cross,  that  nothing  could  ploa.Ji 

'em ;  — 
Some  gulp'd  down  affidavits  to  ease  'em ;  — 
All  were  in  motion,  yet  never  a  one. 
Let  it  move  as  it  might,  could  ever  move  on. 
"These,"  said  the  Spirit,  "  you  plainly  see, 
"  Are  what  they  call  suits  in  Chancery  ! " 

I  heard  a  loud  screaming  of  old  and  younfr, 

Like  a  chorus  by  fifty  Vellutis  sung ; 

Or  an  Irish  Dump  ('•  the  words  by  Moore") 

At  an  amateur  concert  scream'd  in  score  ;  — 

So  harsh  on  my  ear  that  wailing  fell 

Of  the  wretches  who  in  this  Limbo  dwfcl'  I 

It  seem'd  like  the  dismal  symphony 

Of  the  shapes  ^neas  in  hell  did  see  ; 

Or  those  frogs,  whose  legs  a  barbarou'j  cook 

Cut  off",  and  left  the  Irogs  in  the  brcjk. 

To  cry  all  night,  till  life's  xa^t  dregs,         — 

"  Give  us  our  legs  !  —  give  us  oar  legs  !  " 

Touch'd  with  the  sad  and  sorrowful  scene, 

I  ask'd  what  all  this  yell  might  mean,      — 

When  the  Spirit  replied,  with  a  grin  of  gUt, 

"  'Tis  the  cry  of  the  Suitors  in  Chanctrv '  ' 

I  look'd,  and  I  saw  a  wizard  rise,' 
With  a  wig  like  a  cloud  before  men's  eyes 
In  his  aged  hand  he  held  a  wand, 
Wherewith  he  beckon'd  his  embryo  band, 

«  This  potentate  styles  himself  tlie  Monarch  of  the  UoUltl 
Foot. 
8  The  Lord  Chancellor  Eld— n. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


569 


And  they  mov'd  and  mov'd,  as  he  wav'd  it  o'er, 

But  they  never  got  on  one  inch  the  more. 

And  still  they  kept  limping  to  and  fro, 

Like  Ariels  round  old  Prospero  — 

Saying,  "  Dear  Master,  let  us  go," 

But  still  old  Prospero  answer'd  '«  No." 

And  I  heard,  the  while,  that  wizard  elf 

Muttftrinjj,  muttering  spells  to  himself, 

W'iilc  o'er  ai  many  old  papers  he  turn'd. 

As  Hume  o'er  mov'd  for,  or  Omar  bum'd. 

Ue  talk'd  of  his  virtue  —  "though  some,  less 

nice, 
(lie  own'd  with  a  sigh)  preferr'd  his  Vice  "  — 
And  he  said,  "  I  think  "  —  "  I  doubt  "  —  "  I 

hope," 
Call'd  God  to  witness,  and  damn  d  the  Pope ; 
With  many  more  sleights  of  tongue  and  hand 
I  couldn't,  for  the  soul  of  me,  understand. 
Amaz'd  and  pos'd,  I  was  just  about 
To  ask  his  name,  when  the  screams  without. 
The  merciless  clack  of  the  imps  within, 
And  that  conjurer's  mutterings  made  such  a  din, 
That,  startled,  I  woke  —  leap'd  up  in  my  bed  — 
Found  the  Spirit,  the  imps,  and  the  conjurer  fled. 
And  bless'd  my  stars,  right  plcas'd  to  see, 
That  I  wasn't,  as  yet,  in  Chancery. 


THE  PETITION  OF  THE  ORANGEMEN 

OF  IRELAND. 

leae. 

To  the  people  of  England,  the  humble  Petition 
Of  Ireland's  disconsolate  Orangemen,  show- 
ing— 
rhat  sad,  very  sad,  is  our  present  condition  :  — 
Our  jobbing  all  gone,  and  our  noble  selves 
going  ;  — 

That,  forming  one  seventh,  within  a  few  frac- 
tions, 
Of  Ireland's  seven  millions  of  hot  heads  and 
hearts. 
We  hold  it  the  basest  of  all  base  transactions 
To  keep  us  from  m\ud'ring  the   other  six 
parts ;  — 

J  nat,  OS  to  laws  made  for  the  good  of  the  many. 
We  humbly  suggest  there  is  nothing  less  true ; 

As  all  human  laws  (and  our  own,  more  than 
any) 
Are  made  by  and /or  a  particular  few  ;  —     m. 


To  such  impo'.tant  discussions  as  these  Uie  greater  part 
if  Dr  ttouthey'i  yindieue  Ecclcsug  Jlnglicana  ia  devoted, 
t  Coiisut>startiation  —  the  true  Refurmed  belief;  at  leait, 
72 


That  auch  it  delights  ev'ry  true  Orange  brother. 

To  see  you,  in  England,  such  ardor  evince. 
In  discussing  which  sect  most  tonnen.;ed  th« 
other, 
And  bum'd  with  most  fftuto,  some  biindre<4 
years  since  ;  — 

That  we  love  to  behold,  while  old  England  grcwt 
faint, 
Messrs.  Southey  and  Butler  nigh  coming  to 
blows, 
To  decide  whether  Dunstan,  that  strong-bodied 
Saint, 
Ever  truly  and  reaUj  puU'd  the  DevTs  nose ; 

Whether  t'other    Saint,   Dominic,   burnt    tha 
DevTs  paw  — 
Whether  Edwy  intrigued  with  Elgiva's  old 
mother '  — 
And  many  such  points,  from  which  Southey  cac 
draw 
Conclusions  most  apt   for   our  hating  cacb 
other. 

That  'tis  very  well  known  this  devout   Irish 
pation 

Has  now,  for  some  ages,  gone  happily  on. 
Believing  in  two  kinds  of  Substantiation, 

One  party  in  Trans  and  the  other  in  Con  ;  * 

That  we,  your  petitioning  Cons,  have,  in  right 
Of  the  said  monosyllable,  ravag'd  the  lands. 
And  embezzled  the  goods,  and  annoy'd,  day  and 
night. 
Both  the  bodies  and  souls  of  the  sticklers  foi 
Trans ;  — 

That  we  trust  to  Peel,  Eldon,  and  other  such 
sages. 
For  keeping  us  still  in  the  same  state  of 
mind; 
Pretty  much  as  the  world  us'd  to  be  in  those 
ages. 
When  still  smaller  syllables  madden'd  mao* 
kind;  — 

When  the  words  ex  and  per  '  served  as  well,  ti 
annoy 
One's  neighbors  and  friends  with,  as  con  and 
trans  now ; 


the  belief  of  Luther,  and,  as  Mothein.  asserts,  of  MelaaA 
tbon  also. 
*  When  John  of  Bagusa  went  to  Conatantinople  (U  tW 


370 


SAHRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


COTTON  AND  CORN. 

A  DIALOGUE. 

Baid  Cotton  to  Corn,  t'other  day, 
As  they  met  and  cxchang'd  a  salute  — 

r  Squire  Corn  in  his  carriage  so  gay, 
Poor  Cotton,  half  famish' d,  on  foot)  : 

••  Great  Squire,  if  it  isn't  uncivil 
"  To  hint  at  starvation  bcfor*  you, 
Look  down  on  a  poor  hungry  devil, 
"  And  give  him  some  bread,  I  implore  you  !  " 

Qiioth  Com  then,  in  answer  to  Cotton, 
Perceiving  he  meant  to  makeyVee  — 

"  Low  fellow,  you've  surely  forgotten 
"  The  distance  between  you  and  me  ! 

"  lo  expect  that  wo,  Peers  of  high  birth, 
"  Shoul  1  waste  our  illustrious  acres, 

•■'  For  no  other  purpose  on  earth 

*  Thar  ii  fatten  curs'd  calico  makers  !  — 

That  Bishops  to  bobbins  should  bend  — 

«« Should  stoop  from  their  Bench's  sublimity, 

nine  this  dispute  between  "  ex  "  and  "  per  "  was  going  on), 


"  Great  dealers  in  lawn,  to  befriend 
"  Such  contemptible  dealers  ir  di/niiy . 

"  No  —  vile  Manufacturer  !  ne'er  harbor 
"  A  hope  to  be  fed  at  our  boards  ;  — 

•<  Base  offspring  of  Arkwright  the  barber, 
•'  What  claim  canst  thou  have  upon  Lords  > 

"  No  —  thanks  to  the  taxes  and  debt, 

*'  And  the  triumph  of  paper  o'er  guineas, 

"  Our  race  of  Lord  Jemmys,  as  yet, 
"  May  defy  your  whole  rabble  of  Jennys  !  ' 

So  saying  —  whip,  crack,  and  away 
Went  Corn  in  his  chaise  through  the  throng 

So  headlong,  I  heard  them  all  say, 

«'  Squire  Corn  would  be  down,  before  long." 


A-nd   Christians,  like   S— th— y,  who   stickled 
for  oi, 
Cut  the  throats  of  all  Christians  who  stickled 
for  ow.' 

rhat,    relying    on    England,    whose    kindness 
already 
Sd  often  has  help'd  us  to  play  this  game  o'er. 
We  have  got  our  red  coats  and  our  carabines 
ready, 
And  wait  but  the  word  to  show  sport,  as  be- 
fore. 

rhat,  as  to  the  expense  —  the  few  millions,  or  so. 

Which  for  all  such  diversions  John  Bull  has 

to  pay  — 

Tis,  at  least,  a  great  comfort  to  John  Bull  to 

know. 

That  to  Orangemen's  pockets  'twill  all  find  its 

way. 
For  which  your  petitioners  ever  will  pray, 

&c.  &c.  &c.  &c.  &c.  THE  CANONIZATION  OF  SAINT 

B— TT— RW— RTH. 

"  A  Christian  of  the  beat  edition."         Raoelais. 

Canonize  him  !  —  yea,  verily,   we'll  canonize 
him; 
Though  Cant  is  his  hobby,  and  meddling  his 
bliss, 
Though  sages  may  pity,  and  wits  may  despise 
him. 
He'll  ne'er  make  a  bit  the  worse  Saint  for  all 
this. 

Descend,  all  ye  Spirits,  that  ever  yet  spread 
The  dominion  of  Humbug  o'er  land  and  o'er 
sea, 

Descend  on  our  B — tt — rw — rth's  biblical  head, 
Thrice  Great,  Bibliopolist,  Saint,  and  M.  P. 

Come,  shade  of  Joanna,  come  down  from  thy 
sphere. 
And  bring  little  Shiloh  —  if  'tisn't  too  fai  — 
Such  a  sight  will  to  B — tt — tw — rth's  boaom  b» 
dear. 
His  conceptions  and  thine  being  oiucL  on  • 
par. 

Nor  blush.  Saint  Joanna,  once  more  to  behold 
A  world  thou  hast  honor'd  by  cheating  so 
many ; 

1  The  Arian  controversy.  —  Before  that  time,  says  Hook 
ne  found  the  Turks,  we  are  told,  "  laughing  at  the  Chris-  I  er,  "  in  order  to  be  a  sound  believing  Christian,  men  wert 
tiuii  for  beinc  divided  by  two  such  insignificant  particles."    I  not  curious  what  syllables  or  particles  of  speech  tliey  used." 


SATIRICAL   AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


57. 


Diou'lt  find  still  among  us  one  Personage  old, 
'  Who  also  by  tricks  and  ^^he  Seaia '  makes  a 
penny. 

rhou,  too.  of  the  Shakers    livine  Mother  Lee !  * 

Thj  Raxiles  to  beatified  P-  — tt — rw — rth  deign  ; 

f  w-  ••  lights  01  the  Gor'.ites  "  are  thou,  Anne, 

and  he, 

One  hallowing  TVe'^  Street,  and  t'otJier  Toad 

Lane  !  ' 

fhj  Heathen,  v-i  it.yy^,  made  their  Gods  out 
of  wood, 
Aitd  Saints  may  be  fram'd  of  as  handy  ma- 
terials ;  — 
Old  women  and  B — tt — rw — rths  make  just  as 
good 
As  any  the  Pope  ever  book'd  as  Ethereals. 

Stand  forth,  Man  of  Bibles  !  —  not  Mahomet's 

pigeon, 

When,  pcrch'd  on  the  Koran,  he  dropp'd  there, 

they  say, 

Strong  marks  of  his  faith,  ever  shed  o'er  religion 

Such  glory  as  B — tt — rw — rth  sheds  every  day. 

dreat  Galen  of  souls,  with  what  vigor  he  crams 
Down  Erin's  idolatrous  throats,  till  they  crack 
again. 
Bolus  on  bolus,  good  man  !  —  and  then  damns 
Both  their  stomachs  and  souls,  if  they  dare 
cast  them  back  again. 

Dow  well  might  his  shop  —  as  a  type  represent- 
ing 
The  creed  of  himself  and  his  sanctified  clan  — 
On  its  counter  exhibit  "  the  Art  of  Tormenting," 
Bound  neatly,  and  lettcr'd  "  Whole  Duty  of 
Man  I  " 

Canonize  liim  !  —  by  Judas,  we  tr«7/ canonize  him ; 

For  Cant  is  his  hobby,  and  twaddling  his  bliss  ; 
Aiid,  though  wise  men  may  pity  and  wits  may 
d-jspise  him. 

He'll  make  but  the  better  fAcp  saint  for  all  this. 

CaH  quickly  together  the  whole  tribe  of  Canters, 
Convoke  all  the  serious  Tag-rag  of  the  nation ; 

1  A  great  part  of  tlie  income  of  Joanna  Southcott  arose 
ttom  the  Seals  of  tiie  Lord's  protection  vvhicli  slse  sold  to 
■er  followers. 

I  Mm.  Anna  Lee,  the  "cboeen  veeseP'of  the  Shaken, 
and  <  Mother  ofall  tlie  children  of  regeneration." 

I  Toad  Lane,  in  Manchester,  where  Mother  Lee  was 
torn.  In  her  "  Addre^iu  to  Young  Oclicverii,"  she  says,  that 
'*  it  ii  •  •.atiw  of  DO  importance  with  tliem  (rum  wbenc« 


Bring  Shakers  and  Snufflcrs  and  Jumpers  and 
Ranters, 
To  witness  their  B — tt — rw — rth's  Canonix' 
tion  ! 

Yea,  humbly  I've  ventur'd  his  merits  to  paint. 
Yea,  feebly  have  tried  all  his  gifla  to  portray ; 

And  they  form  a  sum  total  for  making  a  Saint, 
That  the   Devil's   own  Advocate  could  net 
gainsay. 

Jump  high,  all  ye  Jumpers,  ye  Ranters  all  roar, 

While  B — tt — rw — rth's  spirit,  upraia'd  firom 

your  eyes, 

like  a  kite  made  of  foolscap,  in  glory  shall  soar, 

With  a  long  tail  of  rubbish  behind,  to  tht 

skies  ! 


AN  INCANTATION. 

SVNO  BT  THB  BUBBLE  SFIRH. 

Air.  — Come  icith  me,  and  tee  teiU  go 
Where  tht  rocks  of  coral  grow. 

Comb  with  me,  and  we  will  blow 
Lots  of  bubbles,  as  we  go  ; 
Bubbles,  bright  as  ever  Hope 
Drew  from  fancy  —  or  from  soap ; 
Bright  as  e'er  the  South  Sea  sent 
From  its  frothy  element ! 
Come  with  me,  and  we  will  blow 
Lots  of  bubbles,  as  we  go. 
Mix  the  lather,  Johnny  W — Iks, 
Thou,  who  rhym'st  so  well  to  bilks  ; 
Mix  the  lather  —  who  can  bo 
Fitter  for  such  task  than  thee, 
Great  M.  P.  for  Sudabwcy  r 

Now  the  frothy  charm  is  ripe. 
Puffing  Peter,*  bring  thy  pipe,  — 
Thou,  whom  ancient  Coventry 
Once  so  dearly  lov'd,  that  sho 
Knew  not  which  to  lier  was  sweeter. 
Peeping  Tom  or  Puffing  Peter  . 
Puff  the  bubbles  4iigh  in  air. 
Puff  thy  best  to  keep  tht  m  there. 

the  means  of  their  deliverance  come,  wbetler  fh>m  t  Blah:* 
in  Betlilehcm,  or  from  Toad  Lane,  Manchester." 

*  Strong  indications  of  character  may  be  soinetimef  Crac»J 
in  the  rliymes  to  names.    Marvell  tliougbt  to,  when  hi 

wrote 

"Sir  Edward  Sutton, 
The  foolish  Knight  who  rhymes  to  mutton." 

*  Tbe  Member,  during  a  long  period,  for  Corentnr. 


k72 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


Bravo,  bravo,  Peter  M — re  ! 
Now  the  rainbow  humbugs '  soar, 
Glittering  all  with  golden  hues, 
Such  as  haunt  the  dreams  of  Jews ;  — 
Some,  reflecting  mines  that  lie 
Under  Chili's  glowing  sky. 
Some,  those  virgin  pearls  that  sleep 
Cloister' d  in  the  southern  deep  ; 
Others,  as  if  lent  a  ray 
From  the  streaming  Milky  Way, 
Glistening  o'er  with  curds  and  whey 
From  the  cows  of  Alderney. 

Now's  the  moment  —  who  shall  first 
Catch  the  bubbles,  ere  they  burst  ? 
Run,  ye  Squires,  ye  Viscounts,  run, 
Br— gd— n,  T— ynh— m,  P— Im— t— d    - 
John  W— Iks  junior  runs  beside  ye  ! 
Take  the  good  the  knaves  provide  ye  j  * 
See,  with  upturn'd  '■yes  end  han  Is, 
Where  the  Sharejiav  '  Br— g^l— n,  stands, 
Gaping  for  tbj  fr'^th  to  faU 
Down  his  gul^it —  tye  and  all. 

See! 

But,  hark,  my  time  is  out  — 
Now,  like  some  great  waterspout, 
Scatter'd  by  the  cannon's  thunder, 
Burst,  ye  bubbles,  all  asunder  ! 

[Here  the  stage  darkens — o  discordant  crash  is  heard  from 
tfte  orchestra  —  Vie  broken  bubbles  descend  in  a  saponaceous  but 
uncleanly  mist  over  the  heads  of  the  Dramatis  Persona,  and 
the  scene  drops,  leaving  the  bubble  hunters all  in  tlu  suds,] 


A  DREAM  OF  TURTLE. 


BT  sia  w.  cunTis. 


1826. 


'TwAfl  evening  time,  in  the  twilight  sweet 
1  sail'd  along,  when  —  whom  should  I  meet 
Bat  a  Turtle  journeying  o'er  the  sea, 
"  On  the  service  of  his  Majesty."  * 

When  spying  him  first  through  twilight  dim, 
I  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  him ; 
Out  said  to  myself,  as  slow  he  plied 
His  fins,  and  roll'd  from  side  to  side 

1  An  humble  imitation  of  one  of  our  modern  poets,  who, 
in  a  poem  against  War,  after  describing  the  splendid  habili- 
ments of  tlie  soldier,  tlius  apostrophizes  him  —  "  thou  rain- 
tow  ruffian !" 

*  "  Lovely  Thais  sits  beside  thee : 

Take  the  good  the  Gods  provide  thee." 

*  Bo  called  by  a  sort  of  Tuscan  dulcification  of  the  eh,  in 
the  word  "  Chairman." 

*  We  are  told  that  the  passport  cd  this  grand  diplomatic 


Conceitedly  o'er  the  watery  path  — 

«« 'Tis  my  Lord  of  St— w— 11  taking  a  >^th, 

"  And  I  hear  him  now,  among  the  ii'Ai&i, 

«'  Quoting  Vatel  and  Burgersdioi  j'  I " 

But  no  —  'twas,  indeed,  a  Tu'  J'.,  wide 

And  plump  as  ever  lihese  ej  jp  descried ; 

A  Turtle,  juicy  as  ever  yec 

Glu'd  up  the  lips  of  a  "Jaronet ! 

And  much  did  it  gri/-v,  my  soul  to  see 

That  an  animal  r '"  such  dignity. 

Like  an  abBent<s'-  abroad  should  roam. 

When  ho  aght  to  stay  and  be  ate  at  home. 

Bu*'  nov     a  change  came  o'er  my  dream, 

J  -ke  the  magic  lantern's  shifting  slider ;  - 
^  .ook'd,  and  saw,  by  the  evening  beam. 

On  the  back  of  that  Turtle  sat  a  rider 
A  goodly  man,  with  an  eye  so  merry, 
I  knew  'twas  our  Foreign  Secretary,* 
Who  there,  at  his  ease,  did  sit  and  smile, 
Like  Waterton  on  his  crocodile  ; ' 
Cracking  such  jokes,  at  every  motion. 

As  made  the  Turtle  squeak  with  glee, 
And  own  they  gave  him  a  lively  notion 

Of  what  his  /orc'd-meat  balls  would  be. 

So,  on  the  Sec.  in  his  glory  went, 

Over  that  briny  element, 

Waving  his  hand,  as  he  took  farewell, 

With  graceful  air,  and  bidding  me  tell 

Inquiring  friends  that  the  Turtle  and  he 

Were  gone  on  a  foreign  embassy  — 

To  soften  the  heart  of  a  Diplomafe, 

Who  is  known  to  doat  upon  verdant  fat, 

And  to  let  admiring  Europe  see. 

That  calipash  and  calipee 

Are  the  English  forms  of  Diplomacy. 


THE  DONKEY   AND  HIS  PANNIERS. 

A   FABLB. 


'  fessus  Jam  sudat  aselhis. 


"  Parce  illi ;  vestrum  delicium  est  asinus." 

ViRoiw  Coptu 

A  Donkey,  whose  talent  for  burdens  -was  woiJr> 
drous. 
So  much  that  you'd  swear  he  rejoic'd  in  a  load, 

Turtle  (sent  by  the  Secretary  for  Foreign  Aflkirs  to  a  certala 
noble  envoy)  described  him  as  **  on  his  majesty's  service." 

daplbus  supremi 

Grata  testudo  Jovis. 
(  Mr.  Canning. 

•  ff'andenn/rs  in  South  Ametiea.  "It  \ras  the  first  and 
last  time  (says  Mr.  Waterton)  I  was  ever  on  a  crocodil*^ 
back." 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


671 


One  day  had  to  jog  under  panniers  so  pond'rous, 
That  —  down  the  poor  Donkey  fell  smack  on 
the  road  ! 

ilis  ownem  and  drivers  Btood  round  in  amaze  — 
What  !    Neddy,  the  patient,  the   prosperous 
Neddy, 

60  easy  to  drive,  through  the  dirtiest  ways, 
For  every  description  of  job  work  so  ready  ! 

One  driver^  whom  Ned  might  have  "hail'd"  aa 
a  "  brother  "  ') 
Had  just  Dcen  proclaiming  his  Donkey's  re- 
nown 
For  vigor,  for  spirit,  for  one  thing  or  other  — 
When,  lo,  'mid  his  praises,  the  Donkey  came 
down  1 

But,  how  to  upraise  him  ?  —  one  shouts,  t'other 
whistles, 
WTiilc  Jenky,  the  Conjurer,  wisest  of  all. 
Declared  that  an  "  overproduction  of  thistles  '  — 
(Here  Ned  gave  a  stare)  —  was  the  cause  of 
his  fall." 

Another  wise  Solomon  cries,  as  he  passes  — 
"  There,  let  him  alone,  and  the  fit  will  soon 
cease ; 
•*  The  beast  has  been  fighting  with  other  jack- 
asses, 
••  And  this  is  his  mode  of  •  transition  to  peace.' " 

Some  look'd   at  his  hoofs,  and,  with  learned 
grimaces, 
Pronounc'd  that  too  long  without  shoes  he 
he  had  gone  — 
"Let  the  blacksmith  provide  him  a  sound  metal 
basis 
(The  wiseacres  said),  "  and  he's  sure  to  jog 
on.' 

Meanwhile,  the  poor  Neddy,  in  torture  and  fear, 
L>»y  under  his  panniers,  scarce  able  to  groan ; 

And  —  what  was  still  dolefuUer  —  leading  an  ear 
To  advisers,  whose  ears  were  a  match  for  his 
own. 

At  length,  a  plain  rustic,  whose  wit  went  so  far 
As   to   see  others'  folly,  roar'd   out,  as   he 
pass'd  — 

i  Alluding  to  an  early  poem  of  Mr.  Coleridge'a,  addiwMd 
to  an  Ass,  and  beginning,  "  I  hail  thee,  btutner! " 
*  A  certain  country  gentleman  having  said  in  the  House, 


«•  Quick  —  off  with  the  panniers,  all  dolts  bs  ▼» 
are, 
"  Or  your  prosperous  Neddy  will  soon  kick 

his  last ! " 
October,  1826. 


ODE  TO  THE  SUBLIME  PORTE. 

1838. 

Great  Sultan,  how  wise  are  thy  state  composi 
tions! 
And  O,  above  all,  I  admire  that  Decree, 
In  which  thou  command'st,  that  all  she  politi 
cians 
Sliall  forthwith  be  strangled  and  cast  in  tK» 
sea. 

'Tis  my  fortune  to  know  a  lean  Benthamite  spin 
star  — 
A  maid,  who  her  faith  in  old  Jeremy  puts ; 
"Who  talks,  with  a  lisp,  of  "  the  last  new  Wesl- 
minsler," 
And  hopes  you're  delighted  with  "  Mill  upon 
Gluts ;  " 

Who  tells  you  how  clever  one  Mr.  Fun-blank  is, 
How  charming  his  Articles  'gainst  the  Nobil 
ity;- 

And  assures  you  that  even  a  gentleman's  rank  is, 
In  Jeremy's  school,  of  no  sort  of  utility. 

To  see  her,  ye  Gods,  a  new  Number  perusing  — 
Art.  1. —  "On  the  Needle's  variations,"  b:» 
PI— e:» 
Aet.  2.  —  By  her  fav'rite  Fun-blanK *  —  "so 
amusing ! 
♦'  Dear  man  !  he  makes  Poetry  quite  a  Lam 
case." 

Art.  3.  — «'  Upon  Fallacies,"  Jeremy's  own  — 
(Chief  Fallacy  being,  his  hope  to  find  read- 
ers) ;  — 
Art.  4. —  "Upon  Honesty,"  f  uthor  unknown  { 
Art.  6.  —  (by  the  young  Mi-.  M —    )  "  Hitvti 
to  Breeders." 

O,  Sultan,  O,  Sultan,  though  oft  for  tn.6  <  ig 
And  the  bowstring,  like  thee,  I  am  temptsd  tt 
call —  * 

>  A  celebrated  politiral  taflor. 

*  This  painstaking  gentleman  has  been  at  the  trouble  of 
counting,  with  the  assistance  of  Cocker,  the  number  of  met 


''that  we  must  return  at  last  to  the  food  of  our  ancestors,"  |  apbors  in  Moore's  "  Life  of  Sheridan,*'  and  has  found  ihen 
•omebody  asVed  Mr.  T.  "what  food  the  gentleman  meant?"  I  to  amount,  as  nearly  as  possifile,  to  2235  —  and  soae  frti 
P-"  TbiBtlfti,  I  suppose,"  answered  Mr.  T.  >  tiom. 


i74                                     SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS   POEMS. 

Fhoiigh  drowning's   too   good  for  each  blue- 

Oft, too,  the  Corn  grows  animate. 

stocking  hag, 

And  a  whole  crop  of  heads  fippears. 

I  would  bag  this  she  Benthamite  first  of  them 

Like  Papists,  bearding  Church  and  State  — - 

all! 

Themselves,  together   by  the  ears  ■ 

A.nd,  lest  she  should  ever  agam  lift  her  head 

In  short,  these  torments  never  cease ; 

From  the  watery  bottom,  her  clack  to   re- 

And oft  I  wish  myself  transferr'd  off 

new  — 

To  some  far,  lonely  land  of  peace. 

As  a  clog,  as  a  sinker,  far  better  than  lead, 

Where  Corn  or  Papists  ne'er  were  heard  of 

I  vould  hang  round  her  neck  her  own  dar- 

ling Review. 

Yes,  waft  me.  Parry,  to  the  Pole  ; 

For  —  if  my  fate  is  to  be  chosen* 

'Twixt  bores  and  icebergs  —  on  my  soul. 

I'd  rather,  of  the  two,  be  frozen  ! 

CORN  AND   CATHOLICS. 

Utrum  horum 

Dirius  borum  ?        Incerti  Auctoris. 

A  CASE  OF  LIBEL. 

What  !  still  those  two  infernal  questions, 

"  The  greater  the  truth,  the  worse  the  libel.'» 

That  with  our  meals,  our  slumbers  mix  — 

A  CERTAIN  Sprite,  who  dwells  below, 

That  spoil  our  tempers  and  digestions  — 

('Twere  a  libel,  perhaps,  to  mention  where. 

Eternal  Com  and  Catholics  ! 

Came  up  incog.,  some  years  ago. 

To  try,  for  a  change,  the  London  air 

Gods  !  were  there  ever  two  such  bores  ? 

Nothing  else  talk'd  of  night  or  mom  — 

So  well  he  look'd  and  dress'd  and  talk'd. 

Nothing  in  doors,  or  oiU  of  doors. 

And  hid  his  tail  and  horns  so  handy. 

But  endless  Catholics  and  Corn  ! 

You'd  hardly  have  known  him  as  he  walk'd. 

From  C e,  or  any  other  Dandy. 

Never  was  such  a  brace  of  pests  — 

While  Ministers,  still  worse  than  either, 

(His  horns,  it  seems,  are  made  t'  unscrew ; 

Bkill'd  but  in  feathering  their  nests. 

So,  he  has  but  to  take  them  out  of  the  socket 

Plague  us  with  both,  and  settle  neither. 

And  —  just  as  some  fine  husbands  do  — 

Conveniently  clap  them  into  his  pocket.) 

So  addled  in  my  cranium  meet 

Popery  and  Corn,  that  oft  I  doubt. 

In  short,  he  look'd  extremely  natty, 

Whether,  this  year,  'twas  bonded  Wheat, 

And  ev'n  contriv'd — to  his  own  great  won 

Or  bonded  Papists,  they  let  out. 

der  — 

By  dint  of  sundry  scents  from  Gattie, 

Here,  landlords,  here,  polemics  nail  you. 

To  keep  the  sulphurous  hogo  under. 

Arm'd  with  all  rubbish  they  can  rake  up  ; 

Vrices  and  Texts  at  once  assail  you  — 

And  so  my  gentleman  hoof  d  about. 

From  Daniel  these,  and  those  from  Jacob.' 

Unknown  to  all  but  a  chosen  few 

At  White's  and  Crockford's,  where,  no  do»i^« 

And  when  you  sleep,  with  head  still  torn 

He  had  many  post-obits  falling  due. 

L.-twecn  the  two,  their  shapes  you  mix. 

fill  sometimes  Catholics  seem  Corn  — 

Alike  a  gamester  and  a  wit, 

Then  Com  again  seems  Catholics. 

At  night  he  was  seen  with  Crockford's  cre» 

At  morn  with  learned  dames  would  sit  — 

Now,  Dantzic  wheat  before  you  floats  — 

So  pass'd  his  time  'twixt  black  and  bltie. 

Now,  Jesuits  from  California  — 

Now  Ceres,  link'd  with  Titus  Oats, 

Some  wish'd  to  make  him  an  M.  P., 

Comes  dancing  through  the  "  Porta  Cornea."  * 

But  finding  W— Iks  was  also  one,  he 

*  Author  of  the  late  Report  on  Foreign  Com. 
f  be  HorR  Gate,  tiirougb  which  the  ancients  supposed 

all  true  dreams  (such  as  those  )f  the  Popish  Plot  k«0  •» 
pass. 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


67t 


Swore,  in  a  rage,  "  he'd  be  d d,  if  he 

"  Would  ever  sit  iu  one  house  with  Johnny." 

At  length,  as  secrets  travel  fast, 

And  devils,  whether  he  or  she, 
Are  sure  to  be  found  out  a»  last, 

The  affair  got  wind  most  rapidly. 

The  Press,  the  impartial  Press,  that  snubs 
Alike  a  fiend's  or  an  angel's  capers  — 

HLss  Paton's  soon  as  Beelzebub's  — 
Fir'd  off  a  squib  in  the  morning  papers: 

•  We  warn  good  men  to  keep  aloof 

••  From  a  grim  old  Dandy,  seen  about, 

•  With  a  fire-proof  wig,  and  a  cloven  hoof 

"  Through  a  neat-cut  Iloby  smoking  out." 

Now,  —  the  Devil  being  a  gentleman, 
Who  piques  himself  on  well-bred  dealings,  — 

You  may  guess,  when  o'er  these  lines  he  ran. 
How  much  they  hurt  and  shock'd  his  feel- 
ings. 

Away  he  posts  to  a  Man  of  Law, 
And  'twould  make  you  laugh  could  you  have 
seen  'cm, 
Ka  paw  snook  hand,  and  hand  shook  paw, 
And  'twas  "  hail,  good  fellow,  well  met,"  be- 
tween 'em. 

Straight  an  indictment  was  preferr'd  — 
And  much  the  Devil  enjoy'd  the  jest, 

When,  asking  about  the  Bench,  he  heard 
That,  of  all  the  Judges,  his  own  was  Best.* 

In  vain  Defendant  profTer'd  proof 

That  Plaintiffs  self  was  the  Father  of  Evil  — 
Brought  Iloby  forth,  to  swear  to  the  hoof, 

And  Stultz  to  speak  to  the  tail  of  the  Devil. 

The  Jury  (saints,  all  snug  and  rich, 
And  readers  of  virtuous  Sunday  papers) 

Found  for  the  Plaintiff —  on  hearing  which 
riio  Devil  gave  one  of  his  loftiest  capers. 

For  O,  'twas  nuts  to  the  Father  of  Lies 
(As  this  wily  fiend  is  nam'd  in  the  Bible) 

I  o  find  it  settled  by  laws  so  wise, 
That  the  greater  the  truth,   the  worse  the 
libel ! 


<  A  colebmted  Jiid^,  m  nimed. 

•  This  laily  also  favorH  uk,  in  her  Memoirs,  with  the  ad- 
itmu  of  tliiiae  apothecaries,  who  have   (torn  lime  to  time. 


LITERARY  ADVERTISE5IENT. 

Wanted  —  Authors  of  all  work,  to  job  for  th« 

season, 

No  matter  which  party,  so  faithful  to  neither ; 

Oood  hacks,  who,  if  pos'd  for  a  rhyme  or  a 

reason, 

Can  manage,  like  ••••••,  to  do  witVaul 

either. 

If  in  jail,  all  the  better  for  out-o'-door  topics  : 
Your  jail  is  for  Trav'Uers  u  charming  retreat ; 
They  can  take  a  day's  rule  for  a  trip  to  th« 
Tropics, 
And  sail  round  the  world,  at  their  ease,  in  the 
Fleet. 

For  a  Dramatist,  too,  the  most  usefiJ  of  schools  — 
He  can  study  high  life  in  the  King's  Bench 
community ; 
Aristotle   could  scarce  keep  him  more  within 
ntlea, 
And  of  place  he,  at  least,  must  adhere  to  tha 
unity. 

Any  lady  or  gentleman,  come  to  an  age 
To  have  good  •'  Reminiscences  "    (threescore 
or  higher), 
Will  meet  with  encotiragement  —  so  much,  pef 
page, 
And  the  spelling  and  grammar  both  U  uj.d  bv 
the  buyer. 

No  matter  with  what  their    remembrance    Li 
stock'd. 
So  they'll  only  remember  the  quantum  desir'd ; 
Enough  to  fill  handsomely  Two  Volumes,  oct.. 
Price  twenty-four  shillings,  is  all  that's  re- 
quir'd. 

They  may  tfeat  us,  like  KeUy,  with  old  jeu  ■ 
d'esprita. 
Like  Dibdin,  may  tell  of  each  farcical  frolir  ; 
Or  kindly  inform  us,  like  Madame  Gcnlm,* 
That  gingerbread  cakes  always  give  them  tin 
colic. 

Wanted,  also,  a  new  stock  of  Pamphlets  on  Com 
By  "  Farmers  "  and  *'  Landholders  "  —  (wor- 
thies whose  lands 


Riven  her  pills  that  agreed  with  her ;  alwajm  dMinng 
the  pilln  ihould  be  ordered  "  commtpour  Mt." 


576 


SATTRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


Enclos'd  all  in  bow  pots,  their  attics  adorn, 
Or,  whose  share  of  the  soil  may  be  seen  on 
their  hands). 

No-Popery  Sermons,  in  ever  so  duU  a  vein, 
Sure  of  a  market ;  —  should  they,  too,  who 
pen  'em, 
Be-renegade  Papists,  like  Murtagh  O'S-11-v-n,' 
Something  extra  allow'd  for   th'   additional 
venom. 

Funds,  Physic,  Com,  Poetry,  Boxing,  Romance, 
All  excellent  subjects  for  turning  a  penny ;  — 

To  write  upon  all  is  an  author's  sole  chance 
For  attaining,  at  last,  the  least  knowledge  of 
any. 

Nine  times  ou+  of  ten,  if  his  title  is  good, 

The  mdXexidXwithin  of  small  consequence  is ;  — 

Let  him  only  write  fine,  and,  if  not  understood. 
Why  —  that's  the  r->ncern  of  the  reader,  not 
his. 

Nota  Bene  —  an  Essay,  now  printing,  to  show. 
That  Horace  (as  clearly  as  words  could  ex- 
press it) 
Was  for  taxing  the  Fundholders,  ages  ago. 
When  he  -wrote  thus  —  "  Quodcunque  in  Fund 
•  «  assess  it."  * 


THE  IRISH  SLAVE.' 


1827. 


I  HEARD,  as  I  lay,  a  wailing  sound, 

"  He  is  dead  —  he  is  dead,"  the  rumor  flew ; 
And  I  rais'd  my  chain,  and  turn'd  me  round. 

And  ask'd,   through  the   dungeon  window, 
"  Who  ? " 

t 

I  saw  my  livid  tormentors  pass  f 

Their  grief  'twas  bliss  to  hear  and  see! 

For,  never  came  joy  to  them,  alas, 
Thiit  didn't  bring  deadly  bane  to  me. 

Eager  I  looked  througli  the  mist  of  night, 

And  ask'd,  "What  foe  of  my  race  hath  died  ? 

"  Is  it  he  —  that  Doubter  of  law  and  right, 
"  Whom  nothing  but  wrong  could  e'er  de- 
cide— 

1  A  gentleman,  who  distinguished  himself  by  his  evidence 
tefore  tlie  Irisli  Committees. 

a  Acfording  to  the  common  reading,  "  quodcunque  in- 
^dis  acescit  *> 


"  Who,  long  as  he  sees  but  wealth  to  win, 
"  Hath  never  yet  felt  a  qualm  or  doubt 

"  What  suitors  for  justice  he'd  keep  in, 

"  Or  what  suitors  for  freedom  he'd  shut  out  ~ 

«'  Who,  a  clog  forever  on  Truth's  advance, 
"  Hangs  round  her  (like  the  Old  Man  of  \hf. 
Sea 

"  Round  Sinbad's  neck  *),  nor  leaves  a  chance 
"  Of  shaking  him  oif —  is't  he  ?  is't  he  ? " 

Ghastly  my  grim  tormentors  smil'd, 
And  thrusting  me  back  to  my  den  of  woe. 

With  a  laughter  even  more  fierce  and  wild 
Than  their  funeraT  howling,  answer'd  "  No." 

But  the  cry  still  pierc'd  my  prison  gate. 
And  again  I  ask'd,  "  What  scourge  is  gone  ? 

"  Is  it  he  —  that  Chief,  so  coldly  great, 

"  Whom  Fame  unwillingly  shines  upon  :  — 

"  Whose  name  is  one  of  th'  iU-omen'd  words 
"  They  link  with  hate,  on  his  native  plains  , 

"And  why  ?  —  they  lent  him  hearts  and  swords, 
"  And  he,  in  return,  gave  scoffs  and  chains  ! 

"  Is  it  he  ?  is  it  he  ?"  I  loud  inquir'd. 
When,  hark  !  —  there  sounded  a  Royal  kneU  j 

And  I  knew  what  spirit  had  just  expir'd. 
And,  slave  as  I  was,  my  triumph  fell. 

He  had  pledg'd  a  hate  unto  me  and  mine. 
He  had  left  to  the  future  nor  hope  nor  choice, 

But  seal'd  that  hate  with  a  Name  Divine, 
And  he  now  was  dead,  and  —  I  couldn't  re- 
joice ! 

He  had  fann'd  afresh  the  burning  brands 
Of  a  bigotry  waxing  cold  and  dim  ; 

He  had  arm'd  anew  my  torturers'  hands. 
And  them  did  I  curse  —  but  sigh'd  for  him. 

For,  Am  was  the  error  of  head,  not  heart ; 

And  —  0,  how  beyond  the  ambush'd  foe, 
Who  to  enmity  adds  the  traitor's  part. 

And  carries  a  smile,  with  a  curse  below  1 

If  ever  a  heart  made  bright  amends 
For  the  fatal  fault  of  an  erring  head  — 

Go,  learn  his  fame  from  the  lips  of  friends, 
In  the  orphan's  tear  be  his  glory  read. 

'  Written  on  the  death  of  the  Duke  of  York. 

*  "  You  fell,  said  they,  into  the  hands  of  thf  Old  Man  1i 
the  Sea,  and  are  the  first  who  ever  escaped  strangling  bv  lui 
malicious  tricks."  —  Story  of  Sinbad. 


SATIUICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS..                                     671 

A  Prince  without  pride,  a  man  without  guile, 

And  has  pass'd  her  lifg  in  frolics 

To  the  last  unchanging,  warm,  sincere. 

Worthy  of  your  Apostolics. 

For  Worth  he  had  ever  a  hand  and  smile, 

Choose,  in  dressing  this  old  flirt, 

And  for  Misery  ever  his  purse  and  tear. 

Something  that  won't  show  the  dir^ 

As,  from  habit,  every  minute 

Touch'd  to  the  heart  by  that  solemn  toll. 

Goody  W—  stm — 1 — d  is  in  it. 

I  calmly  sunk  in  my  chains  again  ; 

While,  still  as  I  said  "  Heaven  rest  his  soul !  " 

This  is  all  I  now  shall  ask. 

My  mates  of  the  dungeon  sigh'd  "  Amen  !  " 

liie  thee,  monarch  to  thy  task ; 

January,  1837. 

Finish  Eld — n  s  frills  and  bordon, 

Then  return  for  further  orders. 

ODE  TO  FERDINAND. 

0  what  progress  for  our  sake. 

1887 

Kings  in  millinery  make  ! 

Quit  the  sword,  thou  King  of  men, 

Ribbons,  garters,  and  such  things, 

Grasp  the  needle  once  again  ; 

Are  supplied  by  other  Kings  — 

Making  petticoats  is  far 

Ferdinand  his  rank  denotes 

Safer  sport  than  makir.g  war  ; 

By  providing  petticoats. 

Trimming  is  a  better  thing, 

'I'han  the  beinr/  trimm'd,  0  King  ! 

Grasp  the  needle  bright  with  which 

« 

Thou  didst  for  the  Virgin  stitch 

HAT  VEBStJS  WKa. 

Garment,  such  an  ne'er  before 

1897. 

Monarch  stitch'd  or  Virgin  wore. 

"  At  the  interment  of  the  Duke  of  York,  Lord  F.1d— n,  l» 

Not  for  her,  0  seamster  nimble  ! 

order  to  guard  againxi  the  effects  uf  the  damp,  stood  upn* 

Do  I  now  invoke  thy  thimble ; 

his  bat  during  the  whole  of  the  ceremony." 

Not  for  her  thy  wanted  aid  is, 

metus  omnes  et  inexorabile  fatum 

But  for  certain  grave  old  ladies, 

Subjecit  pedlbus,  strepitumque  Acherontis  avan 

Who  now  sit  in  England's  cabinet, 

•TwixT  Eld— n's  Hat  and  Eld— n's  Wig 

Waiting  to  be  clothed  in  tabbinet, 

There  lately  rose  an  altercation,  — 

Or  whatever  choice  dto/fe  is 

Each  with  its  own  importance  big. 

Fit  for  Dowagers  in  office. 

Disputing  which  most  serves  the  nation. 

First,  thy  care,  0  King,  devote 

To  Dame  Eld— n's  petticoat. 

Quoth  Wig,  with  consequential  air, 

Make  it  of  that  silk,  whose  dye 

••  Pooh  !  pooh  !  you  surely  can't  design. 

ShiftJ  forever  to  the  eye, 

"  My  worthy  beaver,  to  compare 

Just  as  if  it  hardly  know 

"  Your  station  in  the  state  with  mine. 

Whether  to  be  pink  or  blue. 

Ur  —  material  fitter  yet  — 

♦•  Who  meets  the  learned  legal  crew  ? 

If  thou  couldst  a  remnant  get 

"  Who  fronts  the  lordly  Senate's  pride  ? 

Of  that  stuff,  with  which,  of  old, 

"  The  Wig,  the  Wig,  my  friend  —  while  yoti 

Sage  Penelope,  we're  told, 

"  Hang  dangling  on  some  peg  outside. 

Still  by  doing  and  undoing, 

Kept  her  suitors  always  wooing  — 

••  0,  'tis  the  Wig,  that  rules,  like  Love, 

That's  the  stuff  which  I  pronounce,  is 

«'  Senate  and  Court,  with  like  6cldt  — 

Fittest  for  Dame  Eld — n's  flounces.  . 

"  And  wards  below,  and  lords  al  ove, 

"  For  Law  is  Wig  and  Wig  is  Law  1 ' 

After  this,  we'll  try  thy  hand, 

Mantua-making  Ferdinand, 

••  Who  tried  the  long.  Long  W  — Ur— sl — t  suit 

For  old  Goody  W — stm — 1 — d  ; 

"  Which  tried  one's  patience,  in  return  ^ 

One  who  loves,  like  Mother  Cole, 

"  Not  thou,  O  Hat !  —  though,  couUltt  thou  do't 

r^hurch  and  State  with  all  her  soul ; 

••  Of  other  brims  *  than  thine  thou'dst  Icam 

'•  Love  rules  ihe  court,  the  camp,  the  grove, 

*  "Am— a  naitgnty  woman."— Qaoea 

And  men  below  and  gods  above, 

For  L.ove  is  Ileav'n  and  Heav'n  ia  Love."  —Scott 

'3 

678 


.  SATIRICAL  AND  HUM(  ROUS   I  OEMS. 


**  'Twas  mine  our  master's  toil  to  share  ; 

"  When,  like  •  Truepenny,'  in  the  play,' 
"  He,  every  minute,  cried  out  '  Swear,' 

«« And  merrily  to  swear  went  they ;  *  — 

•«  WTicn,  loath  poor  W— ll— sl— t  to  condemn, 
he 

«•  With  nice  driscrimination  weign'd, 
"  Whether  'twas  only  « Hell  and  Jemmy,' 

"  Or  « IleU  and  Tommy '  that  he  play'd. 

"  No,  no,  my  worthy  beaver,  no  — 

"  Though  cheapen'd  at  the  cheapest  hatter's, 
'« And  smart  enough,  as  beavers  go, 

"  Thou  ne'er  wert  made  for  public  matters." 

Here  Wig  concluded  his  oration. 
Looking,  as  wigs  do,  wondrous  wise ; 

While  thus,  full  cock'd  for  declamation, 
f  he  veteran  Hat  enrag'd  replies :  — 

"  Ha  !  dost  thou  then  so  soon  forget 

"  What  thou,  what  England  owes  to  me  ? 

«*  Ungrateful  Wig  !  —  when  will  a  debt, 
"  So  deep,  so  vast,  be  owed  to  thee  ? 

"  Think  ot  that  night,  that  fearful  night, 
"  When,  through  the  steaming  vault  below, 

"  Our  master  dar'd,  in  gout's  despite, 
"  To  venture  his  podagric  toe  ! 

"  Who  was  it  then,  thou  boaster,  say, 
•'  When  thou  hadst  to  thy  box  sneak'd  off, 

"  Beneath  his  feet  protecting  lay, 

"  And  sav'd  him  from  a  mortal  cough  ? 

« Think,  if  Catarrh  had  quench'd  that  sun, 
"  Hdw  blank  this  world  had  been  to  thee ! 

*  Without  that  head  to  shine  upon, 
•  O  Wig,  where  would  thy  glory  be  ? 

'  You,  too,  ye  Britons,  —  had  this  hope 
"  Of  Church  and  statf  been  ravish'd  from  ye, 

'•  O  tliink,  how  Canning  and  the  Pope 

"  Would  then    have    play'd  up   'Hell   and 
Tomny !' 

"  Ai  sea,  tliere's  but  a  plank,  they  say, 
"'Twixt  seamen  and  annihilation  ; 

'  A  Hat,  that  awful  moment,  lay 
••  'Twixt  England  and  Emancipation  ! 

1  "  OKoat  [beneathj.  —  Swear! 

"  HamleL — Ha,  ha!    say'st  thou  so?    Art  thou  there 
nruepenir*-  ?    Come  oa  *' 


.<0!!  ! " 

At  this  "  O  !  !  ! "    Th^  Ttmei 

Reporter 
Was  taken  poorly,  and  retir'd  ; 
Which  made  him  cut  Hat's  rhetoric  shorter 
Than  justice  to  the  case  requir'd. 

On  his  return,  he  foun  i  these  shocks 

Of  eloquence  all  ended  quite  ; 
And  Wig  lay  snoring  in  his  box, 

And  Hat  was  —  hung  up  for  the  nignl. 


THE  PERIWINKLES  AND  THE  LOCUSTS 

A    8ALMAOUNDIAN    HYMN. 

"To  Paniirge  was  assigned  the  Lairdship  of  Salmngundi 
which  was  yearly  worth  6,789,106,789  reals,  besides  txi. 
revenue  of  the  Locusts  and  Periieinkles,  amounting  on* 
year  with  another  to  the  value  of  2,435,708,"  &;c  &c  — 
Rabelau. 

"  Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  "  I  heard  them  say, 
And  they  cheer'd  and  shouted  all  t^e  way, 
As  the  Laird  of  Salmagundi  went. 
To  open  in  state  his  Parliament. 

The  Salmagundians  once  were  rich. 
Or  thought  thej'  were  —  no  matter  which 
For,  every  year,  the  Revenue' 
From  their  Periwinkles  larger  grew ; 
And  their  rulers,  skill'd  in  all  the  trick 
And  legerdemain  of  arithmetic, 
Knew  how  to  place  1,  2,  3,  4, 

5,  6,  7,  8,  and  9  and  10, 
Such  various  ways,  behind,  before. 
That  they  make  a  unit  seem  a  scorf*. 

And  prov'd  themselves  most  wealthy  m«iK 
So,  on  they  went,  a  prosperous  crew. 

The  people  wise,  the  rulers  clever  — 
And  God  help  those,  like  me  and  you. 
Who  dar'd  to  doubt  (as  some  now  do) 
That  the  Periwinkle  Revenue 

Would  thus  go  flourishing  on  forever 

"Hurrah !  hurrah  !  "  I  heard  them  say, 
And  they  cheer'd  and  shouted  all  the  way 
As  the  Great  Panurge  in  glory  went 
To  open  his  own  dear  Parliament. 

3  His  Lordship's  demand  for  fresh  affid><^*>t«  »'i      .  jm 
■ant. 
*  Accented  as  in  Swift's  une  — 

"  Mot  so  a  nation's  revenues  are  pairf 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS 


67» 


But  folks  at  length  began  to  doubt 

What  all  this  conjuring  was  about ; 

For,  every  day,  more  deep  in  debt 

They  saw  their  wealthy  rulers  get :  — 

'•  I  et's  look  (said  they)  the  items  through, 

« And  see  if  what  we're  told  be  true 

"  Of  our  Periwinkle  Revenue." 

But,  lord  !  they  found  there  wasn't  a  tittle 

Of  truth  in  aught  they  heard  before  ; 
For,  they  gain'd  by  Periwinkles  little. 

And  lost  by  Locusts  ten  times  more ! 
ll^ese  I^ocusts  are  a  lordly  breed 
Some  Salmagundians  love  to  feed. 
Of  all  the  beasts  that  ever  were  bom, 
Your  Locust  most  delights  in  com ; 
And,  though  his  body  be  but  small, 
To  fatten  him  takes  ih".  dcv'l  and  all ! 
"  O  fie  !  O  fie  !  "  was  now  the  cry, 
As  they  saw  the  gaudy  show  go  by. 
And  the  Laird  of  Salmagundi  went 
Tf  open  his  Locust  Parliament  I 


NEW  CREATION  OF  PEERS. 

BATCH   THE   FIBST. 

••  His  'prentice  han' 

Ha  tried  on  ninii, 

And  then  he  made  Uie  lasaea." 

1827. 

••  Akd  new,"  quoth  the  Minister,  (eas'd  of  his 
panics. 
And  ripe  for  each  pastime  the  summer  affords,) 
"Having  had  our  full  swing  at  destroying  me- 
chanics, 
"  By  way  of  set-off,  let  us  make  a  few  Lords. 

"  'Tis  pleasant  —  while  nothing  but  mercantile 
fractures, 
•'  Some  simple,  some  compound,  is  dinn'd  in 
our  cars  — 
'  To  think  that,  though  robb'd  of  all  coarse 
manufactures, 
"  We    still    have  our    fine  manufacture  of 
Peers ;  — 

'•  Thoa*  Gobelin  productions,  which  Kings  take 
a  pride 
"  In   engrossing  the  whole   fabrication   and 
trade  of ; 
"  Choice  tapestry  things,  very  grand  on  otie  side, 
•'  but  showing,  on  t'other,  what  rags  they  are 
made  oi " 


The  plan  being  fix'd,  raw  material  was  sought, - 
No  matter  how  middling,  if  Tory  the  creed 
be ; 

And  first,  to  begin  with,  Squire  W ,  'twai 

thought, 
For  a  Lord  was  as  raw  a  material  as  need  be. 

Next  came,  with  his  penchant  for  painting  and 

pelf. 

The  tasteful  Sir  Charles,'  so  renown'd,  fai  and 

near. 

For  purchasing  pictures,  and  selling  himself — 

And  both  (as  the  public  well  knows)  very  dear 

Beside  him  Sir  John  comes,  with  eq:;Al  ioldt, 
in;  — 
Stand  forth,  chosen  pair,  while  for  titles  w« 
measure  ye  ; 
Both  connoisseur  baronets,  both  fond  of  drawing, 
Sir  John,  after  nature,  Sir  Charles,  on  tha 
Treasury. 

But,  bless  us !  —  behold  a  new  candidate  come — 
In  his  hand  he  upholds  a  prescription,  new 
written ; 
He  poiseth  a  pill  box  'twixt  finger  and  thumb, 
And  he  asketh  a  seat  'mong  the  Peers  of  Qreat 
Britain  !  ! 

"  Forbid  it,"  cried  Jenky,  "  ye  Viscounts,  ye 

Earls  !  — 

'•  O  Rank,  how  thy  glories  would  fall  disen- 
chanted, 
"  If  coronets  glisten'd  with  pills  'stead  of  pearls, 

"  And  the  strawberry  leaves  were  by  rhubarb 
supplanted ! 

"  No  —  ask  it  not,  ask  it  not,  dear  Doctor  H— 1- 
f— rd  — 
"  K  nought  but  a  Peerage  can  gladden  thy 
life, 
"  And  young  Master  H — ^If— rd  as  yet  is  toe 
small  for't, 
"  Sweet  Doctor,  we'll  make  a  the  Peer  of  thf 
wife. 

"  Next  to  bearing  a  coronet  on  our  otcn  brows, 
"  Is  to  bask  in  its  light  from  the  brows  of 
another ; 
"  And  grandeur  o'er  thee  shall  refiect  from  thy 
spouse, 
*'  As  o'er  V — y  F — tz — d  'twill  shine  through 
his  mother."  • 

1  Created  liord  F — mb— gh. 

*  Aincing  ttio  iicrsona  mentioned  aa  likely  o  be  raiead  m 
tbe  Peeraee  are  the  mother  of  Mr  V— jr  F— U— 4,  kc 


180 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


Thus  ended  the  First  Batch  —  and  Jenky,  much 
tir'd 
(It  being  no  joke  to  make  Lords  by  the  heap), 
Took  a  large  dram  of  ether  —  the  same  that  in- 
spir'd 
His  speech  'gainst  the  Papists  —  and  pros'd 
off  to  sleep. 


SPEECH    ON    THE    UMBRELLA* 
QUESTION. 

BY   LORD    ELD N. 

•*  Vos  inwnbrtllM  video."  "^  —  Ez  JuvenU.  Geoboii 

CAIfNINGII. 

1827. 
My  Lords,  I'm  accus'd  of  a  trick  that,  God 
knows,  is 
The  last  into  which,  at  my  age,  I  could  fall  — 
Of  leading  this  grave  House  of  Peers,  by  their 
noses. 
Wherever  I  choose,  princes,  bishops,  and  all. 

My  Lords,  on  the  question  before  us  at  present. 

No  doubt  I  shall  hear,  '•  'Tis  that  cursed  old 

fellow, 

"  That  bugbear  of  all  that  is  lib'ral  and  pleasant, 

"  Who  won't  let  the  Lords  give  the  man  his 

umbrella !  " 

God  forbid  that  your  Lordships  should  knuckle 

to  me ; 

I  am  ancient  —  but  were  I  as  old  as  King 

Priam, 

Not  much,  I  confess,  to  your  credit  'twould  be, 

To  mind  such  a  twaddling  old  Trojan  as  I  am. 

I  own,  of  our  Protestant  laws  I  am  jealous, 
And,  long  as  God  spares  me,  will  always  main- 
tain. 
That,  once  having  taken  men's  rights,  or  um- 
brellas, 
We  ne'er  should  consent  to  restore  them  again. 

What  security  have  you,  ye  Bishops  and  Peers, 

If  thus  you  give  back  Mr.  Bell's  parapluie. 
That  he  mayn't,  with  its  stick,  come  about  all 
your  ears. 
And  then  —  where  would  your  Protestant  per- 
iwigs be  ? 

1  A  case  which  interested  the  public  very  ranch  at  this 
•eriod.  A  gentleman,  of  the  name  of  Bell,  having  left  his 
tmbrella  behind  him  in  the  House. of  Lords,  tho  doorkeep- 
ers (standing,  no  doubt,  on  the  privileges  of  that  noble  body) 
^used  tr  restore  it  to  him ;  and  the  above  speech,  which 


No,  heav'n  be  my  judge,  were  I  dyin^  to-day, 
Ere  I  dropp'd  in  the  grave,  like  a  medlar  that'i 
mellow, 
"  For  God's  sake  "  —  at  that  awful  moment  I'd 
say  — 
"  For  God's  sake,  don't  give  Mr.  Bell  his  um- 
brella." 

["  This  address,"  says  a  ministerial  journal,  "  delivered 
with  amazing  emphasis  and  earnestness,  occasioned  as 
extraordinary  sensation  in  the  House.  Nothing  since  the 
memorable  address  of  the  Duke  of  York  has  produced  so  t» 
markable  an  impression.'  J 


A  PASTORAL  BALLAP. 

BY    JOHN    BULL. 

Dublin,  March  12,  1827.  -  Friday,  after  the  arrival  of  tl)« 
packet  bringing  the  acco'int  of  the  defeat  of  the  Catholie 
Question,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  orders  were  sen'  tc 
the  Pigeon  House  to  forwart*  \000,000  rounds  of  muskel 
ball  cartridge  to  the  different  garrisons  round  the  coun- 
try. —  Freeman' a  JoumaL 

I  HAVE  found  out  a  gift  for  my  Erin, 
A  gift  that  will  surely  content  her ;  — 

SM'eet  pledge  of  a  love  so  endearing  ! 
Five  millions  of  bullets  I've  pent  her. 

She  ask'd  me  for  Freedom  and  Right, 
But  ill  she  her  wants  understood  ;  — 

Ball  cartridges,  morning  and  night, 
Is  a  dose  that  will  do  her  more  good. 

There  is  hardly  a  day  of  our  lives 
But  we  read,  in  some  amiable  trials, 

How  husbands  make  love  to  their  wives 
Through  the  medium  of'  hemp  and  of  vials. 

One  thinks,  with  his  mistress  or  mate 

A  good  halter  is  sure  to  agree  — 
That  love  knot,  which,  early  and  late, 

I  have  tried,  my  dear  Erin,  on  thee. 

While  another,  whom  Hymen  has  bless'd 
With  a  wife  that  is  not  over  placid. 

Consigns  the  dear  charmer  to  rest. 
With  a  dose  of  the  best  Prussic  acid. 

Thus,  Erin  !  my  love  do  I  show  — 
Thus  quiet  thee,  mate  of  my  bed  ! 


may  be  considered  as  a  pendant  to  that  of  the  Learner  Ba 
on  the  Catholic  question,  arose  out  of  the  transactiin. 
*  From  Mr.  Canning's  translation  of  JeJcyl's  — 
"  I  say,  my  good  fellows. 
As  you've  no  umbrellas." 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS.                                      58 1 

And,  as  poison  and  hemp  are  too  slow, 

••  Why  are  chancery  suitors  like  bathers  ? "  —  . 

Do  thy  business  with  bullets  instead. 

"  Because 

, 

Their  suits  are  put  of,  till — they  haven't 

Should  thy  faith  in  my  medicine  be  shaken. 

rag  on." 

Ask  R — d— n,  that  mildest  of  saints  ; 

He'll  tell  thee,  lead,  inwardly  taken. 

Thus  on  he  went  chatting  —  but,  lo,  while  h< 

Alone  can  remove  thy  complaints ;  — 

chats, 

With  a  face  full  of  wonder  around  him  h» 

That,  blest  as  thou  art  in  thy  lot. 

looks ; 

Nothing's  wanted  to  make  it  more  pleasant 

For  he  misses  his  parsons,  his  dear  shovel  hats 

But  being  hang'd,  tortur'd,  and  shot, 

Who  used  to  flock  round  him  at  Swanage  1  Jm 

Much  oft'ner  than  thou  art  at  present. 

rooks. 

Even  W— 11— t— n's  self  hath  averr'd 

"How  is  this.   Lady  Bags i  —  to  this  region 

Thou  art  yet  but  half  sabred  and  hung. 

aquatic 

And  I  lov'd  him  the  more  when  I  heard 

"  Last  year  they  came  swarming,  to  make  me 

Such  tenderness  fall  from  his  tongue. 

their  bow. 

"  As  thick  as  Burke's  cloud  o'er  the  vales  of 

Bo  take  the  five  millions  of  pills, 

Carnatic, 

Dear  partner,  I  herewith  enclose ; 

«« Deans,  Rectors,  D.  D.'s  — where  the  deVl 

'Tis  the  cure  that  all  quacks  for  thy  ills, 

are  they  now  i " 

From  Cromwell  to  Eld — n,  propose. 

"  My  dearest  Lord  Bags !  "  saith  his  dame,  "  cat. 

And  you,  ye  brave  bullets  that  go. 

you  doubt  i 

How  I  wish  that,  before  you  set  out, 

'<  I  am  loath  to  remind  you  of  things  so  un« 

The  Devil  of  the  Freischut/.  could  know 

pleasant ; 

The  good  work  you  are  gouig  about. 

<<  But  don't  you  perceive,  dear,  the  Church  havs 

found  out 

For  he'd  charm  ye,  in  spite  of  your  lead, 

•'  That  you're  one  of  the  people  call'd  Ex';  at 

Into  such  supernatural  wit. 

present  ? " 

That  you'd  all  of  you  know,  as  you  sped. 

^Vhere  a  bullet  of  sense  otiffht  to  hit 

"  Ah,  true  —  you  have  hit  it  —  I  am,  indeed,  one 

"  Of  those  ill-fated  Ex's  (his  Lordship  replies), 

"  And,  with  tears,  I  confess  —  God  forgive  nu 

the  pun  !  — 

A  LATE  SCENE  AT  SWANAGE.' 

"  We  X's  have  proved  ourselves  not  to  be  Yn." 

Segnis  Kx-«ul  ademtii.          Vibo. 

1837. 

WOE!  WOE!» 

r  J  Swanage  —  that  neat  little  town,  in  whose  bay 

Woe,  woe  unto  him  who  would  check  or  difa 

Fair  Thetis  shows  off,  in  her  best  silver  slip- 

turb it  — 

pers — 

That  beautiful  Light,  which  is  now  on  its  way  ', 

l4)rd  Bags  *  took  his  annual  trip  t'other  day. 

Which,  beaming,  at  first,  o'er  the  bogs  of  Bel  • 

T)  taste  the  sea  breezes,  and  chat  with  the 

turbet. 

dippers. 

Now  brightens  sweet  Ballinafad  with  tti  .tj 

Ihero  -  -  leam'd  as  he  is  in  conundrums  and 

0  F — mh — ^m.  Saint  F — mh — m,  how  much  Oh 

laws  — 

we  6we  thee ! 

Quoth  he  to  his  dame  (whom  he  oft  plays  the 

How  form'd  to  all  tastes  are  thy  various  em- 

wag on), 

ploys  I 

1  A  <m»1l  ba:hing  place  on  the  coast  of  Dorsetshire,  long 

»  Suggested  by  a  speech  of  the  Bishop  of  Ch— «t— r  on  th« 

>  favorite  summer  resort  of  the  ex-nob!eman  In  qiieKtiuii 

subject  of  the  New  Refoimation  in  Ireland,  In  which  liif 

ind,  till  this  teato*,  much  frequented  alao  by  gentlemen  of 

Lordship  denounced  "Woo!   Woe!   Woe!"  pretty  abun. 

S.e  church. 

dantly  on  all  those  who  dared  tu  interfere  with  i(i  pr»g 

*  The  lati  Chan  :eIloi  Eld— n. 

resa. 

f82 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


The  old,  as  a  catcher  of  Catholics,  know  thee, 
The  young,  as  an  amateur  scourger  of  boys. 

Woe,  woe  to  the  man,  who  such  doings  would 
smother !  -r 
On,  Luther  of  Cavan !  On,  Saint  of  Kilgrog- 

With  whip  in  one  hand,  and  with  Bible  in  t'other, 
Like  Mungo's  tormentor,  both  "  preachee  and 
floggee." 

Come,  Saints  from  all  quarters,  and  marshal  his 
way; 
Come,  L — rt — n,  who,  scorning  profane  eru- 
dition, 
Popp'd  Shakspeare,  they  say,  in  the  river,  one 
day, 
Though  'twas  only  old  Bowdler's  Velluti  edi- 
tion. 

Come,  R — den,  who  doubtest  —  so  mild  are  thy 
views  — 
Whether  Bibles  or  bullets  are  best  for  the 
nation ; 
Who   leav'st  to   poor    Paddy  no  medium   to 
choose, 
'Twixt  good  old  Rebellion  and  new  Reforma- 
tion. 

What  more  from  her  Saints  can  Hibemia  re- 
quire ? 
St.  Bridget,  of  yore,  like  a  dutiful  daughter, 
Supplied  her,  'tis  said,  with  perpetual  fire,' 
And  Saints  keep  her,   now,  in   eternal  hot 
water. 

Woe,  woe  to  the  man,  who  would  check  their 
career. 
Or  stop  the  Millennium,  that's  sure  to  await 
us. 
When,  bless'd  with  an  orthodox  crop  every  year. 
We  shall  learn  to  raise  Protestants,  fast  as 
potatoes. 

Iv  kidnapping  Papists,  our  rulers,  we  know. 

Had  been  trying  their  talent  for  many  a  day  ; 
J'iJl  F — mh — m,  when  all  had  been  tried,  came 
to  show, 
Like  the  German  fleacatcher,  "anoder   goot 
way." 


I  The  inextinguishable  fire  of  St  Bridget,  at  Kildare. 

*  Whiskey. 

•  "  We  u  iderstand  that  several  applications  have  lately 
»ee"  made  *  the  Protestant  clergymen  of  this  town  by  fel- 


And  nothing's  more  simple  than  F — rnh — m'l 
receipt ; — 
"  Catch  your  Catholic,  first  —  soak  him  Tell 
in  poteen  *  — 
"  Add  salary  sauce,'  and  the  thing  is  complete. 
'*  You  may  serve  up  your  Protestant,  smok- 
ing and  clean." 

"Woe,  woe  to  the  wag,  who  would  laugi  af 
such  cookery  !  " 
Thus,  from  his  perch,  did  I  hear  a  black  :row* 
Caw  angrily  out,  while  the  rest  of  the  rookery 
Open'd   their   bills,   and  re-echo'd    "  Woe ! 
woe ! " 


TOUT    POUR  LA  TRIPE. 

"  If,  in  China  or  among  the  natives  of  India,  we  claimed 
civil  advantages  which  were  connected  with  religioua 
usages,  little  as  we  miglit  value  those  forms  in  our  hearts, 
we  should  thinlc  common  decency  required  us  to  abstain 
from  treating  them  with  offensive  contumely  ;  and,  though 
unable  to  consider  theni  sacred,  we  would  not  sneer  atj 
the  name  u(  Fot,  or  laugh  at  the  imputeJ  divinity  of  Fi«<^ 
jiou." — Courier,  Tuesday,  Jan.  16. 

1827. 
Come,  take  my  advice,  never  trouble  your  cra- 
nium. 
When  "civil  advantages"  are  to  be  gain'd. 
What  god  or  what  goddess  may  help  to  obtain 
you  'em, 
Hindoo  or  Chinese,  so  they're  only  obtain' d. 

In  this  world  (let  mc  hint  in  your  organ  auric- 
ular) 

All  the  good  things  to  good  hypocrites  fall ; 
And  he,  who  in  SAvallowing  creeds  is  particular, 

Soon  will  have  nothing  to  swallow  al  all. 

0  place  me  where  Fo  (or,  as  some  call  hun,  Fot) 
la  the  god,  from  whom  "  '•ivil  advantages " 

flow. 
And  you'll  find,  if  there's  any  thing  snug  to  be 
got, 
I  shall  soon  be  on  excellent  terms  y>  ith  old  Fo 

Or  wore  I  where  Vishnu,  that  four-handed  god 
Is  the  quadruple  giver  of  pensions  and  places, 

1  own  I  should  feel  it  unchristian  and  odd 
Not  to  find  myself  also  in  Vishnu  s  good  gra/iesi 


lows,  inquiring  '  What  are  they  giving  a  head  for  con 
verts ? '"  —  Wexford  Post. 

*  Of  the  rook  species — Corvus  frugilegut   i.  e   a  gretf 
consumer  of  com. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEilS. 


6ba 


For,  among  all  the  gods  that  humanely  attend 
To  our  wants  in  this  planet,  the  gods  to  my 
wishes 
/ire  those  that,  like  Vishnu  and  others,  descend 
Li  the  form,  bo  attractive,  of  loaves  and  of 
fidhes : ' 

ki  -aicc  a-7  advice  —  for  if  even  the  devil 
Sho  lid  tempt  men  again  as  an  idol  to  try  him, 

Twere  best  for  us  Tories,  even  then,  to  be  civil. 
As  nobody  doubts  we  should  get  something 
by  him. 

ENIGMA. 

Monstrum  nulla  virtute  redtmptttm. 

Comb,  riddle-me-ree,  come,  riddle-me-ree. 
And  tell  me  what  my  name  may  be. 
I  am  nearly  one  hundred  and  thirty  years  old, 
Anl  tlierefore  no  chicken,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose ;  — 
Though  a  dwarf  in  my  youth  (as  my  nurses 
have  told), 
I  have,  cv'ry  year  since,  been  outgrowing  my 
clothes  ; 
Till,  at  last,  such  a  corpulent  giant  I  stand. 
That,  if  folks  were  to  furnish  me  now  with  a 
suit, 
1*-  would  take  every  morsel  of  scrip  in  the  land 
Lut  to  measure  my  bulk  from  the  head  to  the 
foot. 
Hence,  they  who  maintain  me,  grown  sick  of 
my  stature, 
To  cover  me  nothing  but  rags  will  supply ; 
And  the  doctors  declare  that,  in  due  course  of 
nature. 
About  the  year  30  in  rags  I  shall  die. 
Meanwhile,  I  stalk  hungry  and  bloated  around, 

An  object  of  iiU'rest,  most  painful,  to  ell; 
[ii  the  warehouse,  the  cottage,  the  palace  I'm 
found, 
Holding   citizen,   peasant,   and  king  in  my 
thraU. 
Then  riddle-me-ree,  O  riddle-me-ree. 
Come,  tell  me  what  my  name  may  be. 

When  the  lord  of  the  counting  house  bends  o'er 
his  book. 
Bright  pictures  of  profit  delighting  to  draw, 
D'er  his  shoulders  with  large  cipher  eyeballs  I 
look. 
And  do'vn  drops  the  pen  from  his  paralyz'd 
paw ! 

1  Vlafcna  wu  (as  Sir  W.  Jonea  calU  biin)  "  a  piscifbna 
iwi  '*  —  his  fi/st  Avatar  being  m  tlio  shape  of  a  fish. 


When  the  Premier  lies  dreaming  of  dear  Wa« 
terloo. 
And  expect*  through  another  to  caper  and 
prank  it. 
You'd  laugh  did  you  see,  when  I  bellow  out 
♦•  Boo  ! " 
How  he  hides  his  brave  Wattf^co  head  in  tb-« 
blanket. 
When  mighty  Bclshazzar  brims  high  in  the  h«l] 
His  cup,  full  of  gout,  to  the  Gaul's  overthrow, 
Lo,  "  Eight  Hundred  Millions  "  I  write  on  the 
wall. 
And  the  cup  falls  to  earth  and  —  the  gout  to 
his  toe  ! 
But  the  joy  of  my  heart  is  when  largely  I  cram 
My  maw  with  the  fruits  of  the  Squirearchy's 
acres, 
And,  knowing  who  made  me  the  thing  that  I  am, 
Like  the  monster  of  Frankenstein,  worry  my 
makers. 
Then  riddle-me-ree,  come,  riddle-m» 

ree, 
A/id  tell,  if  thou  know'st,  who  /may  I 


DOG-DAY  REFLECTIONS. 

BY   A   DANDY   KEPT   IN   TOWN. 


"  Vox  clamantia  in  deserto." 


laii 


Said  Malthus,  one  day,  to  a  clown 

Lying  stretch' d  on  the  beach,  in  the  sun,  - 

"  What's  the  number  of  souls  in  this  town  ? "  — 
"  The  number  !  Lord  bless  you,  there's  nono 

"  We  have  nothing  but  dabs  in  this  placo, 
"  Of  them  a  great  plenty  there  are  !  — 

"  But  the  soles,  please  your  rev'rence  and  graoa 
"  Are  all  t'other  side  of  the  bar." 

And  so  'tis  in  London  just  now. 

Not  a  soul  to  be  seen,  up  or  down ;  — 

Of  dabs  a  great  glut,  I  allow. 
But  your  $oies,  every  one,  out  of  town 

East  or  west,  nothing  wondrous  or  new : 
No  courtship  or  scandal,  worth  knowing  i 

Mrs.  B ,  and  a  Mermaid  *  or  two, 

Are  the  only  loose  fish  that  are  going. 

Ah,  where  is  that  dear  house  of  Peent, 
That,  some  weeks  ago,  kept  us  merrr  f 

I  One  of  the  sbows  of  Lcinan* 


(84 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUM0R0I3S   POEMS. 


Where,  Eld — n,  art  thou,  -vv-ith  thy  tears  ? 
And  thou,  with  thy  sense,  L — d — d — y  ? 

Wise  Marquis,  how  much  the  Lord  May'r, 
In  the  dog  days,  with  tliee  must  be  puzzled !  — 

It  being  his  task  to  take  care 
That  such  animals  shan't  go  unmuzzled. 

I  hou,  too,  whose  political  toils 
Are  so  worthy  a  captain  of  horse  — 

JNTiose  amendments  •  (like  honest  Sir  Boyle's) 
Are  *•  ar>^endments,  that  make  matters  worse; "  * 

Great  Chieftain  who  takest  such  pains 
To  prove  —  what  is  granted,  nem.  con.  — 

With  how  mod'rate  a  portion  of  brains 
Some  heroes  contrive  to  get  on. 

And,  thou,  too,  my  R— d — sd — e,  ah,  where 
Is  the  peer,  with  a  star  at  his  button, 

Whose  quarters  could  ever  compare 
With  R— d— sd— e's  five  quarters  of  mutton  ? ' 

WTiy,  why  have  ye  taken  your  flight, 

Ye  diverting  and  dignified  crew  ? 
How  ill  do  three  farces  a  night. 

At  the  Haymarket,  pay  us  for  you ! 

For,  what  is  Bombastes  to  thee, 
My  Ell — nbro',  when  thou  look'st  big ! 

Or,  Where's  the  burletta  can  be 
Like  L — d — rd — le's  wit,  and  his  wig  i 

1  doubt  if  ev'n  Griffinhoof  *  could 

(Though  Griffin's  a  comical  lad) 
Invent  any  joke  half  so  good 

As  that  precious  one,  ••  This  is  too  bad  ! " 

Then  come  again,  come  again.  Spring  ! 
O  haste  thee,  with  Fun  in  thy  train  ; 
And  —  of  all  things  the  funniest  —  bring 
'   These  exalted  Grimaldis  again ! 


THE    "LIVING    DOG"  AND    "THE 

DEAD   LION." 

1828. 

Wkxt  week  will  be  publish'd  (as  "Lives"  are 
the  rage) 
The    whole    Reminiscences,    wondrous    and 
strange, 

more  particularly  his  Grace's  celebrated  amendment  to 
ttM  Com  Bill ;  for  which,  and  the  circumstances  connected 
with  it,  see  Annual  Register  for  a.  d.  1827. 

3  From  a  speech  of  Sir  Boyle  Roche's,  in  the  Irish  House 
•f  ComnKirix. 


Of  a  small  puppy  dog,  that  liv'd  opce  in  the 
cage 
Of  the  late  noble  Lion  at  Exeter  'Change. 

Though  the  dog  is  a  dog  of  the  kirtd  they  caU 
"sad," 
'Tis  a  puppy  that  much  to  good  breeding  pre- 
tends ; 
And  few  dogs  have  such  opportunitiee  had 
Of   knowing    how    Lions    behave  —  among 
Mends ; 

How  that  animal  eats,  how  he  snores,  how  he 
drinks, 
Is  all  noted  down  by  this  Boswell  so  ".mall  ; 
And  'tis  plain,  from  each  sentence,  the  puppj 
dog  thinks 
That  the  Lion  was  no  such  great  things  aftei 
all. 

Though  he  roar'd  pretty  well  —  this  the  puppy 
allows  — 
It  was  all,  he   says,  borrow'd  —  all   second- 
hand roar ; 
And  he  vastly  prefers  his  own  little  bow  wows 
To  the  loftiest  war  note  the  Lion  could  pour, 

'Tis,  indeed,  as  good  fun  as  a  Ci/nic  could  ask, 
To  see  how  this  cockney-bred  setter  of  rab- 
bits 

Takes  gravely  the  Lord  of  the  Forest  to  task, 
And  judges  of  lions  by  puppy-dog  habits. 

Nay,  fed  as  he  was  (and  this  makes  it  a  dark 
case) 
With  sops  every  day  from  the   Lion's   own 
pan, 
He  lifts  up  his  leg  at  the  noble  beast's  carcass. 
And  —  docs  all  a  dog,  so  diminutive,  can. 

However,  the  book's  a  good  book,  being  rich  in 

Examples  and  warnings  to  lions  high  bred. 
How  they  suffer  small  mongrelly  cui"e  in  theii 
kitchen. 
Who'll  feed  on  them  living,  and  foiJ  them 
when  dead. 

T.    PiBCOCV 
Exeter  'Change. 


1  The  learning  his  Lordship  displayed,  on  the  subject  nl 
the  butcher's  "  fifth  quarter  "  of  mutton,  v/il.  not  speedil; 
be  forgotten. 

«  The  nom  de  guerre  under  which  Colntvi  has  writtel 
eome  of  his  hesx  forces. 


iSAlIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


6H« 


Oi)E  TO  DON  MIGUEL. 

Et  tu,  BruUl 


1828.1 


What  ?  Miguel,  not  patriotic  ?  O,  fie  ! 
After  so  much  good  teaching  'tis  quite  a  take- 
t»,  Sir ;  — 
**  rst  schoord,  as  you  were,  \mder  Mettemich's 
eyr, 
Ajid  then  (as  young  misses  say)  "  finish'd  "  at 
Windsor !  • 

I  ne'er  in  my  life  knew  a  case  that  was  harder ; 
Such  feasts  as  you  had,  when  you  made  us  a 
caU! 
Three  eourscs  each  day  from    his    Majesty's 
larder,  — 
And  now,  to  turn  absolute  Don,  after  all !  I 

Aome  authors,  like  Bayes,  to  the  style  and  the 
matter 
Of  each  thing  they  write  suit  the  way  that 
they  dine, 
Koast  sirloin  for  Epic,  broQ'd  devils  for  Satire, 
And  hotchpotch  and  trifle  for  rhymes  such  as 
mine. 

rhat  Rulers  should  feed  the  same  way,  I've  no 
doubt ; — 
Great  Despots  on  bouilii  serv'd  up  d  la  Russe,' 
Vour  small  German  Princes  on  frogs  and  sour- 
ci-out. 
And  your  "Viceroy  of  Hanover  always    on 
goo$e. 

(some  Dons,  too,  have  fancied  (though  this  may 
be  fable) 
A  dish  rather  dear,  i^  in  cooking,  they  blun- 
der it ;  — 
Not  content  with  the  common  hot  meat  on  a 
table, 
They're  partial  (eh,  Mig  ?)  to  a  dish  of  cold 
under  it !  * 

No  wonder  a  Don  of  such  appetites  found 
kr3n  Windsor's  collations  plebeianly  plain  ; 

\Tliere  the  dishes  most  high  that  my  Lady  sends 
round 
Are  her  Maintenon  cutlets  and  soup  d  la  Reine. 


(  At  the  eomnienceinent  of  thia  year,  tbe  designs  of  Don 

Miguel  and  iiis  partisans  against  the  constitution  established 

by  liis  brother  liad  begun  more  openly  to  declare  tliemselves. 

*  I)nn  Miciicl  li.id  paid  a  visit  to  the  English  court,  at  the 

•loee  cf  tlie  year  1807. 

DresseA  «  ith  a  pin*  "f  the  stmngeat  Bpi"»«  — a  favorite 
74 


Alas  !  that  a  youth  with  such  charming  begin 
nings, 
Should  sink,  all  at  once,  to  so  sad  a  conclusion. 
And,  what  is  still  worse,  throw  the  losings  and 
winnings 
Of  worthies  on  'Change  into  so  much  confii 
sioni 

The  Bulls,  in  hysterics  —  the  Bears  just  as  bad  - 
The  few  men  who  have,  and  the  many  who've 
not  tick, 

All  shock "d  to  find  out  that  that  promising  lad. 
Prince  Mettemich's  pupil,  is  —  not  patriotic 


THOUGHTS  ON  THE  PRESENT  GOV- 
ERNMENT OF  IRELAND. 

18S8. 
Opt  have  I  seen,  in  gay,  equestrian  pride. 
Some  well-rouged  youth  round  Astley's  Circui 

ride 
Two  stately  steeds  —  standing,  with  graccfu 

straddle,       ' 
Like  him  of  Rhodes,  with  foot  on  either  saddle 
While  to  soft  tunes  —  sonae  jigs,  and  some  an- 

datUes  — 
He  steers  around  his  light-paced  Rosinantes. 

So  rides  along,  with  canter  smooth  and  plaasanti 
Tliat  horseman  bold,  Lord  Anglesca,  at  present; 
Papist  and  Protestant  the  coursers  twain, 
That  lend  their  necks  to  his  impartial  rein. 
And  round  the  ring  —  each  honor'd,  as  they  go, 
W'ith  equal  pressure  from  his  gracious  toe  — 
To  the  old  medley  tune,  half  ••  Patrick's  D»y  " 
And  half  ••  Boyne  Water,"  take  their  cantering 

way, 
WTiile  Peel,  the  showman  in  the  middle,  crackl 
His  long-lash'd  whip,  to   cheer  the  doubtful 

hacks. 
Ah,  ticklish  trial  of  equestrian  art ! 
How  bless'd,  if  neither  steed  would  bolt  ot 

start ;  — 
If  Protestant's  old  restive  tricks  were  gone, 
And  Papist's  winkers  could  be  still  kept  on  ! 
But  no,  false  hopes  —  not  ev'n  the  great  Da 

crow 
'Twixt  two  such  steeds  could  'scape  an  over' 

throw  : 


dish  of  th«  Or«at  Frederic  of  Pnmia,  and  which  be  pen^ 
vered  in  eating  even  on  his  death  bed,  much  to  tbe  borru 
of  his  physician  Zimmerman. 

*  This  quiet  case  of  murder,  with  all  iti  particulars  —  tni 
hiding  the  body  under  the  dinner  tible,  &c  bx.'—im  ■* 
doubt,  well  known  to  tlie  reader 


iaS 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


If  solar  hacks  plf.y'd  PhaCton  a  trick, 
\\'hat  hope,  alas,  from  hackneys  lunatic  f 

If  once  my  Lord  his  graceful  balance  loses, 

Or  falls  to  keep  each  foot  where  each  horse 

chooses  ; 
tf  Peel  but  gives  one  extra  touch  of  whip 
I'c  Papist's  tail  or  Protestant's  ear  tip  — 
ri  at  instant  ends  their  glorious  horemanship ! 
DJ  bolt  the  sever'd  steeds,  for  mischief  free, 
A'  d  down,  between  them,  plumps  Lord  An- 


THE  LBIBO   OF  LOST  REPUTATIONS.' 


"  Cio  che  si  perde  qui,  li  si  raguna."      Abiosto. 

'< a  valley,  where  he  sees 

Things  that  ou  earth  were  lost"  Miltoh. 

1828. 
Know'st  thou  not  him  '  the  poet  sings. 

Who  flew  to  the  moon's  serene  domain, 
And  saw  that  valley,  where  all  the  things. 

That  vanish  on  earth,  arc  found  again  — 
The  hopes  of  youth,  the  resolves  of  age. 
The  vow  of  the  lover,  the  dream  of  the  sage, 
The  golden  visions  of  mining  cits. 

The  promises  great  men  strew  about  them  ; 
Aaid,  pack'd  in  compass  small,  the  wits 

Of  monarchs,  who  rule  as  well  without  them ! 
Like  him,  but  diving  with  wing  profound, 
I  have  been  to  a  Limbo  under  ground. 
Where  characters  lost  on  earth,  (and  cried. 
In  vain,  like  H — rr — s's,  far  and  wide,) 
In  heaps,  like  yesterday's  orts,  are  thrown, 
And  there,  so  worthless  and  fly-blown, 
That  even  the  imps  would  not  purloin  them, 
Lie,  tiU  their  worthy  owners  join  them. 

Curious  it  was  to  see  this  mass 

Of  lost  and  torn-up  reputations  ;  — 
Some  of  tliem  female  wares,  alas, 

Wi^laid  at  innocent  assignations ; 
Seme,  that  had  sigh'd  their  last  amen 

From  thd  canting  lips  of  saints  that  would  be  ; 
A.nd  some  once  own'd  by  "  the  best  of  men," 

Who    had    prov'd  —  no    better    than    they 
should  be. 
Mong  others,  a  poet's  fame  I  spied. 

Once  3hining  fair,  now  soak'd  and  black  — 
■  No  wonder  "  (an  imp  at  my  elbow  cried), 

"  For  I  pick'd  it  out  of  a  butt  of  sack ! " 

1  Astolobo 


Just  then  a  yell  was  heard  Verhead, 

Like  a  chimney  sweeper's  lofty  suramona  s 
And  lo  !  a  dev'I  right  downward  sped. 
Bringing,  within  his  claws  so  red. 
Two  statesmen's  characters,  found,  he  said. 

Last  night,  on  the  floor  cf  the  House  of  Com 
mons  ; 
The  which,  with  black  official  grin, 
He  now  to  the  Chief  Imp  handed  in  ;  — 
Both  these  articles  much  the  worse 

For  their  journey  down,  as  you  may  suppose  i 
But  one  so  devilish  rank  —  "  Odd's  cuise  !  " 

Said  the  Lord  Chief  Imp,  and  held  his  nose 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  quoth  he,  "  I  know  full  well 

"  From  whom  these  two  stray  matters  fell ;  '•  — 

Then,  casting  away,  with  loathful  shrug, 

Th'  unclcaner  waif  (as  he  would  a  drug 

Th'  Invisible's  own  dark  hand  had  mix'd), 

His  gaze  on  the  other  ^  firm  he  fix'd. 

And  trying,  though  mischief  laugh'd  in  his  eye, 

To  be  moral,  because  of  the  young  imps  by, 

"  What  a  pity  ! "  he  cried  —  •'  so  fresh  its  gloss, 

'•  So  long  prescrv'd —  'tis  a  public  loss  ! 

"  This  comes  of  a  man,  the  careless  blockhead, 

"  Keeping  his  character  in  his  pocket ; 

'<  And  there  —  without  considering  whether 

"  There's  room  for  that  and  his  gains  together  — 

'« Cramming,  and  cramming,  and  cramming  away, 

"  Till —  out  slips  character  some  fine  day ! 

"  However  "  —  and  here  he  view'd  it  round  — 

"  This  article  still  may  pass  for  sound. 

"  Some  flaws,  soon  patch'd,  some  stains  are  all 

•'The  harm  it  has  had  in  its  luckless  fall. 

"  Here,  Puck !  "  —  and  he  call'd   to  one  of  hii 

train  — 
"  The  owner  may  have  this  back  again. 
•'  Though  damag'd  forever,  if  us'd  with  skill, 
"  It  may  serve,  perhaps,  to  trade  on  still ; 
'•  Though  the  gem  can  sever,  as  once,  be  set, 
"  It  will  do  for  a  Tory  Caomet." 


HOW  TO  WRITE  Bl    PROXT. 

Qui  facit  per  alium  facit  pei  se. 

'MoNG  our  neighbors,  the  French,  in  the  goo*, 
olden  time 
When  Nobility  flourish' d,  great  Baronf.  ant 
Dukes 

*B-k-B 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


681 


Often  set  up  for  authors  in  prose  ahd  in  rhyme, 
But  ne'er  took  the  trouble  to  write  their  own 
books. 

Poor  devils  were  found  to  do  this  for  their  bet- 
ters ;  — 
And,  one  day,  a  Bishop,  addressing  a  Blue, 
Said,  "  Mu'nm,  have  you  read  my  new  Pastoral 
Letters  r " 
T'.  which  the  Blue  arswer'd  —  "  No,  Bishop, 
have  i/ou  /  " 

The  sume  is  now  done  by  our  privileg'd  class  ; 

And,  to  show  you  how  simple  the  process  it 
needs. 
If  a  great  Major  General '  wishes  to  pass 

For  an  author  of  llistory,  thus  he  proceeds  :  — 

First,  scribbling  his  own  stock  of  notions  as  well 
As  he  can,  with  a  </oo3e  quill  that  claims  him 
as  kin, 
He  settles  his  neckcloth  —  takes  snuff — rings 
the  bell, 
And  yawningly  orders  a  Subaltern  in. 

The  Subaltern  comes  —  sees  his  General  seated, 

In  all  the  self-glory  of  authorship  swelling ;  — 

'•There,  look,"  saith  his  Lordship,  "my  work 

is  completed, — 

•*  It  wants  nothing  now,  but  the  grammar  and 

spelling." 

\Vell  used  to  a  breach,  the  brave  Subaltern  dreads 
Awkward  breaches  of  syntax  a  hundred  times 
more  ; 
And,  though  often  condcmn'd  to  see  breaking 
of  heads. 
He  had  ne'er  seen  such  breaking  of  Priscian's 
before. 

However,  the  job's  sure  topay  —  that's  enough  — 
So,  to  it  he  sets  with  his  tinkering  hammer, 

Convinc'd  that  there  never  was  job  half  so  tough 
As  the  mending  a  great  Major  General's 
grammar. 

Dut,  lo,  a  fresh  puzzlement  starts  up  to  view  — 
New  toil  for  the  Sub.  —  for  the  Lord  new  ex- 
pense : 
ris  discover  u  that  mending  his  grammar  won't 
do. 
AB  the  Subaltern  also  must  find  him  in  $entt ! 


*  Or  Lieutenniit  General,  as  it  may  happen  to  ba. 
Tb*  cUuietd  Veva  tut  money 


I  At  last  —  even  this  is  achieved  by  his  aid  ; 
Friend  Subaltern  pockets  the  cash  and  —  th( 
story ; 
Drums  beat  —  the  new  Grand  March  of  Intel- 
lect's play'd  — 
And  off  struts  my  Lord,  the  Historian,  ir.  gkry  I 


IMITATION    OF   THE    INFERNO    OF 
DANTE. 

**C<m\  quel  fiato  gli  Kpiriti  inali 
Di  qui,  di  U,  di  giii,  di  su  gli  inena." 

Inferno,  canto  ft 

I  turn'd  my  steps,  and  lo,  a  shadowy  throng 
Of  ghosts  came  fluttering  towards  me  —  blown 

along. 
Like  cockchafers  in  high  autumnal  storms. 
By  many  a  fitful  gust  that  through  their  forms 
Whistled,  as  on  they  came,  with  wheezy  puff. 
And   puft"'d    as  —  though    they'd    never  pufJ 

enough. 

"  Whence  and  what  are  ye  ? "  pitying  I  inquir'd 
Of  these  poor  ghosts,  who,  tatter' d,  toss'd,  and 

tir'd 
With  such  eternal  puffing,  scarce  could  stand 
On  their  lean  legs  while  answering  my  demand. 
"We   once   were   authors"  —  thus  the  Sprit* 

who  led 
This  tag-rag  regiment  of  spectres,  said  — 
"  Authors  of  every  sex,  male,  female,  neuter, 
"  Who,  early  smit  with  love  of  praise  and 

percter,* 
"  On  C — Ib^n's  '  shelves  first  saw  the  light  oi 

day, 

"  In 's  puffs  exhal'd  our  lives  away  — 

"  Like  summer  windmills,  doom'd  to  dusty  peace, 
"  When  the  brisk  gales,  that  lent  them  rnotion, 

cease. 
"  Ah,  little  knew  we  then  what  ills  await 
"  Much-lauded  scribblers  in  their  after  state  ; 
"BepufTd  on  earth  —  how  loudly  Str — t  can 

teU  — 
"  And,  dire  reward,  now  doubly  puffd  iji  hell  I  • 

Touch'd  with  compassion    for  this  ghastl; 
crew, 
Whose  ribs,  even  now,  the  hollow  wind  tunf 
through. 

•  The  reader  may  fill  up  this  gap  with  any  one  of  the  *» 
tgUabit  publiahers  of  London  that  occurs  to  him. 


588 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


In  mournful  prose,  —  such  prose  as  Rosa's ' 

ghost 
Still,  at  th'  accustom'd  hour  of  eggs  and  toast, 
S-ghs  through  the  columns  of  the  M — rn — g 

P—t,— 
Pensive  I  turn'd  to  weep,  when  he,  who  stood 
Foremost  of  all  that  flatulential  brood, 
Singling  a  sAe-ghost  from  the  party,  said, 
"  Allow  me  to  present  Miss  X.  Y.  Z.,* 
"  One  of  our  letter' d  nymphs — excuse  the  pun — 
«•  Who  gain'd  a  name  on  earth  by  —  having 

none ; 
••  And  whose  initials  would  immortal  be, 
'•  Had  she  but  leam'd  those  plain  ones,  A.  B.  C. 

"  Yon  smirking  ghost,  like  mummy  dry  and 

neat, 
"  Wrapp'd  in  his  own  dead  rhymes  —  fit  wind- 
ing sheet  — 
"  Still  marvels  much  that  not  a  soul  should 

care 
••  One  single  pin  to   know  who  wrote  « May 

Fair;'  — 
«♦  While  this  young  gentleman,"  (here  forth  he 

drew 
A  dandy   spectre,   pufFd   quite    through  and 

through, 
As  though  his  ribs  were  an  ^olian  lyre 
For  the  whole  Row's  soft  trade  winds  to  inspire,) 
•'  This  modest  genius  breath'd  one  wish  alone, 
"  To  have  his  volume  read,  himself  unknown ; 
'•  But  different  far  the  course  his  glory  took, 
«« AU  knew  the  author,  and  —  none  read  the 

book. 

"  Behold,  in  yonder  ancient  figure  of  fun, 
«*  Who  rides  the  blast,  Sir  J — n — h  B — rr — t — n ; 
"  In  tricks  to  raise  the  wind  his  life  was  spent, 
'  And  now  the  wind  returns  the  compliment. 

•'  This  lady  here,  the  Earl  of 's  sister, 

•'  Is  n  dead  novelist ;  and  this  is  Mister  — 
"  Beg  pardon  —  Honorable  Mister  L — st^r, 
■'  A  gentleman  who,  some  weeks  since,  came 

over 
"  In  a  smart  puff  (wind  S.  S.  E.)  to  Dover. 
"  Yonder  behind  us  limps  youg  Vivian  Grey, 
«  Whoso  life,  poor  youth,  was  long  since  blown 

away  — 
•'  Like  a  torn  paper  kite,  on  which  the  wind 
■<  No  further  purchase  for  a  puff  can  find." 

1  Rosa  Matilda,  who  was  for  many  years  the  writer  of  the 
political  articles  in  the  journal  alluded  to,  and  whose  spirit 
•till  seems  to  preside  —  "  regnat  Rosa  "  —  over  its  pages. 

3  JVjt  the  charming  L.  E.  L.,  and  still  less,  Mrs.  F.  H., 
rrliose  poetry  h  among  the  most  beautiful  of  the  present  day. 


"And  thou,  thyself"  —  here,    anxious,  I  ex* 

claim'd  — 
"  Tell  us,  good  ghost,  how  thou,  thyself,  arl 

named." 
•'  Me,  Sir  !  "  he  blushing  cried  —  "  Ah,  there'i 

the  rub  — 
"  Know,  then  —  a  waiter  once  at  Brooks's  Clubj 
"  A  waiter  still  I  might  have  long  remain'd, 
"And  long  the  club-room's  jokes  and  glasaai 

drain'd ; 
"  But  ah,  in  luckless  hour,  this  last  December, 
"  I  wrote  a  book,^  and   Colburn   dubb'd  me 

•  Member '  — 
"  '  Member  of  Brooks's  !  "  —  O  Promethean  pufl^ 
"  To  what  wilt  thou  exalt  even  kitchen  stuff ! 
"  With   crums  of  gossip,   caught  from  dining 

wits, 
"  And  half-heard  jokes,  bequeath'd  like  half- 

chow'd  bits, 
"  To  be,  each  night,  the  waiter's  perquisites ;  - 
"  With  such  ingredients,  serv'd  up  oft  before, 
"  But  with  fresh  fudge  and  fiction  garnish'd  o'er, 
"  I  manag'd,  for  some  weeks,  to  dose  the  town, 
"  Till  fresh  reser\'es  of  nonsense  ran  me  down  ; 
"  And,  ready  still  even  waiters'  souls  to  damn, 
"  The  Devil  but  rang  his   bell,  and  —  here  I 

am ;  — 
"  Yes  —  •  Coming  up.  Sir,'  Once  my  favorite  cry, 
"  Exchang'dfor  '  Coming  down,  Sir,'  here  am  I ! " 

Scarce  had  the  Spectre's  lips  these  words  let  drop, 

When  lo,  a  breeze  —  such  as  from 's  shop 

Blows  in  the  vernal  hour,  when  puffs  prevail, 
And  speeds  the  sheets  and  swells  the  lagging 

sale  — 
Took  the  poor  waiter  rudely  in  the  poop, 
And,  whirling  him  and  all  his  grisly  group 
Of  literary  ghosts  —  Miss  X.  Y.  Z.  — 
The  nameless  author,  better  known  than  read  — 
Sir  Jo.  —  the  Honorable  Mr.  L — st — r. 
And,  last,  not  least.  Lord  Nobody's  twin  sister— 
Blew  them,  ye  gods,  with  all  their  prose  and 

rhymes 
And  sins  about  them,  far  into  those  climes 
''Where  Peter  pitch'd  his  waistcoat  "*  in  old 

times, 
Leaving  me  much  in  doubt,  as  on  I  preff-j'd. 
With  my  great  master,  through  this  realm  ug 

bless'd,  ' 

Whether  Old  Nick  or  C— lb— n  puffs  the  best. 

»  "  History  of  the  Clubs  of  London,"  announced  as  by  "a 
Member  of  Brooks's." 

*  A  Dantesque  allusion  to  the  <  Id  saying, "  Nine  miles  b« 
yond  H — 11,  where  Peter  pitc  ded  bii  waistcoat" 


SATIRICAI    AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


Uv 


LAMENT  FOR  THE  LOSS  OF  LORD 
B— TH— ST'S  TAIL.' 

Ail  in  again  —  unlook'd-for  bliss  I 

Yet,  ah,  one  adjunct  still  we  miss  ;  — 

One  tender  tie,  attach'd  so  long 

To  the  same  head,  through  right  and  wrong. 

Why,  B — 1\. — St,  why  didst  thou  cut  oflF 

That  memorable  tail  of  thine  ? 
Why --as  if  one  was  not  enough  — 

Thy  pigtie  with  thy  place  resign, 
And  thus,  at  once,  both  cut  and  run  ; 
AJfu,  ray  Lord,  'twas  not  well  done, 
Twas  not,  indeed  —  though  sad  at  heart. 
From  office  and  its  sweets  to  part, 
Yet  hopes  of  coming  in  again. 
Sweet  Tory  hopes  !  beguil'd  our  pain  ; 
But  thus  to  miss  that  tail  of  thine. 
Through  long,  long  years  our  rallying  sigi:  — 
As  if  the  State  and  all  its  powers 
By  tenancy  in  tail  were  ours  — 
To  see  it  thus  by  scissors  fall, 
Thia  was  •'  th'  unkindest  cu<  of  all !  " 
It  seem'd  as  though  th'  a.scendant  day 
Of  Toryism  had  pass'd  away, 
And,  i)roving  Samson's  story  true, 
She  lost  her  vigor  with  her  cue. 

Parties  are  much  like  fish,  'tis  said  — 
The  tail  directs  them,  not  the  head ; 
Then,  how  could  any  party  fail. 
That  stcer'd  its  course  by  B — th — st's  taU  ? 
Not  Murat's  plume,  through  Wagram's  figbt. 

E'er  shed  such  guiding  glories  from  it, 
As  erst,  in  all  true  Tories'  sight, 

Blaz'd  from  our  old  Colonial  comet ! 
If  you,  my  Lord,  a  Bashaw  were, 

(As  W — 11 — gt — n  will  be  anon) 
Thou  mightst  have  had  a  tail  to  spare  ; 

But  no,  alas,  thou  hadst  but  one, 

And  that  —  like  Troy,  or  Babylon, 

A  tale  of  other  times  —  is  gone  ! 
Yet  —  weep  ye  not,  ye  Tories  true  — 

Fate  has  not  yet  of  all  bereft  us  ; 
Though  thus  depriv'd  of  B — th — st's  cue. 

We've  E — b — h's  curls  still  left  us  ;  — 
Bweet  curls,  from  which  young  Love,  so  vicious, 
^is  shots,  as  from  ninepounders,  issues  ; 
orand,  glorious  curls,  which,  in  debate, 
Burcharg'd  with  all  a  nation's  fate, 

>  The  noble  Lord,  it  is  well  known,  cut  off  this  mueh- 
mpectad  appaidage,  on  bi*  retireiiieiit  Irom  office  aome 
•Paths  ■inc* 


His  Lordship  shaken,  as  Homer's  God  did,* 

And  oft  in  thundering  Uilk  comeft  near  him ;  — 
Except  that,  there,  the  speaker  nodded. 

And,  here,  'tis  only  those  who  hear  him. 
Long,  long,  ye  ringlets,  on  the  soil 

Of  .that  fat  cranium  may  ye  flourish. 
With  plenty  of  Macassar  oil. 

Through  many  a  year  your  growth  to  no^ifh 
And,  ah,  should  Time  too  soon  unsheath 

His  barbarous  shears  such  locks  to  sever, 
Still  dear  to  Tories,  even  in  death, 
Their  last,  lov'd  relics  we'll  bequeath, 

A  AatV-loom  to  our  sons  forever. 


THE  CHERRIES. 

A   PABABLE.' 


I8V 


Seb  those  cherries,  how  they  cover 
Yonder  sunny  garden  wall ;  — 

Had  they  not  that  network  over. 
Thieving  birds  would  eat  them  alL 

So,  to  guard  our  posts  and  pensions, 

Ancient  sages  wove  a  net. 
Through  whose  holes,  of  small  dimensions, 

Only  certain  knaves  can  get. 

Shall  we  then  this  network  widen  ? 

Shall  wo  stretch  these  sacred  holes, 
Through  which,  ev'n  already,  slide  ip 

Lots  of  small  dissenting  souls  ' 

"  God  forbid  ! "  old  Testy  crieth  | 

"  God  forbid  !  "  so  echo  I : 
Every  ravenous  bird  that  flieth 

Then  would  at  our  cherries  fly. 

Ope  but  half  an  inch  or  so. 

And,  behold,  what  bevies  break  in ; 

Here,  some  curs' d  old  Popish  crow 
Pops  his  long  and  lickerish  beak  in ', 

Here,  sly  Arians  flock  unnumber'd, 
And  Socinians,  slim  and  spare, 

Who,  with  small  belief  enciimber'dt 
Slip  in  easy  any  where  ;  - 

Methodists,  of  birds  the  aptest. 
Where  there's  pecking  going  on ; 


>  "  Shake*  his  ambroaial  curls,  and  gives  ibe  no« 

Pors  1  BiHkm 
*  Written  during  the  late  discuaskw  op  the  Tart  aai  Vm 
Deration  Ads. 


190 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


And  that  water  fowl,  the  Baptist — 
AU  would  share  our  fruits  anon ; 

Ev'ry  bird,  of  ev'ry  city, 

That,  for  years,  with  ceaseless  dii., 
•^fath  rovers' d  the  starling's  ditty, 

Singing  out  "  I  can't  get  in." 

'  God  forbid  !  "  old  Testy  snivels  ; 

«•  God  forbid  !  "  I  echo  too  ; 
Hather  may  ten  thousand  d-v-ls 

S?izc  the  whole  voracious  crew  i 

If  less  costly  fruit  won't  suit  'em. 
Hips  and  haws  and  such  like  berries. 

Curse  the  corm'rants  !  stone  'em,  shoot  'em, 
Any  thing  —  to  save  our  cherries. 


l&rANZAS  WRITTEN  IN  ANTICIPATION 

OF   DEFEAT." 

1828. 

do  seek  for  some  abler  defenders  of  wrong, 
If  we  mtist  run  the  gantlet  through  blood  and 
expense ; 
Or,  Goths  as  ye  are,  in  your  multitude  strong, 
Be  content  with  success,  and  pretend  not  to 
sense. 

If  the  words  of  the  wise  and  the  gen'rous  are 
vain, 
If  Truth  by  the  bowstring  mmt  yield  up  her 
breath, 
I^et  Mutes  do  the  office  —  and  spare  her  the  pain 
Of  an  In — gl — s  or  T — nd — 1  to  talk  her  to 
death. 

Cliain,   persecute,   plunder  —  do  all   that  you 
Avill  — 
But  save  us,  at  least,  the  old  womanly  lore 
Of  a  F  — st — r,  who,  dully  prophetic  of  ill. 
Is,  at  once,  the  ttoo  instruments,  auouu*  and 
no  HE. 

rring  legions  of  Squires  —  if  they'll   only  be 
mute  — 
And  array  their  thick  heads  against  reason 
and  right. 
Like  the  Roman  of  old,  of  historic  repute,' 
♦Vho  with  dro  ves  of  dumb  animals  carried  the 
fight; 

1  Dining  .ho  dissuusion  oi  toe  Catiiofic  question  ui  the 
House  orOommnns  last  session. 

«  This  rhvme  is  more  for  the  ear  thaf  the  eye,  as  the  car- 
l«liter'>  tool  is  epelt  auger. 


Pour  out,  from  each  corner  and  hcie  of  th 
Court, 
Your  Bed-chamber  lordlings,  your    salaried 
slaves,     • 
Who,  ripe  for  aL  job  work,  no  matter  what  sort 
Have  their  consciences  tack'd  to  their  patent! 
and  staves. 

Catch  all  the  small  fry  who,  as  Juvenal  sings. 
Are  the  Treasury's  creatures,  wherrver  th«j 
swim ;  * 
With  all  the  base,  time-serving  toanies  of  Kings, 
Who,  if  Punch  were  the   monarch,    would 
worship  ev'n  him ; 

And  while,  on  the  one  side,  each  name  ox  re- 
nown. 
That  illumines  and  blesseo  our  age  is  com- 
bin'd ; 
While  the  Foxes,  the  Pitts,  and  the  Cannings 
look  down. 
And  drop  o'er  the  cause  their  rich  mantles  of 
Mind ; 


Let  bold  Paddy  H — ^Imes  show  his  troops  on  the 
other. 
And,  counting  of  noses  the  quantum  desir'd, 
Let  Paddy  but  say,  like  the  Gracchis  I'am'd 
mother, 
"  Come  forward,  my  jewels  "  —  'tis  all  that's 
requir'd. 

And  thus  let  your  farce  be  enacted  hereafter  — 
Thus  honestly  persecute,  outlaw,  and  chain  ; 

But  spare  ev'n   your   victims  the   torture   of 
laughter. 
And  never,  O  never,  try  reasoning  again  1 


PREFACE 

TO  THE  NINTH  VOLUME. 

In  one  of  those  Notices,  no  less  friendly  than 
they  are  able  and  spirited,  which  this  new  Edi- 
tion of  my  Poetical  Works  has  called  forth  from 
a  leading  political  journal,  I  find,  in  reference  to 
the  numerous  satirical  pieces  contained  in  these 
volumes,  the  following  suggestion  : *  —  "It  ii 

3  Fabius,  who  sent  droves  of  bullocks  against  the  enemf 
♦  Res  Fisci  est,  ubicumque  natat  —  JvTKfAi, 
6  The  Times.  Jan.  9,  1841. 


oow  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  since  this 
bundle  of  political  pasquinades  set  the  British 
public  in  a  roar ;  and,  though  the  events  to 
which  they  allude  may  be  well  known  to  every 

reader, 

'  Cujua  octav«iin  trepidavit  etna 
Claudere  luRtnim,' 

klierc  are  many  persons,  now  forming  a  part  of 
tl.e  laerarv  public,  who  have  come  into  existence 
•incc  ihey  happened,  and  who  cannot  be  expected, 
tTcn  il  tlicy  had  the  leisure  and  opportunity  to 
rummage  the  tiles  of  our  old  newspapers  for  a  his- 
tory of  the  perishable  facts,  on  whicli  Mr.  Moore 
has  so  often  rested  the  flpng  artillery  of  his  wit. 
Many  of  those  facts  will  be  considered  beneath 
the  notice  of  the  grave  historian  ;  and  it  is,  there- 
fore, incumbent  on  Mr.  Moore  —  if  he  wishes  his 
political  squibs,  imbued  as  they  are  with  a  wit 
and  humor  quite  Aristoplianic,  to  be  relished,  as 
they  dc.ser\'c  to  be  relished,  by  our  grcat-grand- 
ululdren  —  to  preface  them  with  a  rapid  sum- 
mary of  the  events  which  gave  them  birth." 

Without  pausing  here  to  say  how  gratifying 
it  is  to  me  to  find  my  long  course  of  Anti-Tory 
warfare  thus  tolerantly,  and  even  generously 
•pokcn  of,  and  by  so  distinguished  an  organ  of 
public  opinion,  I  shall  as  briefly  as  I  can,  advert 
to  the  writer's  friendly  suggestion,  and  then 
mention  some  of  those  reasons  which  have  in- 
duced mo  not  to  adopt  it.  That  I  was  disposed, 
ut  first,  to  annex  nome  such  commentary  to  this 
series  of  squibs,  may  have  been  collected  from 
the  concluding  sentences  of  my  last  Preface ; 
but  a  little  further  consideration  has  led  me  to 
abandon  this  intention. 

To  that  kind  of  satire  which  deals  only  with 
the  lighter  follies  of  social  life,  with  the  passing 
modes,  whims,  and  scandal  of  the  day,  such  il- 
lustrative comments  become,  after  a  short  time, 
necessary.  But  the  true  preserving  salt  of  po- 
litical satire  if  its  applicability  to  future  times 
»nd  generations,  as  well  as  to  those  which  had 
Srs"  nulled  it  forth ;  its  power  of  transmitting 
Ik  3  icourge  of  ridicule  through  succeeding  pc- 
tj'  *s,  with  ■•.  iash  still  fiesh  for  the  back  of  the 
fit;H  and  tue  oppressor,  under  whatever  new 
«h»pes  they  may  present  themselves.  I  can 
hirily  flatter  myself  with  the  persuasion  that 
any  one  of  the  satirical  piceea  contained  in  this 
Volume  is  likely  to  possess  this  principle  of 
ritality  ;  but  I  feel  quite  certain  that,  without  it, 
not  all  the  notes  and  illustrations  in  which  even 
the  industry  of  Dutch  commentatorship  could 
embalm  them  would  insure  to  these  trifles  a  life 
.■n'»?h  beyond  the  present  hour. 


Already,  to  many  of  them,  that  sort  of  rclisfc 
—  by  far  the  least  worthy  source  of  their  sue- 
cess  —  which  the  names  of  living  victims  lewis 
to  such  sallies,  has  become,  in  the  course  uf 
time,  wanting.  But,  as  far  as  their  appositcneal 
to  the  passing  political  events  of  the  day  has  yet 
been  tried  —  and  the  dates  of  these  satires  rang* 
over  a  period  of  nearly  thirty  years  —  th^ir  rid 
icule,  thanks  to  the  undying  nature  of  huma?) 
absurdity,  appears  to  have  lost,  as  yet,  bft  littlf 
of  the  original  freshness  of  its  first  application 
Nor  is  this  owing  to  any  peculiar  felicity  of  aim, 
in  the  satire  itself,  but  to  the  sameness,  through- 
out that  period,  of  all  its  original  objects ;  —  the 
unchangeable  nature  of  that  spirit  of  Monopolj 
by  which,  under  all  its  various  impersonations, 
commercial,  religious,  and  political,  these  satires 
had  been  first  provoked.  To  refer  but  to  one 
instance,  the  Com  Question,  —  assuredly,  the 
entire  appositeness,  at  this  very  moment,  of  sucii 
versiclcs  as  the  following,  redounds  far  less  to 
the  credit  of  poesy  than  to  the  disgrace  of  legis- 
lation :  — 

How  can  you,  my  Lord,  thus  delight  to  torment  all 
The  Peers  of  the  realm  about  cheap'iiing  their  corri. 

When  you  know  if  one  hasn't  a  very  liigh  rental, 
''i'is  linrdly  worth  while  to  be  very  high  bora 

That,  being  by  nature  so  little  prone  to  spleen 
or  bitterness,  I  should  yet  have  frequented  so 
much  the  thorny  paths  of  satire,  has  always,  t-^ 
myself  and  those  best  acquainted  with  me,  oeen 
a  matter  of  some  surprise.  By  supposing  the 
imagination,  however,  to  be,  in  such  cases,  the 
sole  or  chief  prompter  of  the  satire  —  wluch,  in 
my  own  instance,  I  must  say,  it  has  generally 
been  —  an  easy  solution  is  found  for  the  diffi« 
culty.  The  same  readiness  of  fancy  which,  with 
but  little  help  from  reality,  can  deck  out  •«  tht 
Cynthia  of  the  minute "  with  all  possible  at- 
tractions, will  likewise  be  able,  when  in  the 
vein,  to  shower  ridicule  on  a  political  adver- 
sary, without  allowing  a  single  feeling  of  reai 
bitterness  to  mix  itself  with  the  opsret'on 
Even  that  sternest  of  all  satirists,  Dante,  vho 
not  content  with  the  penal  lire  of  the  pen,  kept 
an  Inferno  ever  ready  to  receive  the  victims  of 
his  wrath, — even  Dante,  on  becoming  acquaint 
ed  with  some  of  the  persons  whom  he  had  thu* 
doomed,  not  only  revoked  their  awful  sentence, 
but  even  honored  them  with  warn;  praise ; '  and 
probably,  on  a  little  further  acquaintance,  •yould 
have  admitted  them  into  his  Puradiso      \Vh*>Ti 

1  In  his  Convita  he  praises  very  warmly  ■prua  i^raou 
whom  he  had  beforr  tbused.  —  (3m  ViJtcoia,  Diufu  «W 
TuU  di  IMnU, 


i92 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


thus  loosely  and  shallowly  even  the  sublime 
Batire  of  Dante  could  strike  its  roots  in  his  own 
heart  and  memory,  it  is  easy  to  conceive  how 
light  and  passing  may  be  the  feeling  of  hostility 
with  which  a  partisan  in  the  field  of  satire  plies 
his  laughing  warfare  ;  and  how  often  it  may 
happen  that  even  the  pride  of  hitting  his  mark 
h  ardly  outlives  the  flight  of  the  shaft. 

I  cannot  dismiss  from  my  hands  these  politi- 
cal trifles.  — 

"  This  swarm  of  tbemes  that  settled  on  my  pen, 
Which  I,  like  rfumnier  flies,  shake  ofT  again,"  — 

without  venturing  to  add  that  I  have  now  to 
connect  with  them  one  mournful  recollection  — 
one  loss  from  among  the  circle  of  those  I  have 
longest  looked  up  to  with  affection  and  admira- 
tion—  which  I  little  thoiight,  when  I  began  this 
series  of  prefatory  sketches,  I  should  have  to 
mourn  before  their  close.  I  need  hardly  add, 
that,  in  thus  alluding  to  a  great  light  of  the 
Bocial  and  political  world  recently  gone  out,  I 
mean  the  late  Lord  Holland. 

It  may  be  recollected,  perhaps,  that,  in  men- 
tioning some  particulars  respecting  an  early  squib 
of  mine,  —  the  Parody  on  the  Prince  Regent's 
Letter,  —  I  spoke  of  a  dinner  at  which  I  was 
present,  on  the  very  day  of  the  first  publication 
of  that  Parody,  when  it  was  the  subject  of  much 
3onversation  at  table,  and  none  of  the  party, 
except  our  host,  had  any  suspicion  that  I  was 
the  author  of  it.  This  host  was  Lord  Holland ; 
and  as  such  a  name  could  not  but  lend  value  to 
any  anecdote  connected  with  literature,  I  only 
forebore  the  pleasure  of  adding  such  an  orna- 
ment to  my  page,  from  knowing  that  Lord  Hol- 
land had  long  viewed  with  disapprobation  and 
regret  much  of  that  conduct  of  the  Whig  party 
towards  the  Regent,  in  1812-13,'  of  the  history 
of  which  this  squib,  and  the  welcome  reception 
it  met  with,  forms  a  humble  episode. 

Lord  Holland  himself,  in  addition  to  his  higher 
intellectual  accomplishments,  possessed  in  no 
ordinary  degree  the  talent  of  writing  easy  and 
playful  vers  cle  socUU ;  and,  among  the  instances 
I  could  give  of  the  lightness  of  his  hand  at  such 
trifles,  there  is  one  no  less  characteristic  of  his 
good  nature  than  his  wit,  as  it  accompanied  a 
copy  of  the  octavo  edition  of  Bayle,*  which,  on 
hearing  me  rejoice  one  day  that  so  agreeable  an 
author  had  been  at  last  made  portable,  he  kindly 
»rdered  lor  me  from  Paris. 

1  This  will  be  seen  whenever  those  valuable  papers  come 
iP  be  published,  which  Lord  Holland  left  behind  him,  con- 


So  late,  indeed,  as  only  a  m(  ith  or  two  befoie 
his  lordship's  death,  he  was  emploj-ing  himselfl 
with  all  his  usual  cheerful  eagerness,  in  trans- 
lating some  verses  of  Metastasio  ;  and  occa- 
sionally consulted  both  Mr.  Rogers  and  myself 
as  to  different  readings  of  some  of  the  lines. 
In  one  of  the  letters  which  I  received  from  him 
while  thus  occupied,  I  find  the  following  post- 
script :  — 

"  'Tis  thus  I  tum  th'  Italian's  song, 
Nor  deem  I  read  his  meaning  wrong. 
But  with  rough  Engli^;h  to  combine 
The  sweetness  that's  in  every  line. 
Asks  for  your  Muse,  and  not  for  mine. 
Sense  only  will  not  quit  the  trcore  ; 
We  must  have  that,  and  —  little  More. 

He  then  adds,  "  I  send  you,  too,  a  melancholy 
Epigram  of  mine,  of  which  I  have  seen  many, 
alas,  witness  the  truth  :  — 

"  A  minister's  answer  is  always  so  kind  t 
I  starve,  and  he  tells  me  he'll  keep  me  in  miiid. 
Ha// his  promise,  God  knows,  would  my  spirits  restore 
Let  him  keep  me  —  and,  faith,  I  will  ask  for  no  more." 

The  only  portion  of  the  mass  of  trifles  con- 
tained in  this  volume,  that  first  found  its  way 
to  the  public  eye  through  any  more  responsible 
channel  than  a  newspaper,  was  the  Letters  of 
the  Fudge  Family  in  England,  —  a  work  which 
was  sure,  from  its  very  nature,  to  encounter  th* 
double  risk  of  being  thought  dull  as  a  mere  se. 
quel,  and  light  and  unsafe  as  touching  on  follies 
connected  with  the  name  of  Religion.  Into  the 
question  of  the  comparative  dulness  of  any  of 
my  productions,  it  is  not  for  me,  of  course,  to 
enter;  but  to  the  charge  of  treating  religious 
subjects  irreverently,  I  shall  content  myself 
with  replying  in  the  words  of  Pascal,  —  "II  y 
a  bien  de  la  diff6rence  entre  rire  de  la  religion 
et  rire  de  ceux  qui  la  profan-jut  par  leurs  opi- 
nions extravagantes;" 


ODE  TO  THE  WOODS  AND  FOixhSTS 

BY    ONE    OF   THE  BOARD. 

Let  other  bards  to  groves  repair, 

Where  linnets  strain  their  tuneful  throats, 
Mine  be  the  Woods  and  Forests,  where 

The  Treasury  pours  its  sweeter  tiotea. 

taining  Memoirs  of  hia  own  times  and  of  those  immediaiei 
preceding  tliem. 
i  In  sixteen  volumes,  published  at  Paris,  by  Desoer 


SATIRICAL  AND  HTBIOROUS    ^3EMS. 


5n 


N  0  whispering  winds  have  charms  for  me. 
Nor  zeph)T'8  balmy  sighs  I  ask  ; 

To  raise  the  wind  for  Royalty 

Be  all  our  Sylvan  zephyr's  task  !     ♦ 

A  nd,  'stead  of  crystal  brooks  and  floods, 
And  all  such  vulgur  irrigation, 

Lrt  Gallic  rhino  through  our  Woods 
Divert  its  "  course  of  liquid-ation." 

Ah,  surely,  Virgil  knew  full  well 

^Vhat  Woods  and  Forests  ottffht  to  be. 

When,  sly,  he  introduc'd  in  heU 
His  guinea  plant,  his  bullion  tree  : '  — 

Nor  see  I  why,  some  future  day, 

When  short  of  cash,  we  should  not  send 

Our  H — rr — s  down  —  he  knows  the  way— 
To  see  if  Woods  in  hell  will  lend. 

Long  may  ye  flourish,  sylvan  hbunts. 
Beneath  whose  "  branches  of  expense  " 

Our  gracious  K g  gets  all  he  wants,  — 

Except  a  little  taste  and  sense. 

Long,  in  your  golden  shade  reclin'd. 
Like  him  of  fair  Armida's  bowers. 

May  W — 11 — n  some  loood  nymph  find, 
Tc  cheer  hia  dozenth  lustrum's  hours  ; 

To  rest  from  toil  the  Great  Untaught, 
And  soothe  the  pangs  his  warlike  brain 

Must  suffer,  when  unus'd  to  thought. 
It  tries  to  think,  and  —  tries  in  rain. 

0  long  may  Woods  and  Forests  be 

Preserv'd  in  all  their  teeming  graces,       • 

To  shelter  Tory  bards,  like  me, 

"Who  take  delight  in  Sylvan  places  !  • 


STANZAS  FROM  THE  BANKS  OF  THE 

SHANNON.' 

18S& 
<*  Take  back  the  virgin  page." 

Mooai'f  Irish  Melodies. 

No  longer,  dear  V — sey,  tecl  hurt  and  uneasy 
At  h«^aring  it  said  by  thy  Treasury  brother, 

rhat  thou  art  a  sneet  of  blank  paper,  my  V — sey. 
And  he,  the  dear,  innocent  placeman,  another.* 

/ 
1  Called  by  Virtril,  hotanirally,  "  ipeeien  auri  frondentis." 
>  Tu  facis,  ut  silva.1,  ut  amem  toea 

0»ID. 

*  These  verses  were  siipge^ted  by  the  result  of  the  Clare 
•lection,  in  the  year  1828.  when  the  Right  Honorable  W 


For,  lo,  what   a  service  we,  Irish,   have  done 
thee  :  — 
Thou  now  art  a  sheet  of  blank  paper  no  more ; 
By 'St.  Patrick,  we've  scrawl'd  such  a  lessor 
upon  thee 
As  never  was  scrawl'd  upon  foolscap  before. 

Come  —  on  with  your  spectacles,  noble   Lora 
Duke, 
(Or  O'Connell  has  preen  ones  ho  haply  would 
lend  you,) 
Read  V — sey  all  o'er  (as  you  can't  read  a  book") 
And  improve  by  the  lesson  we,  bog  trotters, 
send  you ; 

A  lesson,  in  large  Roman  characters  trac'd, 
Whose  awful  impressions  from  you  and  your 
kin 

Of  blank-sheeted  statesmen  will  ne'er  be  effac'd 
Unless,  'stead  of  paper,  you're  mere  asses'  skin 

Shall  I  help  you  to  construe  it  ?  ay,  by  the  Goda. 
Could  I  risk  a  translation,  you  should  have  a 
rare  one ; 
But  pen  against  sabre  is  desperate  odds, 

And  you,  my  Lord  Duke  (as  yai  hinted  once), 
wear  one. 

Again  and  again  I  say,  read  V — sey  o'er  ;  — 
You  will  find  him  worth  all  the  old  scrolis  of 
papyrus, 
That  Egypt  e'er  fill'd  with  nonsensical  lore, 
Or  the  learned  Champollion  e're  wrote  of,  to 
tire  us. 

All  blank  as  he  was,  we've  retum'd  him  on  hand, 
Scribbled  o'er  with  a  warning  to  Princes  and 
Dukes, 
Whose  plain,  simple  drift  if  they  won't  under- 
stand, 
Though  caress'd  at  St.  James's,  they're  fit  for 
St.  Luke's. 

Talk  of  leaves  of  the  Sibyls  !  —  more  mennisf 
convey'd  is 
In  one  single  leaf  such  as  now  we  have  spell' d 
on. 
Than  e'er  hath  been  utter'd  by  all  the  old  ladies 
That   ever  yet  spoke,  from  the    Sibyls    **> 
Eld— n. 

Ve«ey  Fitzgerald   was  rejected,  and   Mr.  O'Connell    re- 
tume<l. 

*  Some  expresfiions  to  this  purport,  In  a  published  len- 
nr  one  of  these  gentlemen,  bad  then  produced  a  good  dMi 
of  amusement 


in 


SATIRICAL   AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


THE   ANNUAL  PILL. 

Si'Oiiosed  t«  be  sung  by  Old  Phost,  the  Jew,  in  the 
character  of  Major  C — btw — oht. 

ViLi.  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  PiU, 

Dat's  to  purify  every  ting  nashty  avay  ? 
Pless  ma  heart,  pless  ma  heart,  let  ma  say  vat 
Ivill, 
Not  a  Chrishtian  or  Shentleman  minds  vat  I 
say! 
Tis  80  pretty  a  bolus  !  — just  down  let  it  go. 
And,  at  vonce,  such  a  radical  shange  you  vill 
see, 
Dat  I'd  not  be  surprish'd,  like  de  horse  in  de 
show. 
If  your  heads  all  vere  found,  vere  your  tailsh 
ought  to  be  ! 
Vill  nobodies  try  my  m.ce  Annual  Pill,  &c. 

Twill  cure  all  Electors,  and  purge  away  clear 
Pat   mighty  bad  itching  dey've  got  in  deir 
hands  — 
1  will  cure,  too,  all  Statesmen,  of  dulness,  ma  tear, 
Though  the  case  vas  as  desperate  as  poor 
Mister  Van's. 
Dere  is  noting  at  all  vat  dis  Pill  vill  not  reach  — 
Give    the    Sinecure   Shentleman  von    little 
grain, 
Pless  ma  heart,  it  vill  act,  like  de  salt  on  de 
leech, 
And  he'll  throw  de  pounds,  shillings,  and 


Pless  ma  heart,  pless  ma  heart,  let  me  say  Titf 
I  vill, 
Not  a  Chrishtian  or  Shentleman  minds  va 
I  say  ! 


pence,  up  again 


Vill  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  Pill,  &c. 

Twould  be  tedious,  ma  tear,  all  its  peauties  to 
paint  — 
But,  among  oder  lings  fundamentally  wrong, 
It  viU  cure  de  Proad  Pottom  •  —  a  common  com- 
plaint 
Among   M.  P.'s  and  weavers  —  from  sitting 
too  long. 
bhould  symptoms  of  speeching  preak  out  on  a 
dunce 
(Vat  is  often  de  case),  it  vill  stop  de  disease. 
And  pring  avay  all  do  long  speeches  at  vonce, 
Dat  else  vould,  like  tapeworms,  come  by  de- 
grees ! 

Vill  robodies  try  my  nice  AnnuM  Pill, 
Dat's  to  purify  every  ting  nashty  avay? 

i  Meaning,  I  presume,  Coalition  Administrations. 
•  Written  after  hearing  a  celebrated  speech  in  the  House 
vTLMrda  June  10, 1828,  when  the  motion  in  favor  cf  Catho- 


"IF"   AND   "PERHAPS."' 

O  TIDINGS  of  freedom  !  O  accents  of  hope  ! 
Waft,  waft  them,  ye  zephyrs,  to  Erin's  blur 
sea. 
And  refresh  with  their  sounds  every  son  of  tl'* 
Pope, 
From  Dingle -a-cooch  to  far  Donaghadee. 

"  If  mutely  the  slave  will  endure  and  obey, 
"  Nor  clanking  his  fetters  nor  breathing  hi« 
pains, 
"  His  masters,  perhaps,  at  some  far-distant  day, 
"  May  think  (tender  tyrants  \)  of  loosening 
his  chains." 

Wise  "  if"  and  "  perhaps  !  "  —  precious  salro 
for  our  wounds. 
If  he,  who  would  rule  thus   o'er  manacled 
mutes, 
Could  check  the  free  springtide  of  Mind,  that 
resounds. 
Even  now,  at  his  feet,  like  the  sea  at  Canute's 

But,  no,  'tis  in  vain  —  the   grand  impulse  is 
given  — 
Man  knows  his  high  Charter,  and  knowing 
will  claim ; 
And  if  ruin  must  follow  where  fetters  are  riven, 
Be  theirs,  who  have  forg'd  them,  the  guilt  and 
the  shame. 

•»  If  the  slave  will  be  silent !  "  —  vain  Soldier 
beware  — 
There  is  a  dead  silence  the  iiirong'd  may  as- 
sume. 
When  the  feeling,  sent  back  from  the  lips  \n 
despair. 
But  clings  round  the  heart  with  a  dcadli?i 
gloom ;  — 

When  the  blush,  that  long  bum'd  on  the  sup- 
pliant's cheek. 
Gives  place  to  th'  avenger's  pale,  resolute  hue 
And  the  tongue,  that  once  threaten' d,  disdaiir. 
ing  to  speak, 
Consigns  to  the  arm  the  high  office  —  to  do. 

lie  Emancipation,  brought  forward  by  the  MarquLs  of  IJkOM 
downe,  was  rejected  by  the  House  of  Lord*. 


8ATIRICAX  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


AM 


If  men,  in  that  silence,  should  think  of  the  hour, 
When  proudlj*  their  fathers  in  panoply  stood, 

''resenting,  alike,  a  bold  frontwork  of  power 
To  the  despot  ou  land  and   the  foe  on  the 
flood  :  — 

That  hour,  when  a  Voice  had  come  forth  from 
the  west. 
To  the  slave  bringing  hopes,  to  the  tjnrant 
alarms ; 
Ajid  a  lesson,  long  look'd  for,  was  taught  the 
oppress'd. 
That  kings  are  as  duvt  before  freemen  in  arms ! 

If,  nwfullcr  still,  the  mute  slave  should  recall 
That  dream  of  his  boyhood,  when  Freedom's 
sweet  day 
At  length  seem'd  to  break  through  a  long  night 
of  thrall. 
And   Union  and  Hope  went  abroad   in   its 
ray;  — 

//  Fancy  should  tell  him,  that  Dayspring  of 
Good, 
Though  swiftly  its  light  died  away  from  his 
chain. 
Though  darkly  it  set  in  a  nation's  best  blood. 
Now  wants  but  invoking  to  shine  out  again ;  — 

If —  if,  I  say  —  breathings  like  these  should 
come  o'er 
The  chords  of  remembrance,  and  thrill,  as 
they  come, 
Then,  perhaps  —  ay,  perhaps  —  but  I  dare  not 
say  more ; 
Thou  hast  will'd  that  thy  slaves  should  be 
mute  —  I  am  dumb. 


W3aiTE  ON,  WRITE  ON. 

A   BALLAD. 
Ail  —  '  Sletp  on,  sleep  on,  my  Kathleen  dear.*' 

Salv^te,  fratres  Asini.       St.  Fbahciil 

WuiTE  on,  w  rite  on,  ye  Barons  dear, 

Ye  Dukes,  write  hard  and  fast ; 
The  good  we've  sought  for  many  a  year 

Your  quills  will  bring  at  last. 
One  letter  more,  N — wc — stle,  pen. 

To  match  Lord  K — ny — n's  two, 
A.nd  more  than  Ireland's  host  of  men, 

')ne  brace  of  Peers  will  do. 

Write  on,  write  on,  &c. 


Sure,  never,  since  the  precious  use 

Of  pen  and  ink  began, 
Did  letters,  ^vrit  by  fools,  produce 

Such  signal  good  to  man. 
While  intellect,  'mong  high  and  low, 

Is  marching  on,  they  say. 
Give  me  the  Dukes  and  Lords,  who  go, 

Like  crabs,  the  other  way. 

Write  on,  write  on,  ttc, 

Ev'n  now  I  feel  the  coming  light  — 

Ev'n  now,  could  Folly  lure 
My  Lord  M — ntc — sh — 1,  too,  to  vrrite, 

Emancipation's  sure. 
By  goese  (we  read  in  history). 

Old  Rome  was  sav'd  from  ill ; 
And  now,  to  qiiills  of  geese,  we  see 

Old  Rome  indebted  still. 

Write  on,  write  on,  fto. 

Write,  write,  ye  Peers,  nor  stoop  to  style. 

Nor  beat  for  sense  about  — 
Things,  little  worth  a  Noble's  while, 

Y'^ou're  better  far  without. 
O  ne'er,  since  asses  spoke  of  yore, 

Such  miracles  were  done ; 
For,  write  but  four  such  letters  more. 

And  Freedom's  cause  is  won  ! 


SONG  OF  THE  DEPARTING  SPHUT 
OF  TITHE. 

"  The  parting  Genius  iS  with  sighing  sent." 

MlLTOB. 

It  is  o'er,  it  is  o'er,  my  reign  is  o'er  ; 

I  hear  a  Voice,  from  shore  to  shore. 

From  Dunfanaghy  to  Baltimore, 

And  it  saith,  in  sad,  parsonic  tone, 

••  Great  Tithe  and  Small  are  dead  and  gone  ! " 

Even  now,  I  behold  your  vanishing  wings, 

Ye  Tenths  of  all  conceivable  things, 

"Which  Adam  first,  as  Doctors  deem. 

Saw,  in  a  sort  of  nightmare  dream,' 

After  the  feast  of  fruit  abhorr'd  — 

First  indigestion  on  record  !  — 

Ye  decimate  ducks,  ye  chosen  chicks. 

Ye  pigs  which,  though  ye  be  Catholics, 

Or  of  Calvin's  most  select  deprav'd. 

In  the  Church  must  have  your  bacon  tmr'A  ; 

1  A  reverend  prebendary  of  Ifererord,  in  an  Essajr  on  Um 
Revenues  of  the  Church  of  England,  has  awigned  the  origii 
of  Tithes  to  "some  unrecorded  revehitkin  made  to  AdaiiL* 


f96 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS   POEMS 


Ye  fields,  where  Labor  counts  his  sheaves, 

And,  whatsoever  himself  believes, 

Must  bow  to  th'  Establish' d  Church  belief. 

That  the  tenth  is  always  a  Protestatit  sheaf ;  — 

Ye  calves,  of  which  the  man  of  Heaven 

Takes  Irish  tithe,  one  calf  in  seven  ; ' 

Ye  tenths  of  rape,  hemp,  barley,  flax, 

Egi,'S,*  timber,  milk,  fish,  and  beeswax  ; 

All  things,  in  short,  since  earth's  creation, 

Doom'd,  by  the  Church's  dispensation, 

To  suffer  eternal  decimation  — 

Leaving  the  whole  lay  world,  since  then, 

Bcduc'd  to  nine  parts  out  of  ten  ; 

Or  —  as  we  calculate  thefts  and  arsons  — 

Just  ten  per  cent,  the  worse  for  Parsons  ! 

Alas,  and  is  all  this  wise  device 

For  the  saving  of  souls  thus  gone  in  a  trice  ?  — 

The  whole  put  down,  in  the  simplest  way. 

By  the  souls  resolving  not  to  pay ! 

And  even  the  Papists,  thankless  race. 

Who  have  had  so  much  the  easiest  case  — 

To  pay  for  our  sermons  doom'd,  'tis  true. 

But  not  condemn'd  to  hear  them,  too  — 

(Our  holy  business  being,  'tis  known. 

With  the  ears  of  their  barley,  not  their  own,) 

Even  they  object  to  let  us  pillage, 

By  right  divine,  their  tenth  of  tillage, 

And,  horror  of  horrors,  even  decline 

To  find  us  in  sacramental  wine  ! ' 

It  is  o'er,  it  is  o'er,  my  reign  is  o'er, 

Ah,  never  shall  rosy  Rector  more. 

Like  the  shepherds  of  Israel,  idly  eat, 

And  make  of  his  flock  "  a  prey  and  meat."  * 

No  more  shall  be  his  the  pastoral  sport 

Of  suing  his  flock  in  the  Bishop's  Court, 

Through  various  steps.  Citation,  Libel  — 

Scriptures  all,  but  not  the  Bible  ; 

Working  the  Law's  whole  apparatus, 

To  get  at  a  few  predoom'd  potatoes, 

And  summoning  all  the  powers  of  wig. 

To  settle  the  fraction  of  a  pig  !  — 

Till,  parson  and  all  committed  deep 

Ii  '.he  case  of  "  Shepherds  versus  Sheep," 

llxe  Law  usurps  the  Gofpel's  place. 

And,  on  Sundays,  meeting  face  to  face, 

1  "  The  tenth  calf  is  due  to  the  parson  of  common  right ; 
tnd  if  there  are  seven  he  shall  have  one."  —  Rees's  Cijclo- 
tadia,  art  "  Tithes." 

*  Chaucei  s  Ploughman  complains  of  the  parish  rectors^ 


tut 


'  For  the  tithing  of  a  duck. 
Or  an  apple,  or  an  aye  (egg), 
They  make  him  swear  upon  a  boke  ; 
Thus  they  foulen  Christ's  fay." 


While  Plaintiff  fills  the  preacher's  station. 
Defendants  form  the  congregation. 

So  lives  he.  Mammon's  priest,  not  Heaven's, 

For  tenths  thus  all  at  sixes  and  sevetia, 

Seeking  what  parsons  love  no  less 

Than  tragic  poets  —  a  good  distress. 

Instead  of  studying  St.  Augustin 

Gregory  Nyss.,  or  old  St.  Justin 

(Books  fit  only  to  hoard  dust  in). 

His  reverence  stints  his  evening  readings 

To  learn'd  Reports  of  Tithe  Proceedings, 

Sipping,  the  while,  that  port  so  ruddy, 

Which  forms  his  only  ancient  study  ;-— 

Port  so  old,  you'd  swear  its  tartar 

Was  of  the  age  of  Justin  Martyr, 

And,  had  he  sipp'd  of  such,  no  doubt 

His  martyrdom  would  have  been  —  to  gout. 

Is  all  then  lost  ?  alas,  too  true  — 

Ye  Tenths  belov'd,  adieu,  adieu  ! 

My  reign  is  o'er,  my  reign  is  o'er  — 

Like  old  Thumb's  ghost,  "  I  can  no  morf  " 


THE  EUTHANASIA   OF  VAN. 

"  We  ore  told  that  the  bigots  are  growing  old  and  &rf 
wearing  out.    If  it  be  so,  why  not  let  us  die  in  peace?" 
Lord  Bexley's  Letter  to  the  Freeholders  of  Kent. 

Stop,  Intellect,  in  mercy  stop, 
Ye  curs'd  improvements,  cease ; 

And  let  poor  Nick  V — ns — tt — t  drop 
Into  his  grave  in  peace. 

Hide,  Knowledge,  hide  thy  rising  sun, 
Young  Freedom,  veil  thy  head  ; 

Let  nothing  good  be  thought  or  done. 
Till  Nick  V— ns— tt— t's  dead  ! 

Take  pity  on  a  dotard's  fears. 

Who  much  doth  light  detest ; 
And  let  his  last  few  drivelling  years 

Be  dark  as  were  the  rest. 

You,  too,  ye  fleeting  one-pound  notes. 
Speed  not  so  fast  away  — 

'  Among  the  specimens  laid  before  Parliament  o?  the  son 
of  Church  rates  levied  upon  Catholics  in  Ireland,  waa  l 
charge  of  two  pipes  of  port  for  sacramental  wine. 

♦  Ezekiel,  xxxiv.  10.  —  "Neither  8hall  the  shepherds  feed 
themselves  any  more  ;  for  I  will  deliver  my  dock  from  theil 
mouth,  that  they  may  not  be  meat  f»r  thera  ' 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


69} 


Ye  rags,  on  which  old  Nicky  gloats, 
A  few  months  longer  stay.* 

Together  soon,  or  much  I  err, 
You  both  from  life  may  go  — 

The  notes  unto  the  scavenger, 
And  Nick  —  to  Nick  below. 

Ye  Liberals,  what'er  your  plan. 
Be  all  reforms  suspended  ; 

In  compliment  to  dear  old  Van, 
Let  nothing  bad  be  mended. 

Ye  Papists,  whom  oppression  wrings. 

Your  cry  politely  cease, 
A.nd  fret  your  hearts  to  fiddle  string* 

That  Van  may  die  in  peace. 

So  shall  he  win  a  fame  sublime 
By  few  old  rag  men  gain'd  ; 

Since  all  shall  own,  in  Nicky's  time. 
Nor  sense,  nor  justice  reign  d. 

So  shall  his  name  through  ages  past, 

And  dolts  ungotten  yet. 
Date  from  "  the  days  of  Nicholas," 

With  fond  and  sad  regret ;  — 

And  sighing,  say,  "  Alas,  had  he 
"  Been  spar'd  from  Pluto's  bowers, 

"  The  blessed  reign  of  Bigotry 
"  And  Rags  might  still  be  ours  !  " 


TO  THE  REVEREND 


ONE   OF  THB    SIXTEEN    BEQUISITIOXISTS   OP   NOT- 

TIXOUAU. 

1838. 

WuKtt  you,  too,  my  •••♦•*,  in  hashes  so 
knowing. 

Of  sauces  and  soups  Aristarchus  profess'd  ! 
A.re  you,  too,  my  savory  Brun8^^•ickcr,  going 

To  make  an  old  fool  of  yourself  with  the  rest  i 

Far  better  to  stick  to  your  kitchen  receipts ; 
And  —  if  you  w  ant  something  to  tease  —  for 
variety. 
Go  study  how  Udc,  in  his  «•  Cookery,"  treats 
Live  eels,  when  he  fits  them  for  polish' d  so- 
ciety. 

1  Peritiine  parcere  chart*. 

*  Th«  on<.\'  way,  Monsieur  Ude  aMurw  ua,  to  get  rid  of 
%.9  oi'  lo  objecciunable  m  this  flsli. 


Just  snuggling  them  in,  'twixt  the  bars  of  th# 
fire. 
He  leaves  them  to  wriggle  and  writhti  on  th« 
coals,* 
Li  a  manner  that  H — ^rn — r  hinuelf  would  ad 
mire. 
And  wish,  'stead  of  Mb,  they  were  CatlviUo 
souls. 

Ude  tells  us,  the  fish  little  sufFering  feels  ; 

While  Papists,  of  late,  have  more  sensitivt 
grown ; 
So,  take  my  advice,  try  your  hand  at  live  eels. 

And,  for  once,  let  the  other  poor  devils  alone. 

I  have  ev'n  a  still  better  receipt  for  your  cook  — 
How  to  make  a  goose  die  of  confirm'd  hepa 
iitis  ;  » 

And,  if  you'll,  for  once,  /e/toto-feelings  o'crlook 
A  well-tortur'd  goose  a  most  capital  sight  is 

First,  catch  him,  alive  —  make  a  good  stead} 
fire— 
Set  your  victim  before  it,  both  logs  beirg 
tied, 
(As,  if  left  to  himself,  he  might  wish  to  retire,) 
And  place  a  large  bowl  of  rich  cream  by  his 
side. 

There  roasting  by  inches,  dry,  fever' d,  and.faini. 
Having  drunk  all  the  cream,  you  so  civilly 
laid,  off. 

He  dies  of  as  charming  a  liver  cotnplaint 
As  ever  sleek  parson  could  wish  a  pie  made  of. 

Besides,  only  think,  my  dear  one  of  Sixteen, 
What  an  emblem  this  bird,  for  the  epicure's 
use  meant. 
Presents  of  the  mode  in  which  Ireland  has  beet 
Made  a  tidbit  for  yours  and  your  brethren'! 
amusement : 

Tied  down  to  the  stake,  while  Yet  Ambs,  as  ihny 
quiver, 
A  slow  fire  of  tyranny  wastes  by  degrees  — 
No  wonder  disease  should  have  swell'd  up  he» 
liver, 
No  wonder  you.  Gourmands,  should  love  hei 
disease. 


*  A  liver  complaint.    The  proeem  hy  which  the  llrMk  , 
geese  are  enlarged  for  the  famoui  PaUs  iifoi*  Cm». 


198 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


IRISH  ANTIQUITIES. 

According  to  some  learn'd  opinions 
The  Irish  once  were  Carthaginians ; 
But,  trusting  more  to  late  descriptions. 
I'd  rather  say  they  were  Egyptians. 
My  reason's  this  :  —  the  Priests  of  Isis, 

When  forth  they  march'd  in  long  array, 
Employ'd,  'mong  other  grave  devices, 

A  Sacred  Ass  to  lead  the  way  j ' 
And  still  thp  antiquarian  traces 

'Mong  Irish  Lords  this  Pagan  plan. 
For  still,  in  all  religious  cases, 

They  put  Lord  R— d— n  in  the  van. 


A  CURIOUS  FACT. 

r.iE   present  Lord  K— ny— n  (the  Peer  who 

writes  letters, 
For  which  the  waste-paper  folks  much  are  his 

debtors) 
Hath  one  little  oddity,  well  worth  reciting. 
Which  puzzleth  observers,  ev'n  more  than  his 

■writing. 
Whenever  Lord  K — ny — n  doth  chance  to  be- 
hold 
A  cold  Apple  pie  —  mind,  the  pie  trntst  be  cold. 
His  Lordship  looks  solemn  (few  people  know 

why), 
And  he  makes  a  low  bow  to  the  said  apple  pie. 
This  idolatrous  act,  in  so  "  vital "  a  Peer, 
Is,  by  most  serious  Protestants,  thought  rather 

queer  — 
Pie  worship,  they  hold,  coming  under  the  head 
(Vide  Crustium,  chap,  iv.)  of  the  Worship  of 

Bread. 
Some  think  'tis  a  tribute,  as  author,  he  owes 
For  the  service  that  pie  crust  hath  done  to  his 

prose ; — 
The  only  good  things  in  his  pages,  they  swear. 
Being  those  that  the  pastry  cook  sometimes  puts 

there. 
Others  say,  'tis  a  homage,  through  pie  crust  con- 

vey'd. 
To    our    Glorious    Deliverer's    much-honor'd 

shade ; 

1  To  this  practice  the  ancient  adage  alludes,  "  Asinus 
^nans  inysteria." 

*  See  the  anecdote,  which  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough 
relates  in  her  Memoirs,  of  this  polite  hero  appropriating  to 
hiaaseir  one  day,  at  dinner,  a  whole  dish  of  green  peas  — 
t^    fird  of  the  season  —  while  the  poor  Princess  Anne,  who 


As  that    Protestant  Hero   (or    Saint,   if    yon 

please) 
Was  as  fond  of  cold  pie  as  he  was  of  green  peas, 
And  'tis  solely  in  loyal  remembrance  of  that, 
My  Lord  K — ny — n  to  apple  pie  takes  oflf  hii 

hat. 
\Vhile  others  account  for  this  kind  salutation 
By  what  Tony  Lumpkin  calls  "  concatenation ;  ' 
A  certain  good  w^ill  that,  from  sympathy's  tie», 
'Twixt  old  Apple  women  and  Orange  men  lie* 

But  'tis  needless  to  add,  these  are  all  vague  sur- 
mises. 
For  thus,  we're  assur'd,  the  whole  matter  arises : 
Lord  K — ny — n's   respected  old    father    (like 

many 
Respected  old  fathers)  was  fond  of  a  penny ; 
And  lov'd  so  to  save,'  that  —  there's  not  the 

least  question  — 
His  death  was  brought  on  by  a  bad  indigestion. 
From  cold  apple  pie  crust  his  Lordship  woula 

stuff  in. 
At  breakfast,  to  save  the  expense  of  hot  muffin. 
Hence  it  is,  and  hence  only,  that  cold  apple  pies 
Are  beheld  by  his  Heir  with  such  reverent  eyes. 
Just  as  honest  King  Stephen  his  beaver  might 

doff 
To  the  fishes  that  carried  his  kind  uncle  off — 
And  while  filial  piety  urges  so  many  on, 
'Tis  pure  apple  pie-ty  moves  my  Lord  K — n- 
y— n. 

NEW-FASHIONED  ECHOES. 
Sir, 
Most  of  your  readers  are,  no  doubt,  acquainted  with  th« 
anecdote  told  of  a  certain,  not  overwise,  judge,  who,  when 
in  the  act  of  delivering  a  charge  in  some  country  court 
house  was  interrupted  by  the  braying  of  an  ass  at  the  door 
«'  What  noise  is  that? "  asked  the  angry  judge.  "  Only  an 
extraordinary  eclu)  there  is  in  court,  my  Lord,"  answered 
one  of  the  counsel. 

As  there  are  a  number  of  such  "extraordinary  echoes" 
abroad  just  now,  you  will  not,  perhaps,  be  unwilling,  Mr. 
Editor,  to  receive  the  following  few  lines  suggested  by  tliem 
Yours,  &,c.  a 

Hue  coeamus,*  ait ;  nullique  libentius  unquam 
Responsura  sono,  Coeamus,  retulit  echo.        Otn 

Thebe  are  echoes,  wc  know,  of  all  sorts. 
From  the  echo,  that  "  dies  in  the  dale," 

was  then  in  a  longing  condition,  sat  by,  vainly  entreating 
with  her  eyes,  for  a  share. 

3  The  same  prudent  propensity  characterizes  his  descend 
ant,  who  (as  is  well  known)  would  not  even  go  to  the  ex 
pense  of  a  dipthong  on  his  father's  monument,  but  had  tU 
inscription  spelled,  economically ,  thus :  —  "Mor$  janua  cite ' 

*  "  Let  us  form  Clubs  " 


SATIRICAL   AND  HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


69V 


To  the  '•  f.iry-tonqu'd  babbler,"  that  sports 
Up  the  tide  of  the  torrent  her  "  tale." 

There  are  echoes  that  bore  us,  like  Blues, 
With  the  latest  smart  mot  they  have  heard; 

ITiere  are  echoes,  extremely  like  shrews, 
leuiiig  nobody  have  the  last  word. 

Ic  the  hogs  of  old  Paddy-land,  too. 
Certain  "  talented  "  echoes  '  there  dwell. 

Who,  on  being  ask'd,  "IIow  do  you  do?" 
Palitely  reply,  "  Pretty  welL" 

But  why  should  I  talk  any  more 
Of  such  old-fashion'd  echoes  as  these, 

When  Britain  has  now  ones  in  store, 
That  transcend  them  by  many  degrees  ? 

For,  of  all  repercussions  of  sound, 
Concerning  which  bards  make  a  pother, 

Ihere's  none  like  that  happy  rebound 
When  one  blockhead  echoes  another ;  — 

WTien  K — ny — n  commences  the  bray, 
And  the  Borough  Duke  follows  his  track ; 

And  loudly  from  Dublin's  sweet  bay, 
R — thd — no  brays,  with  interest,  back  ;  — 

And  while,  of  most  echoes  the  sound 
On  our  ear  by  reflection  doth  fall, 

ITiese  Brunswickcrs  *  pass  the  bray  roiind. 
Without  any  reflection  at  all. 

0  Scott,  were  I  gifted  like  you. 

Who  can  name  all  the  echoes  there  are 
From  Benvoirlich  to  bold  Ben-venue, 
From  Benledi  to  wild  Uamvar  ; 

1  might  track,  through  each  hard  Irish  name, 
The  rebounds  of  this  asinine  strain, 

IZl  from  Neddy  to  Neddy,  it  came 
To  the  chief  Neddy,  K — ny — n,  again  ; 

ftl't^ht  tell  how  it  roar'd  in  R — thd — ne, 

lloiv  from  D — ws — n  it  died  off  genteelly  — 

£low  hollow  it  rung  from  the  crown 
Of  the  fat-pated  Marquis  of  £ — y  ; 

How,  on  hearing  my  Lord  of  Q e, 

Thiiitle  eaters,  the  stoutest,  gave  way, 

iutdonc,  in  their  own  special  line. 
By  the  forty-ass  power  of  his  bray  ! 


Commonly  called  "  Paddy  Blake's  Ecliocs." 
Anli-Catholii  aswKiations,  under  Uie  title  of  Brunswick 


But  no  —  for  so  humble  a  bard 

'Tis  a  subject  too  trying  to  touch  on ; 

Such  noblemen's  names  are  too  hard. 
And  their  noddles  too  soft  to  dwell  much  on 

O  Echo,  sweet  nymph  of  the  hill. 

Of  the  dell,  and  the  deep-sounding  shelyca  ; 
If,  in  spite  of  Narcissus,  you  still 

Take  to  fools  who  are  charm'd  with  thorn.' 
selves, 

^V'ho  knows  but,  some  morning  retiring. 
To  walk  by  the  Trent's  wooded  side. 

You  may  meet  with  N — wc — stle,  admiring 
His  own  lengthen' d  ears  in  the  tide  1 

Or,  on  into  Cambria  straying. 

Find  K — ny — n,  that  double-tongu'd  elf. 
In  his  love  of  aw-cendency,  braying 

A  Brunswick  duet  mth  himself  t 


INCANTATION. 

FBOM  TUB  NEW  THAOEDT  OF  "  TUB  BBimSWICKEllb. 

itas. 

SCENE.  —  PenenJen  Plain.    In  the  middle,  a  caldrm  boilm/r 
Thunder.  —  Enter  tliree  Brunneidcert. 

1st  Bruns. —  TuuiCE  hath  scribbling  K — ny—  b 
scrawl'd, 

2d  Bruns.  —  Once    hath   fool    N — wc — stl« 
bawl'd, 

Zd  Bruns.    ■  B — xl — y  snores  :  —  'tis  time,  'til 
time, 

1st  Bruns.  —  Round  about  the  caldron  go ; 
In  the  pois'nous  nonsense  throw. 
Bigot  spite,  that  long  hath  grown,         • 
Like  a  toad  within  a  stone, 
Sweltering  in  the  heart  of  Sc— It, 
Boil  we  in  the  Brunswick  pot. 

All.  —  Dribble,  dribble,  nonsense  dribble. 
Eld — n,  talk,  and  K — ny — n,  scribble. 

2d  Bruns.  —  Slaver  from  N — wc — stlc's  quiiJ 
In  the  noisome  mess  distil. 
Brimming  high  our  Brunswick  broth 
Both  with  venom  and  with  froth. 
Mix  the  brains  (though  apt  to  hash  ill. 
Being  scant)  of  Lord  M — ntc — shel. 
With  that  malty  stuff  which  Ch— nd— • 
Drivels  as  no  other  man  does 


Clubs,  were  at  this  time  becoming  numerals  both  tB  >.> 
land  and  Irnlojid. 


JOO                                     SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 

Catch  (j.  e.  if  catch  you  can) 

One  idea,  spick  and  span. 

HOW  TO  MAKE  A  GOOD  POLITICIAN, 

From  my  Lord  of  S — 1 — sb — y,  — 

One  idea,  though  it  be 

Whene'er  you're  in  doubt,  said  a  Sage  I  one* 

Smaller  than  the  "  happy  flea," 

knew. 

Wliich  his  sire.  In  sonnet  terse. 

'Twixt   two  lines   of  conduct  which  course   to 

Wedded  to  immortal  verse.* 

pursue. 

Though  to  rob  the  son  is  sin, 

Ask  a  woman's  advice,  and,  whate'er  she  advise, 

Put  his  o)ii  idea  in  ; 

Do  the  very  reverse,  and  you're  sure  to  b»  wiso. 

tnd.  to  keep  it  company, 

Let  that  conjurer  W — nch — Is — a 

Of  the  same  use  as  guides,  are  the  Brunsw'ickot 

Drop  but  haff  another  there. 

throng ; 

If  he  hath  so  much  to  spare. 

In  their   thoughts,  words,   and   deeds,   so   in 

Dreams  of  murders  and  of  arsons. 

stinctively  wrong, 

Hatch'd  in  heads  of  Irish  parsons, 

That,  whatever  they  counsel,  act,  talk,  or  indite, 

Bring  from  every  hole  and  corner, 

Take  the  opposite  course,  and  you're  sure  to  be 

Wl  ere  ferocious  priests,  like  H — m — ^r. 

right. 

Purely  for  religious  good, 

Cry  aloud  for  Papists'  blood, 

So  golden  this  rule,  that,  had  nature  denied 

Blood  for  W — lis,  and  such  old  women. 

you 

At  their  ease  to  wade  and  swim  in. 

The  use  of  that  finger  post,  Reason,  to  guide 

All.  —  Dribble,  dribble,  nonsense  dribble. 

you  — 

B — xl — y,  talk,  and  K — ny — n,  scribble. 

Were  you  even  more  doltish  than  any  giv'n 

3d  Brims.  —  Now  the  charm  begin  to  brew  ; 

man  is. 

Sisters,  sisters,  add  thereto 

More   soft  than  N — wc — stle,  more  twaddling 

Scraps  of  L— thbr — dge's  old  speeches, 

than  Van  is. 

Mix'd  with  leather  from  his  breeches. 

I'd  stake  my  repute,  on  the  following  conditions. 

Rinsings  of  old  B — xl — y's  brains, 

To  make  you  the  soundest  of  sound  politicians 

Ihicken'd  (if  you'll  take  the  pains) 

Place  yourself  near  the  skirts  of  some  high- 

With that  pulp  which  rags  create, 

flying  Tory  — 

In  their  middle,  nympha  state, 

Some    Brunswickcr    parson,   of   port-drinking 

Ere,  like  insects  frail  and  sunny. 

glory,  — 

Forth  they  wing  abroad  as  money. 

Watch  well  how  he  dines,  during  any  great 

There  -  -  the  Hell  broth  we've  enchanted  — 

Question  — 

Now  but  one  thing  more  is  wanted. 

What  makes  him  feed  gayly,  what  spoUs  his 

Squeeze  o'er  all  that  Orange  juice, 

digestion  — 

C keeps  cork'd  for  use. 

And  always  feel  sure  that  his  joy  o'er  n  stew^ 

Which,  to  work  the  better  spell,  is 

Portends  a  clear  case  of  dj'spepsia  to  you. 

Color'd  deep  with  blood  of  , 

Read  him  backwards,  like  Hebrew —  whatevci 

Blood,  of  powers  far  more  various, 

he  wishes. 

Ev'n  than  that  Januarius, 

Or  praises,  note  down  as  absurd,  or  pernicious 

Since  so  great  a  charm  hangs  o'er  it, 

Like   the   folks   of  a  weather   house,   shifting 

England's  parsons  bow  before  it ! 

about. 

All.  —  Dribble,  dribble,  nonsense  dribble. 

When  he's  out,  be  an  In  —  when  he's  in,  be  rb 

B  — xl — y,  talk,  and  K — ny — n,  scribble. 

Out. 

2  i  Bruits.  —  Cool  it  now  with 's  blood. 

Keep  him  always  rovers'd   in  your   thoughts, 

fio  the  charm  is  firm  and  good.                 [Exeunt, 

night  and  day. 

Like    an    Irish  barometer  turn'd    the   wronj 

way: 

>  Alluding  to  a  well-known  lyric  composition  of  the  late 

Marquis,  which,  with  a  Blight  alteration,  might  be  addressed 

"  O,  happy,  happy,  happy  flea, 

Mtiier  to  a  flea  or  a  fly.    For  instance  :— 

If  I  were  you,  or  you  were  me ; 

But  since,  alas !  that  car  not  be, 

*'  O,  happy,  happy,  happy  fly, 

I  must  remain  Lord  S — : — yV 

If  I  were  you,  or  you  were  I." 

SAXnUCAL  AND  HUMOIIOUS  POEilS. 


60i 


If  he's  up,  you  may  swear  that  foul  weather  is 

nigh; 
If  he's  doton,  you  may  look  for  a  bit  of  blue  sky. 
Never  mind  what  debaters  or  journalists  say, 
Only  ask  what  ke  thinks,  and  then  think  t'other 

way. 
Does  he  hate  the  Small-note  Bill  ?  then  firmly 

rely 
Tbe  Small-note  Bill's  a  blessing,  though  you 

don't  know  why. 
ia  Br  jagham  his  aversion }  then  Harry's  your 

man. 
r/uts  he  quake  at  O'Connell  ?  take  doubly  to 

Dan. 
Is  he  all  for  the  Turks  ?  then,  at  once,  take  the 

whole 
Russian  Empire  (Czar,  Cossacks,  and   aU)  to 

your  soul. 
In  short,  whatsoever  he  talks,  thinks,  or  is, 
Be  your  thoughts,  words,  and  essence,  the  con- 
trast of  his. 
Nay,  as   Siamese  ladies  —  at  least  the  polite 

ones  — 
All  paint  their  teeth  black,  'cause  the  devil  has 

white  ones  — 
If  ev'n,  by  the  chances  of  time  or  of  tide, 
Your  Tory,  for  once,  should  have  sense  on  his 

side. 
Even  then  stand  aloof — for,  be  sure  that  Old 

Nick, 
When  a  Tory  talks  sensibly,  means  you   some 

trick. 

Buch  my  recipe  is  —  and,  in  one  single  verse, 
(  shall  now,  in  conclusion,  its  substance  rehearse. 
6e  all  that  a  Bruns-^ckcr  is  not,  nor  could  be. 
And  then  —  you'll  bo  ell  tlist  an  honest  man 
should  be. 


EPISTLE  OF  '.(yNDOLEXCE, 

rSOU  A   SLAVS   LiOUi,   TO   A   COri-QX   lOBD. 

Alas  !  mf  dear  frier  a,  *hat  a  state  of  affairs, 
llcw  unjustly  we  Ixth  are  despoil'd  of  our 
rights  I 
Nat  a  pound  of  olack  flesh  shall  I  leave  to  my 
heirs, 
^(or  must  you  any  more  work  to  death  little 
whites. 

Both  forc'd  tc  submit  to  that  gennral  controller 
Of   King,   I^rds,   and  cotton  mills.   Public 
Opinion, 

No  more  shall  you  beat  with  a  bij;  billy  roller, 
Nor  /  with  the  cart  whip  a.'scrt  my  dominion. 


Whereas,  were  we  suffer'd  to  do  as  we  please 
"With  our  Blacks  and  our  "Whites,  as  of  yor« 
we  were  let. 
We  might  range  them  alternate,  like  harpsichord 
keys. 
And  between  us  thump  out  a  good  piebald 
duct. 

But  this  fun  is  all  over  ;  —  farewell  to  the  zest 
"Which  Slav'ry  now  lends  to  each  teacup  wa 
sip; 
Which  makes  still  the  cruellest  coffee  the  best. 
And  that  sugar  the  sweetest  which  smacks  ot 
the  whip. 

Farewell,  too,  the  Factory's  white  picaninnies  — 
Small,  living  machines,  which,  if  flogg'd  to 
their  tasks. 
Mix  so  well  with  their  namesakes,  the  "  Billies  " 
and  "  Jennies," 
That  which  have   get  souls  in  'em  nobody 
asks  ;  — 

Little  Maids  of  the  Mill,  who,  themselves  but 
Ul  fed, 
Are   oblig'd,   'mong  their  other  benevolent 
cares. 
To  "  keep  feeding  the  scribblers,"  '  — and  bet- 
ter, 'tis  said. 
Than  old  Blackwood  or  Eraser  have  ever  fed 
theirs. 

All  this  is  now  o'er,  and  *-»  dismal  my  loss  is. 
So  hard  'tis  to  part  horn  the  smack  of  th« 
thong. 
That  I  mean  (from  p\ire  lo^-"*  for  the  old  whip- 
ping process). 
To  take  to  wliipp'd  &ylli.bub  nil  my  life  long. 


THE  GHOST  OF  MILTIADES. 
All  quotics  diiiiius  5cn>ti3  exarsit  amavi*! 

Thb  Ghost  of  Miltiades  came  ot  night, 
And  he  stood  by  the  bed  of  the  Benthtimi'^. 
And  ho  piid,  in  a  voice  that  thrill'd  tho  ti'aoM 
'•  If  ever  the  sound  of  Marathon's  name 
"  Hath  lir'd  thy  blood  or  fltish  d  tky  brow, 
"  Lover  oi  Liberty,  roi:sG  thee  no-y  I  " 

The  Bentham-tA,  v^wcing,  left  Lis  bed— 
Away  to  tho  Sto^k  Exchange  hs  sped, 

1  One  of  th*  op«rJUliHia  fti  eotoo  uilU  usually  pwfcraN 
b)  diildiea. 


502 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


And  he  found  tJie  Scrip  of  Greece  so  high, 

That  it  fir'd  his  blood,  it  flush'd  his  ej-e, 

And  0,  'twas  a  sight  for  the  Ghost  to  see, 

for  never  wns  (jlrcck  more  Greek  than  he  ! 

And  still  as  the  premium  higher  went, 

His  ecstasy  rose  —  so  much  per  cent. 

I  As  we  see  in  a  glass,  that  tells  the  weather, 

The  heat  and  the  silver  rise  together,) 

And  Liberty  sung  from  the  patriot's  lip, 

While  a  voice  from  his  pocket  whisper'd  "  Scrip!" 

The  Ghost  of  Miltiades  came  again  ;  — 

He  smil'd,  as  the  pale  moon  smiles  through  rain, 

For  his  soul  was  glad  at  that  patriot  strain ; 

(And  poor,  dear  ghost  —  how  little  he  knew 

The  jobs   and  the  tricks   of   the   Philhellene 

crew  !) 
••  Blessings  and  thanks !  "  was  all  he  said, 
Then,  melting  away,  like  a  nightdrcam,  fled  ! 

The  Benthamite  hears  —  amaz'd  that  ghosts 

Could  be  such  fools —  and  away  he  posts, 

A  patriot  still  ?    Ah  no,  ah  no  — 

Goddess  of  Freedom,  thy  Scrip  is  low. 

And,  warm  and  fond  as  thy  lovers  are, 

Thou  triest  their  passion,  when  under  par. 

The  Benthamite's  ardor  fast  decays, 

By  turns  he  weeps,  and  swears,  and  prays, 

And  wishes  the  d — 1  had  Crescent  and  Cross, 

Ere  lie  had  been  forc'd  to  sell  at  a  loss. 

They  quote  him  the  Stock  of  various  nations, 

But,  spite  of  his  classic  associations. 

Lord,  how  he  loathes  the  Greek  quotations  ! 

•»  Who'll  buy  my  Scrip  ?    Who'll  buy  my  Scrip  ?" 

Is  now  the  theme  of  the  patriot's  lip. 

As  he  runs  to  tell  how  hard  his  lot  is 

To  Messrs.  Orlando  and  Luriottis, 

And  says,  "  0  Greece,  for  Liberty's  sake, 

"  Do  buy  my  Scrip,  and  I  vow  to  break 

"  Those  dark,  unholy  bonds  of  thine  — 

•«  If  you'll  only  consent  to  ouy  up  7nine .'" 

The  Ghost  of  Miltiades  came  once  more  ;  — 

Ilis  brow,  like  the  night,  was  lowering  o'er 

And  he  said,  with  a  look  that  flash'd  dismay, 

"  Of  Liberty's  foes  the  worst  are  they, 

••  Who  turn  to  a  trade  her  cause  divine, 

"  And  gamble  for  gold  on  Freedom's  shrine  !  " 

Thus  saying,  the  Ghost,  as  he  took  his  flight, 

Gave  a  Parthian  kick  to  the  Benthamite, 

Whi  '/h  sent  him,  whimpering,  off  to  Jerry  — 

And  vanish'd  away  to  the  Stygian  ferry  ! 


1  "  That  dark   diseased  ichor  which  colored  his  effu- 
iors." — Galt's  Life  of  Byron. 
•  '■'  That  gelatinous  character  of  their  effusions."— /fcid. 


ALARMING  INTELLIGENCE.  —REVOLU- 
TION IN  THE  DICTIONARY.  — ONh 
GALT  AT  THE  HEAD   OF  IT. 

God  preserve  us  !  —  there's  nothing  now  sai'e 
from  assault ;  — 
Thrones  toppling  around,  churches  broughl 
to  the  liammer ; 
And  accounts  have  just  reach'd  uj?  that  one  Mr. 
Gait 
Has  declar'd  open  war  against  English  and 
Grammar  ! 

He  had  long  been  suspected  of  some  such  design, 
And,  the  better  his  wicked  intents  to  arrive  at, 

Had  lately  'mong  C — lb — n's  troops  of  the  line 
(The  penny-a-line  men)  enlisted  as  private. 

There  school'd,  with  a  rabble  of  words  at  com- 
mand, 
Scotch,  English,  and  slang,  in  promiscuous 
alliance. 
He,  at  length,  against  Syntax  has  taken  his  stand, 
And  sets  all  the  Nine  Parts  of  Speech  at  de- 
fiance. 

Next  advices,  no  doubt,  further  facts  will  aff'ord , 
In  the  mean  time  the  danger  most  imminent 
grows. 
He  has  taken  the  Life  of  one  eminent  Lord, 
And  whom  he'll  7iext  murder  the  Lord  only 
knows. 

fFednesday  evening 
Since  our  last,  matters,  luckily,  look  more  se- 
rene ; 
Though  the  rebel,  'tis  stated,  to  aid  liis  de- 
fection. 
Has  seized  a  great  Powder  —  no.  Puff  Magazine, 
And  th'  explosions  are  dreadful  in  every  di- 
rection. 

What  his  meaning  exactly  is,  nobody  knows, 
As  he  talks  (in  a  strain  of  intense  botheration) 

Of  lyrical  "  ichor,"  '  "  gelatinous  '  j,\\/se,' 
And  a  mixture  cjJl'd  amber  immortalization.' 

Now,  ho  raves  of  a  bard  he  once  happen'd  to 
meet. 
Seated  high  "  among  rattlings,"  and  churning 
a  sonnet ;  * 


8  "  The  poetical  embalmment,  or  rather,  amber  immortal- 
ization." —  Jbid. 

*  "  Sitting  amidst  the  anrouda  and  rattlij  g«  churning  an 
inarticulate  melody." — IHi. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


60 


Vow,  talks  of  a  mystery,  wrapp'd  in  a  sheet. 
With  a  halo  (by  way  of  a  nightcap)  upon  it ! ' 

We  shudder  m  tracing  these  terrible  lines  ; 
Something  bad  they  must  mean,  though  we 
can't  make  it  out ; 
Forj  wht'j  3r  may  be  guess'd  of  Gait's  secret 
designs, 
That  they're  all  ^>i/t-£ngli8h  no  Christian  can 
doubt 


RESOLUTIONS 

PASSED   AT   A    LATE    MEETINO   07 

REVERENDS  AND  RIGHT  REVERENDa 

1834. 
Rbsolv'd  —  to  Stick  to  ev'ry  particle 
Of  ev'ry  Creed  and  ev'ry  Article  ; 
Reforming  nought,  or  great  or  little, 
SVc'll  stanchly  stand  by  every  tittle,* 
And  scorn  the  swallow  of  that  soul 
Which  cannot  boldly  bolt  the  whole. 

Resolv'd,  that,  though  St.  Athanasius 
In  damning  souls  is  rather  spacious  — 
Though  wide  and  far  his  curses  fall. 
Our  Church  "  hath  stomach  for  them  all ; " 
And  those  who're  not  content  with  such, 
May  e'en  be  d — d  ten  times  as  much. 

Resolv'd  —  such  liberal  soula  are  we  — 
Though  hating  Nonconformity, 
We  yet  believe  the  cash  no  worse  is 
That  comes  from  Nonconformist  purses. 
Indifferent  whence  the  money  reaches 
The  pockets  of  our  reverend  breeches. 
To  us  the  Jumper's  jingling  penny 
Chinks  with  a  tone  as  sweet  as  any ; 
And  ev'n  our  old  friends  Yea  and  Nay 
May  through  the  nose  forever  pray, 
If  aUo  through  the  nose  they'll  pay. 

Resoly'd,  that  Hooper,'  Latimer,* 
<lsd  Cranmcr,*  all  extremely  err, 

1  "  He  was  a  mystery  in  a  winding  ibeet,  crowned  with 
t  halo."  —OoWm  Life  oj  Byron, 

*  One  of  tlie  'jucstiim*  propounded  to  the  Puritans  in  1573 
wai  — "  Wliotiier  the  Dook  of  Service  was  good  and  godly, 
tvery  tittle  grounded  on  the  Holy  Scripture.'"  On  which 
■n  honert  Uisaenter  len.arks  —  "  Surely  they  liad  a  wonder- 
ful opinion  of  tlieir  Service  Rook  that  there  was  not  a  tittU 
tiirisa  til  it" 

s  Tbey  "  the  Bishops,  *'  know  that  the  primitive 
V,'bnrch  hi!  to  such  Bishops.    Iftlie  fourth  part  of  the  bish- 


In  taking  such  a  low-bred  view 

Of  what  Lords  Spiritual  ought  to  do :  — 

All  owing  to  the  fact,  poor  men, 

That  Mother  Church  was  modest  then. 

Nor  knew  what  golden  eggs  her  goose. 

The  Public,  would  in  time  produce. 

One  Pisgah  peep  at  modern  Durham 

To  for  more  lordly  thoughts  would  stir  'em. 

Resolv'd,  that  when  we.  Spiritual  Lords, 

Whose  income  just  enough  affords 

To  keep  our  Spiritual  Lordships  cosy. 

Are  told,  by  Antiquarians  prosy. 

How  ancient  Bishops  cut  up  theirs. 

Giving  the  poor  tlie  largest  shares  — 

Our  answer  is,  in  one  short  word. 

We  think  it  pious,  but  absurd. 

Those  good  men  made  the  world  their  debtoa 

But  we,  the  Church  reform'd,  know  better ; 

And,  taking  all  that  all  can  pay. 

Balance  th'  accoimt  the  other  way. 

Resolv'd,  our  thanks  profoundly  due  ar» 
To  last  month's  Quarterly  Reviewer, 
Who  proves  (by  arguments  so  clear 
One  sees  how  much  he  holds  per  year) 
That  England's  Church,  though  out  of  date. 
Must  still  be  left  to  lie  in  state. 
As  dead,  as  rotten,  and  as  grand  as 
The  mummy  of  King  Osymandyas, 
All  pickled  snug  —  the  brains  drawn  out*- 
With  costly  cerements  swathed  about,  — 
And  *•  Touch  me  not,"  those  words  terrific, 
Scrawl'd  o'er  her  in  good  hieroglyphic. 


SIR  ANDREW'S  DREAM. 


1S34 


"  Nee  tu  speme  piis  vcnientia  soninia  portis  ■ 
Cum  pia  venerunt  somnia,  iwndus  hnbeiiL" 

PaurcBT.  lib.  iv.  eleg.  7 

As  snug,  on  a  Sunday  eve,  of  late. 
In  his  easy  chair  Sir  Andrew  sate. 
Being  much  too  pious,  as  every  one  know*, 
To  do  aught,  of  a  Sunday  eve,  but  doze, 

opric  remained  unto  the  Bishop,  it  were  sufficient."  —  Oi 
ike  Commandmentii,  p.  72. 

*  "  Since  the  Prelates  were  made  Lords  and  Nobles,  tht 
plough  standeth,  there  is  no  work  done,  tiie  people  starve  " 
—  Lot.  Serm, 

*  "  Of  whom  have  come  all  these  glorious  titles,  style*, 
and  pomps  into  the  Church.  But  I  would  that  I,  and  al 
my  brethren,  the  Bishops,  would  leave  all  our  Ktyloa,  and 
write  the  styles  of  our  offices,"  &.c  —  Ltfe  nf  yammer,  h 
Strype,  .Ij/pendiz. 

*  Part  of  the  process  of  embalmmen* 


He  (Ireamt  a  dream,  dear,  holy  man, 

And  I'll  tell  you  his  dream  as  well  as  I  can. 

He  found  himself,  to  his  great  amaze, 

In  Charles  the  First's  high  Tory  days, 

And  just  at  the  time  that  gravest  of  Courts 

Hod  publish'd  its  Book  of  Sunday  Sports.*  — 

Sunda^j  Sports  !  what  a  thing  for  the  ear 

Of  Andrew,  even  in  sleep,  to  hear  !  — 

It  chanc'd  to  be,  too,  a  Sabbath  day. 

When  the  people  from  church  were  coming 

away ; 
And  Andrew  with  horror  heard  this  song, 
As  the  smiling  sinners  flock' d  along  :  — 
"  Long  life  to  the  Bishops,  hurrah !  hurrah ! 
"  For  a  week  of  work  and  a  Sunday  of  play 
•«  Make  the  poor  man's  life  run  merry  away." 

^  The  Bishops  I  "  quoth  Andrew,  "  Popish,  I 

guess," 
And  he  grinned  with  conscious  holiness. 
But  the  song  went  on,  and,  to  brim  the  cup 
Of  poor  Andy's  grief,  the  fiddles  struck  up  ! 

"  Come,  take    out   the    lasses  —  let's  have  a 
dance  — 
"  For  the  Bishops  allow  us  to  skip  our  fiU, 
'«  Well  knowing  that  no  one's  the  more  in  ad- 
vance 
«'  On  the  road  to  heaven,  for  standing  still. 
"  O,  it  never  was  meant  that  grim  grimaces 
"  Should    SOU'    the    cream    of   a  creed    of 
love; 
«  Or  that  fellows  with  long,  disastrous  faces, 
"  Alone  should  sit  among  cherubs  above. 

"  Then  hurrah  for  the  Bishops,  &c. 

'  •  For  Sunday  fun  we  never  can  fail, 
"  When  the  Church  herself  each  sport  points 
out;  — 

•  Tliere's  May  games,  archery,  Whitsun  ale, 
•■  And  a  May  pole  high  to  dance  about. 

'•  Or,  should  we  be  for  a  pole  hard  driven, 
"  Some  lengthy  saint,  of  aspect  fell, 

•'  With  his  pockets  on  earth,  and  his  nose  in 
heaven, 
"  Will  do  for  a  May  pole  just  aa  well. 

"llien  hurrah  for  the  Bishops,  hurrah  !  hiirrahl 

"  A  week  of  work  and  a  Sabbath  of  play 

•  Make  the  poor  man's  life  run  merry  away." 

1  TUe  Bsoli  of  Sports  drawn  up  by  Bisliop  Moroton  was 
first  put  forth  in  the  reign  of  James  1.,  1618,  and  afterwards 
republished,  at  the  advice  of  Laud,  by  Charles  I.,  1633,  with 
(11  injunction  that  it  sliould  be  "  made  public  by  order  from 
Uie  Bishops."  We  find  it  therein  declared,  that  "  for  his 
|ood  j^'jple's  recreation,  his  Majesty's  pleasure  was,  that 


To  Andy,  who  doesn't  much  deal  in  history, 
This  Sunday  scene  was  a  downright  mysterj'  j 
And  God  knows  where  might  have  er.ded  tha 

joke. 
But,  in  trying  to  stop  the  fiddles,  he  woke. 
And  the  odd  thing  is  (as  the  rumor  goes) 
That  since  that  dream  —  which,  one  would  sup 

pose, 
Should  have  made  his  godly  stomach  rise, 
Even  more  than  ever,  'gainst  Sunday  pies  — 
He  has  view'd  things  quite  with  different  eyes 
Is  beginning  to  take,  on  matters  divine. 
Like  Charles  and  his  Bishops,  the  sporting  line  — 
Is  all  for  Christians  jigging  in  pairs, 
As  an  interlude  'twixt  Sunday  prayers ;  — 
Nay,  talks  of  getting  Archbishop  H — 1 — y 
To  bring  in  a  Bill,  enacting  duly, 
That  all  good  Protestants,  from  this  date, 
May,  freely  and  lawfully,  recreate. 
Of  a  Sunday  eye,  their  spirits  moody, 
With  Jack  in  the  Straw,  or  Punch  and  Judy, 


A  BLUE  LOVE  SONG. 


Air.  —  "Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love.^ 


1K». 


Come  wed  with  me,  and  we  will  write. 

My  Blue  of  Blues,  from  morn  till  night. 

Chased  from  our  classic  souls  shall  be 

All  thoughts  of  vulgar  progeny  ; 

And  thou  shalt  walk  through  smiling  rows 

Of  chubby  duodecimoes. 

While  I,  to  match  thy  products  nearly. 

Shall  lie-in  of  a  quarto  yearly. 

'Tis  true,  cv'n  books  entail  some  trouble , 

But  live  productions  give  one  double. 

Correcting  children  is  such  bother,  — 

While  printers'  dev'ls  correct  the  other. 

Just  think,  my  own  Malthusian  dear. 

How  njuch  more  decent  'tis  to  hear 

From  male  or  female  —  as  it  may  be  — 

"  How  is  your  book  ? "  than  "  How's  yoiu  baby  }  " 

And.  whereas  physic  and  wet  nurses 

Do  much  exhaust  paternal  purses, 

Our  books,  if  rickety,  may  go 

And  be  well  dry  nurs'd  in  the  Row  ; 

after  the  end  of  divine  service  they  should  not  be  disturbed, 
letted,  or  discouraged  from  any  lawful  recreations,  such  ai 
dancing,  either  of  men  or  women,  archery  for  men,  leaping 
vaulting,  or  any  such  harmless  recreations,  nor  having  <A 
May  games,  Whitsun  ales,  or  Morris  dances,  t  r  setUng  uy 
of  May  poles,  or  other  sports  therewith  used,"  fce. 


SATTRICAL  AND   HIIMOROUS  POEMS. 


fOI 


And,  when  God  wills  to  take  them  hence, 
Are  buried  at  the  Row's  expense. 

Besides,  (as  'tis  well  proved  by  thee, 

In  thy  own  Works,  vol.  93,) 

The  march,  just  now,  of  population 

So  much  outstrips  all  moderation, 

That  ev'n  prolific  herring  shoals    • 

Keep  pace  not  with  our  erring  souls.' 

O  far  more  proper  and  well  bred 

To  stick  to  writing  books  instead  ; 

And  show  the  world  how  two  Blue  lovers 

Can  coalesce,  like  two  book  covers, 

(Sheejiskin,  or  calf,  or  such  wise  leather,) 

Lettcr'd  at  back,  and  stitch'd  together. 

Fondly  as  first  the  binder  fix'd  'em. 

With  nought  but  —  literature  betwixt  'em. 


SIJNDAY  ETHICS. 

A.  SCOTCH  ODE. 

puis,  profligate  Londoners,  having  heard  tell 
That  the  Dc'il's  got  emang  ye,  and  fearing 
'tis  true. 
We  ha'  sent  ye  a  mon  wha's  a  match  for  his 

spell, 
A  chiel  o'  our  ain,  that  the  De'il  himsel 
Will  be  glad  to  keep  clear  of,  one  Andrew 
Agnew. 

Bo,  at  least,  ye  may  reckon,  for  ane  day  entire 
In  ilka  lang  week  ye'll  be  tranquil  eneugh. 
As  Auld  Nick,  do  him  justice,  abhors  a  Scotch 

squire. 
An'  would  sooner  gae  roast  by  his  ain  kitchen 
fire 
Than  pass  a  hale  Sunday  wi'  Andrew  Agnew. 

For,  bless  the  gude  mon,  gin  he  had  his  ain  way, 

He'd  na  let  a  cat  on  the  Sabbath  say  "  mew ;  " 

Nae  birdie  maun  whistle,  nac  Iambic  maun  play. 

An'  Phoebus  himsel  could  na  travel  that  day. 

As  he'd  find  a  new  Joshua  in  Andie  Agnew. 

Only  hear,  in  your  Senate,  how  awfu'  he  cries, 
"  Wae,  wae  to  a'  sinners  who  boil  an'  who 
stew  ! 

I 
>  See  "Ella  of  Garveloch." — Garvcloch  being  a  place 
where  there  was  a  large  herring  fishery,  but  where,  as  we 
ue  told  by  the  aiiihot    ■  the  people  increased  much  faxter 
■ban  the  oroduce.'' 


••  Wae,  wae  to  a'  eaters  o'  Sabbath-bak'd  pies, 
••  For  as  surely  again  shall  the  crust  thereof  risi 
"In   judgment  against  ye,"   saith   Andrew 
Agnew ! 

Ye  may  think,  from  a'  this,  that  our  Andic's  th« 
lad 
To  ca'  o'er  the  coals  your  nobcelity,  loo  ; 
That  their  drives,  o'  a  Sunday,  wi'  flunkies,'  %' 

clad 
Like  Shawmen,  behind  'em,  would  mak  the  mon 
mad  — 
But  he's  nae  sic  a  noodle,  our  Andie  Agnew, 

If  Lairds  an'  fine  Ladies,  on  Sunday,  think  right 
To  gang  to  the  dcevil  —  as  maist  o'  em  do  — 
To  stop  them  our  Andie  would  think  na  polite  , 
And  'tis  odds  (if  the  chiel  could  get  ony  thing 
by't) 
But  he'd  follow  'em,  booing,'  would  Andrew 
Agnew. 


AWFUL  EVENT. 

Yes,  W — nch — Is — a  (I  tremble  while  I  pen  U;, 
W — nch — Is — a's  Earl  hath  ctd  the  British  Se*- 

ate  — 
Hath  said  to  England's  Peers,  in  accent  gruff, 
"  That  for  ye  all "  [snapping  his  fingersl.  and 

exit,  in  a  huff  .' 

Disastrous  news !  —  like  that  of   old,   which 

spread 
From  shore  to  shore,  "  our  mighty  Pan  Is  dead," 
O'er  the  cross  benches  (cross  from  beiiig  cross'd'* 
Sounds  the  loud  wail,  "  Our  W — nch — Is — a  ia 

lost  1  " 

Which  of  ye.  Lords,  that  heard  him,  can  forget 

The  deep  impression  of  that  awful  threat, 

"  I  quit  your  house  !  !  "  —  'midst  all  that  his- 

tories  tell, 
I  know  but  one  event  that's  parallel :  — 

It  chanc'd  at  Drury  Lane,  one  Easter  night, 
When  the  gay  gods,  too  blest  to  be  polite, 
Gods  at  their  ease,  like   those  of  leam'd  Lu- 
cretius, 
Laugh' d,  whistled,  groan'd,  uproariously  £toe 
tious  — 

»  Servants  in  livery. 

*  For  the  "  glide  effects  and  uteebtv  ol  booing     tm  vm 
Man  nfthe  World. 


606 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


A  well-drcss'd  member  of  the  middle  gallery, 
Whose  "  ears  polite "  disdain'd  such  low  ca- 

naillerie, 
Rose  in  his  place  —  so  grand,  you'd  almost  swear 
Lord    W— nch— Is— a  himself  stood  towering 

there  — 
And  like  that  Lord  of  dignity  and  now, 
8.iid,   "  Silence,    fellow  s,   or  —  I'll    leave   the 

house !  !  " 

ffow  crook' d  the  gods  this  speech?    Ah  well- 

aday, 
lliat  speech  so  fine  should  be  so  thrown  away ! 
In  vain  did  this  mid  gallery  grandee 
Assert  his  own  two-shilling  dignity  — 
In  vain  he  menac'd  to  withdraw  the  ray 
Df  his  own  full-price  countenance  away  — 
Fun  against  Dignity  is  fearful  odds, 
And  as  the  Lords  laugh  now,  so  giggled  then  the 

gods  ! 


THE  NUMBERING  OF  THE  CLERGY. 

PARODY     ON     SIH     CHARLES     HAX.     WILLIAMS'S 
FAMOUS    ODE, 

"COUS,  CLOE,  AKD  GIVE  HE   SWEET  KISSES." 

•  We  want  more  Churclies  and  more  Clergymen." 

Bishop  of  London's  late  Charge. 
"  Rectoruni  nunierum,  terris  pereuntibus,  augeiit." 
Claudian  in  Evirop. 

Come,  give  us  more  Livings  and  Rectors, 

For,  richer  no  realm  ever  gave  ; 
But  why,  ye  unchristian  objectors, 

Do  ye  ask  us  how  many  we  crave  ? ' 

0,  ttiere  can't  be  too  many  rich  Livings 

For  souls  of  the  Pluralist  kind. 
Who,  despising  old  Cocker's  misgivings. 

To  numbers  can  ne'er  be  confin'd. " 

Count  the  cormorants  hovering  about,' 
At  the  time  their  fish  season  sets  in, 

When  these  models  of  keen  dincrs-out 
Are  preparing  their  beaks  to  begin. 

Conis,  Cloe,  and  give  me  sweet  kisses. 

For  sweeter  sure  never  girl  gav»  , 
But  why,  in  the  midst  of  my  blisses, 

Poyou  ask  me  how  many  I'd  have? 
Tv-r  whilst  I  love  thee  above  measure, 

To  numbers  I'll  ne'er  be  confin'd. 
»  Count  the  bees  that  on  Hybla  are  playing. 

Count  tlie  flowers  that  enamel  its  fields. 
Count  the  flocks.  &,c. 


Count  the  rooks  that,  in  clerical  dresses, 
Flock  round  when  the  laarvcst's  in  play, 

Ana,  not  minding  the  farmer's  distresses, 
Like  devils  in  grain  peck  away. 

Go,  number  the  locusts  in  heaven,* 
On  their  way  to  some  titheable  shore ; 

And  when  so  many  Parsons  you've  given. 
We  still  shall  be  craving  for  more. 

Then,  unless  ye  the  Chtirch  would  submerge,  yt 
Must  leave  us  in  peace  to  augment. 

For  the  wreich  who  could  numbc  *>he  Clergy, 
With  iew  will  be  ever  content ' 


A   SAD   CASE. 


18^4 


"  If  it  be  the  undergraduate  season  at  which  this  rabies  re 
Ugiosa  is  to  be  so  fearful,  what  security  has  Mr.  G— lb — « 
against  it  at  this  moment,  when  his  son  is  actually  ex 
posed  to  the  full  venom  of  an  association  with  r<ssent 
ers.'"  — 7'Ae  Times,  March  S25. 

How  sad  a  case  !  —  just  think  of  it  — 

If  G — lb — n  junior  should  be  bit 

By  some  insane  Dissenter,  roaming 

Through  Granta's  halls,  at  large  and  foaming, 

And  with  that  aspect,  ultra  crabbed 

Which  marks  Dissenters  when  they're  rabid  '. 

God  only  knows  what  mischiefs  might 

Result  from  this  one  single  bite. 

Or  how  the  venom,  once  suck'd  in, 

Might  spread  and  rage  through  kith  and  kin 

Mad  folks,  of  all  denominations. 

First  turn  upon  their  own  relations 

So  that  one  G — lb — n,  fairly  bit, 

Might  end  in  maddening  the  whole  kit, 

Till,  ah,  ye  gods,  we'd  have  to  rue 

Our  G — lb — n  senior  bitten  too  ; 

The  Hychurchphobia  in  those  veins, 

Where  Tory  blood  now  redly  reigns  ;     • 

And  that  dear  man,  who  now  perceives 

Salvation  only  in  lawn  sleeves, 

Might,  tainted  by  such  coarse  infection. 

Run  mad  in  th'  opposite  direction, 

4  Go  number  the  stars  m  (lie  heaven, 

Count  how  many  sands  on  '.he  sho'e; 
When  so  many  kisses  you've  given. 
I  still  shall  be  craving  fur  more. 

•         But  the  wretch  who  can  number  his  kissm.. 
With  few  will  be  ever  content. 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS 


6ft*. 


And  think,  poor  man,  'tis  only  given 
To  linsey  woolsey  to  reach  Heaven  ! 

Just  fancy  what  a  shock  'twould  be 
Our  Q — lb — n  in  his  fits  to  see. 
Tearing  into  a  thousand  particles 
His  3nce-lov'd  IS  me  and  Thirty  Articles; 
(Tli08e  Articles  his  friend,  tlic  Duke,' 
For  U  ispel,  t'otlier  night,  mistook  ;) 
Cursing  cathedrals,  deans,  and  singers  — 
Wishing  the  ropes  might  hang  the  ringers  — 
Pelting  tlie  church  with  blasphemies, 
Even  worse  than  Parson  B — v — rl — y's  ;  — 
And  ripe  for  severing  Church  and  State, 
Like  any  crccdless  reprobate, 
Or  like  that  class  of  Methodists 
Prince  "Waterloo  styles  ••  Atheists  !  " 

Uut  'tis  too  much  —  the  Muse  turns  pale, 
A.nd  o'er  the  picture  drops  a  veil, 
Fraying,  God  save  the  0 — lb — nis  all 
Frcm  mad  Dissenters,  great  and  small ! 


A  DREAM  OF  HINDOSTAN. 

——~  ritum  teneatis,  amicu 

•  The  longer  one  lives,  the  more  one  learns," 

Said  I,  as  off  to  sleep  I  went, 
firmus'd  with  thinking  of  Tithe  concerns,    .  • .  • 
A.nd  reading  a  book,  by  the  Bishop  of  Feuns,' 

On  the  Irish  Church  Establishment. 
iJut.  lo,  in  sleep,  nof  long  I  lay. 

When  Fancy  her  usuid  tricks  began. 
And  1  found  myself  bewitch'd  away 

To  e  goodly  city  in  Ilindostan  — 
A  city,  where  he,  who  dares  to  dine 

On  aught  but  rice,  is  decm'd  a  sinner  ; 
W  here  sheep  and  kine  are  held  divine. 

And,  accordingly  —  never  dress  d  for  dinnei 

'  But  how  is  this  ? "  I  wondering  cried -^ 
As  I  walk'd  tliat  city,  fair  and  wide. 
And  saw,  in  every  marble  street, 

A  row  of  beautiful  butchers'  shops  — 
••  What  moans,  for  men  who  don't  eat  meat, 

••  Tins  grand  display  of  loins  and  chops  ? " 
In  vain  I  ask'd  —  'twas  plain  to  see 
That  nobody  dar'd  to  answer  me. 
8o,  or.,  from  street  to  street  I  strode  ; 
And  you  can't  conceive  ^ow  Ta^iUy  odd 

>  rhe  Duke  of  Wellington  wb    atjled  tbem  "  the  Aiti- 
•'•■I  af  ('**ri-*iaiiitj 


The  butchers  look'd  —  a  roseate  crew, 
Enshrin'd  in  stalls,  with  nought  to  do , 
W^hilp  some  on  a  bench,  half  dozing,  sat, 
And  the  Sacred  Cows  were  not  more  Cat 

Still  pos'd  to  think,  what  all  this  scenn 

Of  sinecure  trade  was  meant  to  mean, 

"  And,  pray,"  ask'd  I  —  "by  whom  is  paid 

The  expense  of  this  strange  masqueradr  > "   - 

"  Th'  expense  !  —  O,  that's  of  course  de&a}  u 

(Said  one  of  these  well-fed  HecatombiTp) 

"  By  yonder  rascally  rice  consumers." 

"  What !  thci/,  wlio  mustn't  eat  meat !  "  — 

"  No  matter 
(And,  while  he  spoke,  his  checks  grew  fatter,^ 
"  The  rogues  may  munch  their  Paddy  crop, 
•'  But  the  rogues  must  still  support  our  shop 
"  And,  depend  upon  it,  the  way  to  treat 

«•  Heretical  stomachs  that  thus  dissent, 
"  Is  to  burden  all  that  won't  eat  meat, 

"  With  a  costly  Meat  Establishuent." 

On  hearing  these  words  so  gravely  said. 

With  a  volley  of  laughter  loud  I  shook  ; 
And  my  slumber  fled,  and  my  dream  was  sped 
And  I  found  I  was  lying  snug  in  bed, 

With  my  nose  in  the  Bishop  of  FKUsa'e  book 


THE  BRUNSWICK  CLUB. 

A  letter  having  been  addressed  to  a  very  distinguished  per 
sona^e,  requesting  him  to  become  the  Patron  of  tfak 
Orange  Club,  a  pullle  answer  was  furtliwith  returned,  n 
which  we  have  been  fortunate  eiiougli  to  obtain  a  copy 

Brimstone  Hall,  September  1.  I8Q(> 
Private.  — Lokd  Belzerub  presents 
To  the  Brunswick  Club  his  compliments. 
And  much  regrets  to  say  that  he 
Cannot,  at  present,  their  Patron  be. 
In  stating  this.  Lord  Bclzebub 
Assures,  on  his  honor,  the  Brunswick  Club^ 
That  'tisn't  from  any  lukewarm  lack 
Of  zeal  or  fire  he  thus  holds  back  — 
As  ev'n  Lord  Coal '  himself  is  not 
For  the  Orange  party  more  red  hot : 
But  the  truth  is,  till  their  Club  affords 
A  somewhat  decenter  show  of  Lords, 
And  on  its  list  of  members  gets 
A  few  less  rubbishy  Baronets, 
Lord  Bclzebub  must  beg  to  be 
Excused  from  keeping  such  company 

*  An  indefatigable  scribbler  of  anti-CatiK  lie  punphklf 
»  Usually  written  "  Cole." 


808 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  TOEMS. 


Who  the  devil,  he  humbly  begs  to  know. 

Art!  Lord  Gl — nd — ne.  and  Lord  D — nlo  ? 

Or  who,  with  «  grain  of  sense,  would  go 

To  sit  and  be  bored  by  Lord  M — yo  ? 

What  living  creature  —  except  his  nurse  — 

For  liOrd  M — ntc — sh—  1  cares  a  nurse, 

Or  thinks  'twould  matter  if  Lord  M — sk — ^rry 

Were  t'other  side  of  the  Stygian  ferry  ? 

Breathes  there  a  man  in  Dublin  town, 

^^Tio'd  give  but  half  of  half  a  crown 

To  save  from  drowning  my  Lord  R — thd — ^ne, 

Or  who  wouldn't  also  gladly  hustle  in 

Lords  R — d — n,  B — nd — n,  C — le,  and  J — c — 

1— n? 
In  short,  though,  from  his  tenderest  years, 
Accustom' d  to  all  sorts  of  Peers, 
Lord  Belzebub  much  questions  whether 
He  ever  yet  saw,  mix'd  together. 
As  'twere  in  one  capacious  tub. 
Such  a  mess  of  noble  silly-bub 
As  the  twenty  Peers  of  the  Brunswick  Club. 
'Tis  therefore  impossible  that  Lord  B. 
Could  stoop  to  such  society, 
Thinking,  he  owns  (though  no  great  prig), 
For  one  in  his  station  'twere  infra  dig. 
But  he  begs  to  propose,  in  the  interim 
(Till  they  find  some  prop'rer  Peers  for  him), 
His  Highness  of  C — mb — d,  as  Sub, 
To  take  his  pLice  at  the  Brunswick  Club  — 
Begging,  meanwhile,  himself  to  dub 
Their  obedient  servant,  Belzebttb. 

It  luckily  happens,  the  R — ^y — ^1  Duke 
Resembles  so  much,  in  air  and  look. 
The  head  of  the  Belzebub  family. 
That  few  can  any  difference  see  ; 
Which  makes  him,  of  course,  the  better  suit 
,  To  serve  as  Lord  B.'s  substitute. 


PROPOSALS  FOR  A  GYN^COCRACY 

AEDSESSED   TO   A   LATE   BADICAl   MEETING. 

1834. 
-  "  Quat  Ipsa  decus  sibi  dia  Camilla 
Delegit  pacisque  bonas  bellique  ministraa." 

Viaoiu 

As  Whig  Reform  has  had  its  range. 

And  none  of  us  are  yet  content. 
Suppose,  my  friends,  by  way  of  change,    • 

We  try  a  Female  Parliament ; 
^d  since,  of  late,  with  he  M.  P.'s 
We've  fared  so  badly,  take  to  she's  — 
Petticoat  patriots,  flounc'd  John  Russells, 
Bnrdetts  in  blonde,  and  Broughams  in  buatlet. 


The  plan  is  startling,  I  confess  — 
But  'tis  but  an  affair  of  dress  ; 
Nor  see  I  much  there  is  to  choose 

'Twixt  Ladies  (so  they're  thorough-bred  onta 
In  ribbons  of  all  sorts  of  hues. 

Or  Lords  in  only  blue  or  red  ones. 

At  least,  the  fiddlers  will  be  winners, 

Whatever  other  trade  advances  ; 
As  then,  instead  of  Cabinet  dinners, 

We'll  have,  at  Almack's,  Cabin'H  dance* 
Nor  let  this  world's  important  questions 
Depend  on  Ministers'  digestions. 

If  Ude's  receipts  have  done  things  ill, 

To  Weippert's  band  they  may  go  better ; 
There's  Lady  *  *,  in  one  quadrille. 

Would  settle  Europe,  if  you'd  let  her : 
And  who  the  deuse  or  asks,  or  cares. 

When  Whigs  or  Tories  have  undone  'em. 
Whether  they've  danc'd  through  State  affaiiA. 

Or  simply,  dully,  cJm'd  upon  'em  i 

Hurrah  then  for  the  Petticoats  ! 

To  them  we  pledge  our  free-born  votes  ; 

We'll  have  all  she,  and  only  she  — 

Pert  blues  shall  act  as  "  best  debatera." 
Old  dowagers  our  Bishops  be. 

And  termagants  our  Agitators. 

K  Vestris,  to  oblige  thi;  nation. 

Her  own  Olympus  will  abandon. 
And  help  to  prop  th'  Administration, 

It  can't  have  better  legs  to  stand  on. 
The  fam'd  Macaulay  (Miss)  shall  show, 

Each  evening,  forth  in  learn'd  oration , 
Shall  move  (midst  general  cries  of  "  O  !  ") 

For  full  returns  of  population  : 
And,  finally,  to  crown  the  whole, 
The  Princess  Olive,'  Royal  soiil. 
Shall  from  her  bower  in  Banco  Regis,  ^ 

Descend,  to  bless  her  faithful  lieges, 
And,  mid  our  Union's  loyal  chorus, 
Reign  jollily  forever  o'er  us. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE    *    •    • 
Sir, 
Having  heard  some  rumors  respecting  the  strange  an* 
awful  visitation  under  which  Lord  H— nl— y  has  for  somt 
time  past  been  suffering,  ii^ consequence  of  his  declared  bos 

1  A  personage,  so  styling  herself,  who  attained  constden 
ble  notoriety  at  that  period. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


600 


;ility  to  "  Riitliems,  Bolos,  duets,"  1  tec,  I  took  the  liberty 
fif  making  inquiries  at  liis  Lordship's  house  this  morning, 
and  lose  no  time  in  transmitting  to  you  such  particulars  as  I 
sould  collect.  It  is  said  that  the  screams  of  his  I<ordship, 
under  the  o|)eration  of  tliii  nightly  concert,  (which  is,  no 
doubt,  some  trick  of  the  Radicals,)  may  be  heard  all  over 
the  neighborhood.  The  female  who  personates  St.  Cecilia 
is  8up|K>spd  to  be  the  oaine  tliat,  la.st  year,  appeared  in  the 
character  n|  Isis,  nl  the  Rotunda.  t|ow  the  cherui-  '..«) 
managed,  I  have  not  yet  ascertained. 

Yours,  itc.  P.  I*. 


LORD  H— NL-Y  AND  ST.   CECII.Ia. 
io  Metii  desrendat  Judicis  •urea.       Robat. 

As  snug  in  his  bed  Lord  H — nl — y  lay. 

Revolving  much  his  own  rcnowr, 
And  hoping  to  add  thereto  a  ray. 

By  putting  duets  and  anthems  down, 

Sudden  a  strain  of  choral  sounds 

Mellifluous  o'er  his  senses  stole  ; 
Whereat  the  Reformer  mutter'd,  "Zounds  !  " 

For  he  loath'd  sweet  music  with  a)l  his  souL 

Then,  starting  up,  he  saw  a  sight 

That  well  might  shock  so  leam'd  a  snorer  — 
Saint  Cecilia,  rob'd  in  light, 

With  a  portable  organ  slung  before  her. 

And  round  were  Cherubs,  on  rainbow  wings, 
Who,  his  Lordship  fear'd,  night  tiro  of  flitting. 

So  begg'd  they'd  sit  —  but  ah  !  poor  thinfjs. 
They'd,  none  of  them,  got  the  means  of  sitting.* 

"  Having  heard,"  said  the  Saint.  "  you're  fond 
of  hymns, 

"  And  indeed,  that  musical  snore  bctray'd  you, 
'  Myself,  and  my  choir  of  cherubims, 

•'  Are  come,  for  a  while,  to  .^erenade  you." 

In  vain  did  the  horrified  II — nl — y  say 

"  'Twas  all  a  mistake  '  —  "  she  was   misdi- 
rected ; " 

And  point  to  a  concert,  over  the  way, 
Where  fiddlers  and  angels  were  expected. 

lu  vain  —  the  Saint  coidd  see  in  his  looks 
(She  civilly  said)  much  tuneful  lore  ; 

So,  at  once,  all  open'd  their  music  books. 

And  herself  and  her  Cherubs  set  off"  at  score. 

I  In  a  work,  on  Church  Reform,  published  by  his  I^rd- 
(hlp  in  I83-Z 

«  "  AsscycT  voiis,  mes  enfans."  —  "  II  n'y  a  pas  de  quel, 
■I.V.  S^igreur." 

H'ptten  at  that  mcmorabk  crisis  when  a  dis^inguiiihed 
77 


I  All  night  duets,  terzets,  quartets, 

,      Nay,  long  quintets  most  dire  to  heai  ; 

I  Ay,  and  old  motets,  and  canzonets. 

And  glees,  in  sets,  kept  boring  his  ear. 

He  tried  to  sleep  —  but  it  wouldn't  do  ; 

So  loud  they  squall'd,  he  muet  attend  to  'em 
Though  Cherubs'  songs,  to  his  cost  he  Itrew, 

Were  like  themselves,  and  had  no  end  to  >in 

C  judgment  dire  on  judges  bold. 

Who  meddle  with  music's  sacred  stf*in».  t 

Judge  Midas  tried  the  same  of  old. 

And   was  punish' d,  like   H — nl — y,  for  hia 
pains. 

Bi't  worse  on  the  modem  judge,  alas  ! 

Is  the  sentence  launch'd  from  Apollo's  throne 
For  M'das  was  given  the  ears  of  an  a.«6. 

While  H — nl — y  ia  doom'd  to  keep  his  own  I 


ADVERTISEMENT.' 


1830 


MissiNo  or  lost,  last  Sunday  night, 
A  Waterloo  coin,  whereon  was  trac'd 

Th'  inscription,  "  Courage  !  "  in  letters  bright, 
Though  a  little  by  rust  of  years  defac'd. 

The  metal  thereof  is  rough  and  hard. 

And  ('tis  thought  of  late)  mix'd  up  with  braat 

But  it  bears  the  stamp  of  Fame's  award, 
And  through  all  Posterity's  hands  will  pas*. 

How  it  was  lost,  God  only  knows. 
But  certain  City  thieves,  they  say, 

Broke  in  on  the  owner's  evening  dose. 
And  filch'd  this  "  gift  of  gods  "  away  ! 

One  ne'er  could,  of  course,  the  Cits  suspect. 
If  we  hadn't,  that  evening,  chanc'd  to  sfc, 

At  the  robbd  man's  door,  a  Mart  elect, 
With  an  eiss  to  keep  her  company. 

Whosoe'er  of  this  lost  treasure  know* 
Is  begg'd  to  state  all  facts  about  it, 

As  the  owner  can't  well  face  his  foes. 

Nor  ev'n  his  friends,  just  now,  without  it. 

Duke,  then  Prime  Minister,  acting  under  the  Inspire  ik«M 
of  Sir  CI— d — s  H— nt— r  and  other  City  wortliieti,  ad riM< 
hi*  .Majesty  to  give  up  his  announced  intentirn  of  (ioina 
with  the  Ijotd  Mayor< 


810 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


And  if  Sir  Clod  will  bring  it  back, 
Like  a  trusty  Baronet,  wise  and  able, 

ff.e  shall  have  a  ride  on  the  whitest  hack ' 
That's  left  in  old  King  George's  stable, 


MISSING. 

Carlton  Terrace,  1832. 

Wheheas,  Lord  ••«•««  de  *•****• 

Left  his  home  last  Saturday, 

And,  though  inquir'd  for,  round  and  round, 

Through  certain  purlieus,  can't  be  found  ; 

And  whereas,  none  can  solve  our  queries 

As  to  where  this  virtuous  Peer  is. 

Notice  is  hereby  giv'n,  that  all 

May  forthwith  to  inquiring  fall, 

As,  once  the  things  well  set  about, 

No  doubt  but  we  shall  hunt  him  oi.t. 

His  Lordship's  mind,  of  late,  they  say, 

Hath  been  in  an  uneasy  way. 

Himself  and  colleagues  not  being  let 

To  climb  into  the  Cabinet, 

To  settle  England's  state  affairs, 

Hath  much,  it  seems,  ttnsettled  theirs ; 

And  chief  to  this  stray  Plenipo 

Hath  been  a  most  distressing  blow. 

Already,  —  certain  to  receive  a 

Well-paid  mission  to  the  Neva, 

And  be  the  bearer  of  kind  words 

To  tyrant  Nick  from  Tory  Lords,  — 

To  fit  himself  for  free  discussion. 

His  Lordship  had  been  learning  Russian ; 

And  all  so  natural  to  him  were 

The  accents  of  the  Northern  bear, 

That,  while  l^s  tones  were  in  your  ear,  you 

Might  swear  you  were  in  sweet  Siberia. 

And  still,  poor  Peer,  to  old  and  young. 

He  goes  on  raving  in  that  tongue  ; 

Tells  you  how  much  you  would  enjoy  a 

Trip  to  Dalnodoubrowskoya  ;  ^ 

Talks  of  such  places,  by  the  score,  on 

As  Oulisfflirmchinagoboron,' 

Ar  d  swears  (for  he  at  nothing  sticks) 

Hat  Russia  swarms  with  Raskol-niks,* 

Hiough  one  such  Nick,  God  knows,  must  be, 

A.  more  thar.  ample  quantity. 

1  Among  other  remarkable  attributes  by  which  Sir 
CI— d— 9  distinguished  himself,  the  dazzling  whiteness  of 
iis  favorite  steed  was  not  tlie  least  conspicuous. 

2  In  tlie  Government  of  Perm. 

8  Territory  belonging  to  the  mines  of  Kolivano-Kosskres- 
wnse. 

♦  The  name  of  a  re'igious  sect  in  Russia.  "II  existe  en 
*'U8ie  phi»l»ur'i  sectes    la  plu?  nombreuse  est  celle  des  Ras- 


Such  are  the  marks  by  which  to  know 
This  stray' d  or  stolen  Plenipo  ; 
And  whosoever  brings  or  sends 
The  unhappy  statesman  to  his  friends. 
On  Carlton  Terrace,  shall  have  thanks, 
And  —  any  paper  but  the  Bank  m 

P.  S.  —  Some  think,  the  disappearanca 
Of  this  our  dijjlomatic  Peer  hence 
Is  for  the  purpose  of  reviewing, 
7n  perso7i,  what-dear  Mig  is  doing. 
So  as  to  'scape  all  telltale  letters 
'Bout  B — s — d,  and  such  abetters,  — 
The  only  "  wretches  "  for  whose  aid* 
Letters  seem  not  to  have  been  made. 


THE  DANCE   OF  BISHOPS; 

OR,    THE    EPISCOPAL   aUADRILLE.® 
Jl  sbeah. 


1(33. 


"  Solemn  dances  were,  on  great  festivals  and  celebrations 
admitted  among  the  primitive  Christians,  in  whxh  evei 
the  Bishops  and  dignified  Clergy  were  performers.  Scai 
iger  says,  that  the  first  Bishops  were  called  Prtrsulesi  fol 
no  other  reason  than  that  they  led  ofT  these  dances."  — 
Cyclop<edia,  art  Dances. 

I've  had  such  a  dream  —  a  frightful  dream  — 
Though  funny,  mayhap,  to  wags  'twill  seem. 
By  all  who  regard  the  Church,  like  us, 
'Twill  be  thought  exceedingly  ominous  ! 

As  reading  in  bed  I  lay  last  night  — 
Which  (being  insured)  is  my  delight  — 
I  happen'd  to  doze  off  just  as  I  got  to 
The  singular  fact  which  forms  my  motto. 
Only  think,  thought  I,  as  I  doz'd  away. 
Of  a  party  of  Churchmen  dancing  the  hay  ! 
Clerks,  curates,  and  rectors,  capering  all, 
With  a  neat-Iegg'd  Bishop  to  open  the  ball ! 

Scarce  had  my  eyelids  time  to  close. 

When  the  scene  I  had  fancied  before  me  rose  — 

An  Episcopal  Hop,  on  a  scale  so  grand 

As  my  dazzled  eyes  could  hardly  stand. 

For,  Britain  and  Erin  clubb'd  their  Sec 

To  make  't  a  Dance  of  Dignities, 

And  I  saw    -  O  brightest  of  Church  evrats  ! 

A  quadrille  of  the  two  Establishments, 

kol-niks,  ou  vrai-croyants."—  G>mba,  Voyage  atins  la  Mv* 
sie  JSeridionale. 

*  "  Heav'n  first  taught  letters  for  some  wretch's  aid.'  Pori 

»  Written  on  the  passilig  cf  the  memorable  Bill,  ia  'J* 
vear  1833,  for  the  abolition  often  Irish  Bishopric* 
1  Laterally,  FirF  Uancen. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


(tli 


Binhop  to  Bishop  vis-fl-vis, 
Pooting  away  prodigiously. 

There  was  Bristol  capering  up  to  Derry, 

And  Cork  with  London  making  merry  ; 

While  huge  Llandaff,  with  a  See,  so  so, 

Was  to  dear  old  Dublin  pointing  his  toe. 

riiere  was  Chester,  hatch'd  by  woman's  smile, 

Performing  a  chaine  des  Dames  in  style ; 

While  he  who,  whene'er  the  Lords'  House  dozes, 

3an  waken  them  up  by  citing  Moses,' 

rhe  portly  Tuam,  was  all  in  a  hurry 

To  set,  en  avant,  to  Canterbury. 

kleantimc,  while  pamphlets  8tuff*d  his  pockets, 

(All  out  of  date,  like  spent  sky  rockets,) 

Our  Exeter  stood  forth  to  caper, 

A.S  high  on  the  floor  as  he  doth  on  paper  — 

Much  like  a  dapper  Dancing  Dervise, 

Who  pirouettes  his  whole  church  service  — 

Performing,  'midst  those  reverend  souls, 

Such  eiUrechats,  such  cabrioles, 

Buch  balonnis,*  such  —  rigmaroles, 

Now  high,  now  low,  now  this,  now  that. 

That  none  could  guess  what  the  dcv'l  he'd  be  at ; 

Though,    watching    his    various    steps,    some 

thought 
That  a  step  in  the  Church  was  all  he  sought 

But  alas,  alas  !  while  thus  so  gay. 

These  rcv'rend  dancers  frisk'd  away, 

Nor  Paul  himself  (not  the  saint,  but  he 

Of  the  Opera  house)  could  brisker  be, 

There  gathered  a  gloom  around  their  glee  — 

A  shadow,  which  came  and  went  so  fast. 

That  ere  one  could  say  •'  'Tis  there,"  'twas  past, 

And,  lo,  when  the  scene  again  was  clear'd. 

Ten  of  the  dancers  had  disappcar'd  ! 

Ten  able-bodied  quadrillcrs  swept 

From  the  hallow'd  floor  where  late  they  stepp'd. 

While  twelve  was  all  that  footed  it  still, 

On  the  Irish  side  of  that  grand  Quadrille ! 

Nor  this  the  worst :  —  still  danc'd  they  on, 
But  the  pomp  was  saddcn'd,  the  smile  was  gone ; 
And  again,  from  time  to  time,  the  same 
Ill-omened  darkness  round  them  came  — 
While  still,  as  the  light  broke  out  anew. 
Their  rai\ks  look'd  less  by  a  dozen  or  two  ; 
Till  ah  !  at  last  there  were  only  found 
fust  Bishops  enough  for  a  four-hands-round; 

I  "  And  what  does  Mooes  say  ?  "  —  One  of  the  ejacula- 
Moni  Willi  wliirh  Iliiii  eminent  prelate  enlivened  lii«  famous 
ipcecli  on  the  Olhulic  question. 

*  A  desrriptiiin  of  the  method  of  executing  this  step  may 
w  usffil  to  future  peifjrmcra  in  the  same  line:  —  "  Ce  pas 


And  when  I  awoke,  impatient  getting, 
I  left  the  last  holy  pair  poussettirv;  ! 

N.  B.  —  As  ladies  in  years,  it  seems, 
Have  the  happiest  knack  at  solving  dreams, 
I  shall  leave  to  my  ancient  feminine  friends 
Of  the  Standard  to  say  what  thU  portends. 


DICK   •   •   •   ♦. 

▲   CEL&&ACTEB. 

Op  various  scraps  and  fragments  built, 

Borrow'd  alike  from  fools  and  wits, 
Dick's  mind  was  like  a  patchwork  quilt. 

Made  up  of  new,  old,  motley  bits  — 
Where,  if  the  Co.  call'd  in  their  shares. 

If  petticoats  their  quota  got. 
And  gowns  were  all  refunded  theirs. 

The  quilt  would  look  but  shy,  God  wOk 

And  thus  he  still,  new  plagiaries  seeking. 

Re  vers' d  ventriloquism's  trick. 
For,  'stead  of  Dick  through  others  speaking, 

'Twas  others  we  heard  speak  through  Dick 
A  Tory  how,  all  bounds  exceeding, 

Now  best  of  Whigs,  now  worst  of  rats ; 
One  day,  with  Malthus,  foe  to  breeding, 

The  next,  with  Sadler,  all  for  brats. 

Poor  Dick  !  —  and  how  else  could  it  be 

With  notions  all  at  random  caught, 
A  sort  of  mental  fricassee. 

Made  up  of  legs  and  wings  of  thought  — 
The  leavings  of  the  last  Debate,  or 

A  dinner,  yesterday,  of  wits. 
Where  Dick  sate  by  and,  like  a  waiter. 

Had  the  scraps  for  perquisites. 


A  CORRECTED  REPORT  OF  SOME  LATH 
SPEECHES. 

"  Then  I  heard  one  saint  speaking,  and  another  aaint  ui» 

unto  that  saint." 

St.  S— ncl — R  rose  and  declar'd  in  sooth. 
That  he  wouldn't  give  sixpence  to  MajTiooth 
He  had  hated  priests  the  whole  of  his  life. 
For  a  priest  was  a  man  who  had  no  wife.* 

ect  compost  de  deux  mouvemcns  difTdrens,  savoir,  pliir,  el 
sauter  sur  un  pied,  et  so  rejetcr  sur  /'autre.'* —  Di'lUn^tairt 
de  Danae,  art.  Contre-tempa. 

*  "  Ho  uhjeclcd  to  the  maintenance  and  education  of  i 
clergy  hound  by  the  particular  vowt  rf  ttlihaey,  tokitk,  m» 


312 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROLS    POEMS. 


And,   having   no   wife,    the   Church    was    his 

mother, 
The  Church  was  his  father,  sister,  and  brother. 
This  being  the  case,  he  was  sorry  to  say. 
That  a  gulf  'twixt  Papist  and  Protestant  lay,' 
Bo  deep  and  wide,  scarce  possible  was  it 
To  say  even  "  how  d'ye  do  ? "  across  it : 
And  though  your  Liberals,  nimble  as  fleas. 
Could  clear  such  gulfs  with  perfect  ease, 
'Twas  a  jump  that  nought  on  earth  could  make 
Your  proper,  heavy-built  Christian  take. 
No,  no,  —  if  a  Dance  of  Sects  mtcst  be, 
He  would  set  to  the  Baptist  willingly,* 
At  the  Independent  deign  to  smirk. 
And  rigadoon  with  old  Mother  Kirk  ; 
Nay  ev'n,  for  once,  if  needs  must  be. 
He'd  take  hands  round  with  all  the  three  ; 
But,  as  to  a  jig  with  Popery,  no,  — 
To  the  Harlot  ne'er  would  he  point  his  toe. 

St.  M — nd — V — le  was  the  next  that  rose,  — 
A  Saint  who  round,  as  pedler,  goes. 
With  his  pack  of  piety  and  prose, 
Heavy  and  hot  enough,  God  knows,  — 
And  he  said  that  Papists  were  much  inclin'd 
To  extirpate  all  of  Protestant  kind. 
Which   he   couldn't,  in  truth,  so  much    con- 
demn, 
Having  rather  a  wish  to  extirpate  them ; 
That  is,  —  to  guard  against  mistake,  — 
'To  extirpate  them  for  their  doctrine's  sake  ; 
A  distinction  Churchmen  always  make,  — 
Insomuch  that,  when  they've  prime  control. 
Though  sometimes  roasting  heretics  whole, 
They  but  cook  the  body  for  sake  of  the  soul. 

Next  jump'd  St.  J — hnst — n  jollily  forth, 
The  spiritual  Dogberry  of  the  North,' 
A  right  "  wise  fellow,  and,  what's  more. 
An  officer,"  *  like  his  type  of  yore  ; 
And  he  ask'd,  if  we  grant  such  toleration, 
Pray,  what's  the  use  of  our  Reformation  ?  * 
What  is  the  use  of  our  Church  and  State  ? 
Our  Bishops,  Articles,  Tithe,  and  Rate  ? 
And   still  as  he  ysU'd  out  "  what's  the  use  ? " 
Old  Echoes,  from  their  cel'.s  recluse 

were,  gave  them  the  church  as  their  only  family,  making  it  fill 
the  -places  of  father  and  mother  and  brother."  —  Debate  on  the 
Grant  to  Maynooth  College,  The  Times,  April  19. 

1  "  It  liad  always  appeared  to  him  that  between  the  Catho- 
Ve  and  Protestant  a  great  gulf  intervened,  which  rendered 
It  impossible,"  &c. 

a  "  The  Baptist  might  acceptably  extend  the  offices  of  re- 
Bgion  to  the  Presbyterian  and  the  Independent,  or  the  metn- 
»er  of  the  Church  of  England  to  any  of  the  other  three ;  but 
»M  C»tUo\k ."  Slc 


Where  they'd  for  centuries  slept,  brcke  xoM«i 
Yelling  responsive,  ••  What's  the  uaef  ' 


MORAL   POSITIONS. 

A    DREAM. 

"  His  Lordship  gaid  that  it  took  a  long  time  for  a  moral  po 
sition  to  tind  its  way  across  the  Atlantic.  He  wns  >eij 
sorry  that  its  voyage  had  been  so  long,"  &c.  —  Spoecl 
of  Lord  Dudley  gnd  Ward  on  Colonial  Slavery,  March  R 

T'other  night,  after  hearing  Lord  Dudley's  ora 
tion, 
(A  treat  that  comes  once  a  year  as  May  day 
does), 
I  dreamt  that  I  saw —  what  a  strange  operation 
A  "  moral  position  "  shipp'd  off  for  Barbadoes 

The  whole  Bench  of  Bishops  stood  by  in  gravo 
attitudes. 
Packing  the  article  tidy  and  neat ;  — 
As  their  Rev'rences  know,  that  in  southerly 
latitudes 
"  Moral  positions  "  don't  keep  very  sweet. 

There  was  B — th — st  arranging  the  custom-house 
pass; 
And,  to  guard  the  frail  package  from  tousing 
and  routing. 
There    stood    my   Lord    Eld — n,   indorsing   it 
"  Glass," 
Though  as  to  which  side  should  lie  upper- 
most, doubting 

The  freight  was,  however,  stow'd  safe  in  the 
hold; 
The  winds  were  polite,  and  the  moon  look'd 
romantic, 
"While  off  in  the  good  ship   "  The  Truth  "  we 
were  roU'd, 
With  our  ethical  cargo,  across  the  Atlantic. 

Long,  dolefully  long,   seem'd   the  voyage  wt 
made ; 
For  "The  Truth,"   at  all  times  but  a  very 
slow  sailer, 

*  "  Could  he  then,  holding  as  he  did  a  spiritual  office  in 
the  Church  of  Scotland,  (cries  of  hear,  and  laughter,)  with 
any  consistency  give  his  consent  to  a  grant  of  money '" 
&c. 

*  "  I  am  a  wise  fellow,  and  which  is  more,  an  officer." 
Much  Ado  about  Nothing. 

5  "  What,  he  asked,  was  the  use  of  the  LeforrnatioD  i 
What  was  the  use  of  the  Articles  of  the  (Church  of  Engianl 
or  of  the  Church  of  Scotlnrd  ?  "  &e. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


6U 


By  friends,  near  as  much  as  by  foes,  is  delay'd, 
Aud  few  come  aboard  her,  though  so  many 
hail  her. 

at  length,  safe  arrived,  I  went  through  "  tans 
and  tret," 
Deliver'd  my  goods  in  the  primest  condition. 
And  next  morning  read,  in  tho  Bndgttown  Ga- 
zette, 
"  Just  arrived  by  •  The  Truth,'  &  ne*  saowd 
position. 

'  The  Captain  "  —  here,  startled  to  find  myself 
nam'd 
As  "  the  Captain  "  —  (a  thing  which,  I  own 
it  with  pain, 
I  through  life  have  avoided,)  I  woke  —  look'd 
asham'd. 
Found  I  toain't  a  captain,  and  doz'd  off  again. 


TUE  MAD  TORY  AND  TIIE   COMET. 

rOCNDED   ON   A    LATB   OUTaESSINO    IKCIOENT. 

«  Matantem  Kgna  coroetein."  Ldcak.i 

Tu  iVGH  all  the  pet  mischiefs  wc  count  upon, 
fail, 
•  Though    Cholera,   hurricanes,   Wellington 
leave  us, 
■•  We've   still  in  reserve,  mighty  Comet,  thy 
tail;  — 
"  Last  hope  of  the  Tories,  wilt  thou  too  de- 
ceive us  ? 

'  No  —  'tis  coming,  'tis  coming,  th'  avenger  is 
nigh ; 
"  Heed,  heed  not,  ye  placemen,  how  Herapath 
flatters  ; 
"  One  whisk  from  that  tail,  as  it  passes  us  by, 
"  Will  settle,  at  once,  all  political  matters ;  — 

*■  Th(  East  India  Question,  the  Bank,  the  Five 
Powers, 
{••  N  ow  turn'd  into  two)  with  their  rigmarole 
Protocols ;  •  - 


Eclipw*  and  comets  have  been  alwajrs  looked  to  aa 
{iMt  changer*  of  administrations.  Thus  Milton,  apeaking 
^f  Uie  fonner :  — 

"  With  fear  of  change 
Perplexing  monarchs." 
utd  in  Btaiius  we  fitid, 

♦♦  Mutant  que  sceptra  conieta.'* 


"  Ha  !  ha  !  yo  goas,  how  tliis  new  friend  of  oun 
"  Will  knock,  right  and  left,  all  diplomacy*! 
what-d'ye-calb  I 

"  Yes,  rather  than  Whigs  at  our  downfall  should 
mock, 
"  Meet  planets,  and  suns,  in  one  general  hus- 
tie! 
"While,  happy  in  vengeance,  we  welcome  tht 
shock 
"  That  shall  jerk  from  their  places.  Grey,  Al- 
thorp,  and  RusselL" 

Thus  spoke  a  mad  Lord,  as,  with  telescope  rais'd« 

His  wild  Tory  eye  on  the  heavens  he  set ; 
And,  though  nothing  destructive  appear'd  as  be 
gaz'd. 
Much  hop'd  that  there  would,  before  Parlia- 
ment  met. 

And  still,  as  odd  shapes  seem'd  to  flit  throu|r> 
his  glass, 
"  Ha  !  there  it  is  now,"  tho  poor  maniac  cries , 
While  his  fancy  with  forms  but  too  monstrous, 
alas! 
From  his  own  Tory  zodiac,  peoples  the  skies  • 

"  Now  I  spy  a  big  body,  good  heavens,  how  big  \ 
"  Whether  Bucky  ^  or  Taurus  I  cannot  well 
say  :  — 
"  And,  yonder,  there's  Eld — n's  old  Chancery 

wig. 
'•  In  its  dusty  aphelion  fast  fading  away. 

"  I  sec,  'mong  those  fatuous  meteors  behind, 

"  L — nd — nd — ry,  in  vacuo,  flaring  about ;  — 
"  While  that  dim  double  star,  of  the  nebuloiu 
kind, 
"Is  the  Gemini,  R — den  and  L — rt — n,  no 
doubt. 

"  Ah,  El— b'r— h  !  'faith,  I  first  thought  'twai 
the  Comet ; 
••  So  like  that  in  Milton,  it  made  me  qtiite  p«]« , 
"  The  head  w^ith  the  same  *  horrid  hf  ir '  *  com- 
ing from  it,    • 
"  And  plenty  of  vapor,  but  —  where  is  thl 
tail?" 

t  See,  for  some  of  tliese  Protocola,  tbe  Anniul  Be^Mta 
for  the  year  1832. 
»  The  D— •  of  B— ck— m. 
*  "  And  from  Ills  horrid  hair 

Shakes  peatileDca  and  war  » 


6U 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS 


/ust  tl.en,  up  aloft  jump'd  the  gazer  elated  — 
For,  lo,  his  bright  glass  a  phenomenon  show'd, 

Which  he  took,  to  be  C — mb — rl — d,  upwards 
translated, 
Instead  of  his  natural  course,  t'other  road  ! 

But  too  awful  that  sight  for  a  spirit  so  shaken,  — 
Down  dropp'd  the  poor  Tory  in  fits  and  gri- 
maces, 
ILen  off  to  the  Bedlam  in  Charles  Street  was 
taken, 
And  is  now  one  of  Halford's  most  favorite 
cases. 

FROM  THE  HON.  HENRY  ,  TO 

LADY  EMMA 

Paris,  March  30,  1832. 
Ynu  bid  me  explain,  my  dear  angry  Ma'amselle, 
How  I  came  thus  to  bolt  without  saying  farewell ; 
And  the  truth  is,  —  as  truth  you  will  have,  my 
sweet  railer,  — 
There  are  two  worthy  persons  I  always  feel 
loath 
Pc  take  leave  of  at  starting,  —  my  mistress  and 
tailor,  — 
As  somehow  one  always  has  scenes  with  them 
both; 
The  Snip  in  ill  humor,  the  Siren  in  tears, 
She  calling  on  Heaven,  and  he  on  th'  attor- 
ney, — 
Till  sometimes,  in  short,  'twixt  his  duns  and  his 
dears, 
A  young  gentleman  risks  being  stopp'd  in  his 
journey. 

But,  to  come  to  the  point,  —  though  you  think, 

I  dare  say. 
That  'tis  debt  or  the  Cholera  drives  me  away. 
Ton  honor  you're  wrong ;  —  such  a  mere  baga- 
telle 
As  a  pestilence,  nobody,  nowadays,  fears ; 
And  the  fact  is,  my  love,  I'm  thus  bolting,  pell- 
mell. 
To  get  out  of  the  way  of  these  horrid  new 
Peers ;  • 
rhis  deluge  of  coronets,  frightful  to  think  of. 
Which  England  is  now,  for  her  sins,  on  the  brink 

of; 
This  coinage  of  nobles,  — coin'd,  all  of  'em,  badly. 
And  sure  to  bring  Counts  to  a  diacoMnt  most 
sadly. 


I  \  new  ueation  of  Peers  was  generally  expectea  at  this 

tUBf 


Only  think,  to  have  Lords  overrunning  the  na 

tion, 
As  plenty  as  frogs  in  a  Dutch  inundation  ; 
No  shelter  from  Barons,  from  Earls  no  proteo 

tion, 
And  tadpole  young  Lords,  too,  in  every  direo 

tion,  — 
Things  created  in  haste,  just  to  make  a  Court 

list  of. 
Two  legs  and  a  coronet  all  they  consist  ol  I 
The   prospect's   quite  frightful,  and  what    Su 

George  R — se 
(My  particular  friend)  says  is  perfectly  true. 
That,  so  dire  the  alternative,  nobody  knows, 
'Twixt  the  Peers  and  the  Pestilence,  what  he's 

to  do ; 
And  Sir  George  even  doubts,  —  could  he  choose 

his  disorder,  — 
'Twixt  coffin  and  coronet,  which  he  would  order 

This  being  the  case,  why,  I  thought,  my  dear 

Emma, 
'Twere  best  to  fight  shy  of  so  curs'd  a  dilemma ; 
And  though  I  confess  myself  somewhat  a  villain, 

To've  left  idol  mio  without  an  addio, 
Console  your  sweet  heart,  and,  a  week  "hence, 
from  Milan 
I'll  send  you  —  some  news  of  Bellini's  last 
trio. 

N.  B.  —  Have  just  pack'd  up  my  travelling  set 
out. 

Things  a  tourist  in  Italy  caji't  go  without  — 

Viz.,  a  pair  of  i/ants  t/ras,  from  old  Houbigant'a 
shop. 

Good  for  hands  that  the  air  ot  Mont  Cenis  might 
chap. 

Small  presents  for  ladies,  —  and  nothing  sc  whee- 
dles 

The  creatures  abroad  as  your  goldcii-ey'd  nee- 
dles. 

A  neat  pocket  Horace,  by  which  folks  are  coz 
en'd 

To  think  one  knows  Latin,  when  —  one,  perhaps, 
doesn't ; 

"With  some  little  book  about  heathen  mythology, 

Just  large  enough  to  refresh  one's  theology  ; 

Nothing  on  earth  being  half  such  a  bore  as 

Not  knowing  the  difFrence  'twixt  Virgins  and 
Floras. 

Once  more,  love,  farewell,  best  regards  to  the 
girls, 

And  mind  you  beware  of  damp  feet  and  ne^ 
Earls. 

Henkt. 


SATIRICAL  AND   ITUMOROUS  POEMS. 


611 


TRIUMrH  OF  BIGOTRY. 

'CoixsoB.  —  We  announced,  in  our  last,  that  Lefroy  and 
Phaw  were  returned.  Tliey  were  chaired  yesterday  ;  the 
Students  of  the  Collette  deleruiiiied,  it  wuuld  seeui,  to  im- 
itate the  mob  in  all  tilings,  harnes»iiig  themselves  to  the 
car,  and  the  Ma-sters  of  Arts  bearing  Orange  flags  'and 
'Mudgeoos  before,  beside,  and  behind  the  cnr." 

Dublin  Evening  Pott,  Dec  20,  1832. 

\  r,  yoke  ye  to  the  bigot's  car, 

Yc  chos'n  of  Alma  Mater's  scions ;  — 
Fleet  chargers  drew  the  God  of  War, 

Great  Cybcle  was  drawn  by  lions, 
And  Sylvan  Pan,  as  Poets  dream. 
Drove  four  young  panthers  in  his  team. 
Thus  classical  L — fr — y,  for  once,  is, 

Thus,  studious  of  a  like  turnout, 
IIj  han;c38e£  young  surking  dnnces, 

To  draw  him,  as  their  Chief,  nboutv 
And  let  the  world  a  picture  see 
Jf  Duhitss  yok'd  to  Bigotry : 
Showing  U3  how  young  College  hacks 
Can  pace  with  bigots  at  their  backs, 
As  though  the  cubs  were  born  to  draw 
8uch  luggage  as  L — fr — y  and  Sh — w. 

0  shade  of  Goldsmith,  shade  of  Swift, 

Bright  spirits  whom,  in  days  of  yore, 
ITiis  Queen  of  Duluess  sent  adrift. 

As  aliens  to  her  foggy  shore  ;  '  — 
Shade  of  our  glorious  Grattan,  too. 

Whose  very  name  her  shame  recalls; 
Whose  effigy  her  bigot  crew 

Revers'd  upon  their  monkish  walls,*  — 
Bear  witness  (lest  the  world  should  doubt) 

To  your  mute  Mother's  dull  renown. 
Then  famous  but  for  Wit  tum'd  oiU, 

And  Eloquence  titrn'd  upside  clown  ; 
But  now  ordain'd  new  wreaths  to  win. 

Beyond  all  fame  of  former  days. 
By  breaking  thus  young  donkeys  in 

To  draw  M.  P.'s,  amid  the  brays 

Alike  of  donkics  and  M.  A.'s  ;  — 
Defying  Oxford  to  surpass  'em 
In  this  aew  "  Gradus  ad  Parnassum  " 


1  See  the  lives  of  these  two  poets  for  the  circumstance* 
mder  which  tliey  left  Dublin  College. 

a  In  the  year  1799,  the  Board  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin, 
Aiouclit  proper,  as  a  mode  cif  expressing  their  disapprobation 
tf  Mr.  Grattan's  uublic  conduct,  to  order  liU  [iortrait,  in  the 


TRANSLAITON  FROM  "raE  GULL 
LANGUAGE. 


Scri;>ta  maneL 


U3S 


'TwAS  graved  on  the  Stone  of  Destiny,' 

In  letters  four,  and  letters  three  ; 

And  ne'er  did  the  King  of  the  Gulls  go  by 

But  those  awful  letters  scar'd  his  eje ; 

For  he  knew  that  a  Prophet  Voice  had  said, 

"  As  long  as  those  words  by  man  were  read, 

♦'  The  ancient  race  of  the  Gulls  should  ne'er 

"  One  hour  of  peace  or  plenty  share." 

But  years  on  years  successive  flew. 

And  the  letters  still  more  legible  grew,  — 

At  top,  a  T,  an  11,  an  E, 

And  underneath,  D.  E.  B.  T. 

Some  thought  them  Hebrew, —  such  as  Jews, 
More  skill'd  in  Scrip  than  Scripture,  use  ; 
While  some  surmis'd  'twas  an  ancient  way 
Of  keeping  accounts,  (well  known  in  the  dav 
Of  the  fam'd  Didlcrius  Jeremias, 
Who  had  thereto  a  wonderful  bias,) 
And  prov'd  in  books  most  learn' dly  boring, 
'Twas  called  the  Vontick  way  of  scoring. 

Howe'er  this  be,  there  never  were  yet 

Seven  letters  of  the  alphabet. 

That,  'twixt  them,  form'd  so  grim  a  spell. 

Or  scar'd  a  Land  of  Gulls  so  well. 

As  did  this  awful  riddle-me-rce 

Of  T.  H.  E.  D.  E.  B.  T. 

*  «  *  *  « 

Hark  !  —  it  is  struggling  Freedom's  cry  > 

"  Help,  help,  ye  nations,  or  I  die  ; 

"  'Tis  Freedom's  fight,  and,  on  the  field 

♦«  Where  I  expire,  your  doom  is  seal'd." 

The  Gull  King  hears  the  awakening  call, 

He  hath  summon' d  his  Peers  and  Patriots  all. 

And  he  asks,  "  Ye  noble  Gulls,  shall  wc 

"  Stand  basely  by  at  the  fall  of  the  Free, 

•'  Nor  utter  a  curse,  nor  deal  a  blow  ?  " 

And  they  answer,  with  voice  of  thunder,  ••  No  ' 

Out  fly  their  flashing  swords  in  the  air  !  — 
But,  —  why  do  they  rest  suspended  there  ? 
What  sudden  blight,  what  baleful  charm, 
Hath  chill' d  each  eye,  and  check'd  each  arm  • 

Great  Hall  of  the  University,  to  bo  turned  upside  down,  tori 
in  this  position  it  remained  fur  some  time. 

I  Uafail,  or  the  Stone  of  Destiny  —  fot  wbick  »w  WmI 
minster  Abbey. 


516 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


Alas  !  some  withering  hand  hath  thrown 
The  veil  from  off  that  fatal  stone, 
And  pointing  now,  with  sapless  finger, 
Showeth  where  dark  those  letters  linger,  — 
Letters  four,  and  letters  three, 
r.  H.  E.  D.  E.  B.  T. 

At  sight  thereof,  each  lifted  brand 

Powerless  falls  from  every  hand ; 

In  vaia  the  Patriot  knits  his  brow,  — 

Even  talk,  his  staple,  fails  him  now. 

In  vain  the  King  like  a  hero  treads. 

His  Lords  of  the  Treasury  shake  their  heads  ; 

And  to  all  his  talk  of  "  brave  and  free," 

No  ans'ver  getteth  His  Majesty 

But  '•  T.  H.  E.   D.  E.  B.  T." 

In  short,  the  whole  Gull  nation  feels 

They're  fairly  spellbound,  neck  and  heels  ; 

And  so,  in  the  face  of  the  laughing  world. 

Must  e'en  sit  down,  with  banners  furl'd, 

Adjourning  all  their  dreams  sublime 

Of  glory  and  war  to  —  some  other  time. 


NOTIONS   ON  REFORM. 

BY   A    MODEKN   KEFOEMEa. 

Of  &11  the  misfortunes  as  yet  brought  to  pass 
By  this  comet-like  Bill,  with  its  long  tail  of 
speeches, 
The  saddest  and  worst  is  the  schism  which,  alas  ! 
It  has  caused  between  W — th — r — I's  waist- 
coat and  breeches. 

Some  symptoms  of  this  Anti- Union  propensity 
Had  oft  broken  out  in  that  quarter  before  ; 

But  the  breach,  since  the  Bill,  has  attain'd  such 
immensity, 
Daniel  himself  could  have  scarce  wish'd  it 


<■/,  haste  to  repair  it,  ye  friends  of  good  order, 
Ys  Atw — ds  and  W — nns,  ere  the  moment  is 
pass'd ; 
V\Tio  can  doubt  that  we  tread  upon  Anarchy's 
border, 
When  the   ties  that  should  hold  men   are 
loosening  so  fast  ? 

>  It  will  be  recollected  that  the  learned  gentleman  him- 
self boasted,  one  nighi,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  of  having 
lat  in  tte  "ery  cht^lr  which  ti>U  ;"— ->*»«al  lady  had  occu- 
«ied. 

*  Li' tanr  doscription  of  the  effects  oi  :he  tripo^  >n  the 


Make  W — th — r — 1  yield  to  "  some  sort  of  Ra- 
form  " 
(As  we  all  must,  God  he'p  us  !  with  vtrv  wrj 
faces) ; 
And  loud  as  he  likes  let  him  bluster  and  s^^jtro 
About  Corporate  Rights,  so  he'll  only  weai 
braces. 

Should  those  he  now  sports  haxe  been  long  it 
possession. 
And,  like  his  own  borougl ,  the  worse  for  the 
wear. 
Advise  him,  at  least,  as  a  prudent  cor  cession 
To  Intellect's  progress,  to  buy  a  new  pair. 

O,  who  that  e'er  saw  him,  when  vocal  he  stands, 
With  a  look  something  midway  'twixt  Filch's 
and  Lockit's, 
W'hile  still,  to  uispire  him,  his  deeply-thrust 
hands 
Keep    jingling    the  rhino   in  both   breechp« 
pockets  — 

Who  that  ever  has  listen'd  through  groan  and 
through  cough. 
To  the  speeches  inspir'd  by  this  music  of 
pence,  — 
But  must  grieve  that  there's  any  thing  like/oW- 
inff  of 
In  that  great  nether  source  of  his  wit  and  hia 
sense  ? 

Who   that  knows  how  he  look'd  when,  with 
grace  debonair. 
He  began  first  to  court  —  rather  late  in  thi 
season  — 
Or  when,  less  fastidious,  he  sat  in  the  chair 
Of  his  old  friend,  the  Nottingham  Goddcbi 
of  Reason ; ' 

That  Goddess,  whose  borough-likc  virtue  at- 
tracted 
All  mongers  in  both  wares  to  proffer  their  love  ; 
Whose  chair  like  the  stool  of  the  Pythoness  acted, 
As  W — th — r — I's   rants,  ever  since,  go  to 
prove ; * 

Who,  in  short,  would  not  grieve,  if  a  m«n  of  hi« 
graces 
Should  go  on  rejecting,  unwarn'd  by  die  past, 

appearance  and  voice  of  the  sitter,  shows  that  the  sympt3Mi 
are,  at  least,  very  similar: 

Spum^i  tunc  priinum  rabies  vesana  per  on 

Effluit 

tuiiv,  racestus  vastis  uii  >ztii3  in  antiti 


SAIIRICAL   AND   HUMOROUS   PQEMS. 


ri< 


the  "moderate  llcform  "  of  a  pair  of  new  braces, 
Till,  some  day,  —  he'll  all  fall  to  pieces  at  last. 


TORY  PLEDGES. 

I  FtEDGB  myHelf  through  thick  and  thin. 
To  labor  still,  with  zeal  devout, 

To  get  the  Outs,  poor  devils,  in, 
And  turn  the  Ins,  the  wretches,  out. 

I  pledge  myself,  though  much  bereft 
Of  ways  and  means  of  ruling  ill. 

To  make  the  most  of  what  are  left, 
And  stick  to  all  that's  rotten  stiU. 

Though  gone  the  days  of  place  and  pelf, 
And  drones  no  m(.ro  take  all  the  honey, 

I  pledge  myself  to  cram  myself 
With  all  I  can  of  public  money. 

To  quarter  on  that  social  pxine 

My  nephews,  nieces,  sisters,  brothers. 

Nor,  so  toe  prosper,  care  a  curse 
How  much  'tis  at  tV  expense  of  others 

I  pledge  myself,  whenever  Right 
And  Might  on  any  point  divide, 

Not  to  ask  which  is  black  or  white, 
But  take,  at  once,  the  strongest  side. 

For  instance,  in  all  Tithe  discussions, 
I'm  for  the  Reverend  cncroachers  :  — 

I  loathe  the  Poles,  applaud  the  Russians,  — 
Am  for  the  Squires,  agaimt  the  Poachers. 

Betwixt  the  Com  Lords  and  the  Poor 
I've  not  the  slightest  hesitation,  — 

The  People  mi«<  be  starved,  t'  insure 
The  Laud  its  due  remuneration. 

I  pledge  myself  to  be  no  more 

With  Ireland's  wrongs  bepros'd  or  shamm'd ; 
I  vole  her  grievances  a  bore. 

So  she  may  suffer,  and  be  d— d. 

Or  if  she  kick,  let  it  console  us, 
We  still  have  plenty  of  red  coats. 

To  cram  the  CJitirrh,  that  general  bolus, 
Down  any  giv'u  amount  of  liiroats. 

.  Jeaily  love  the  Frankfort  Diet,  — 
Think  newspapers  the  worst  of  crimes  ; 

And  would,  to  give  some  chance  of  quiet« 
Hant;  all  the  writers  of  The  Times ; 
78 


Break  all  their  correspondents'  bones. 
All  authors  of  "  Reply,"  ••  Rejoinder. ' 

From  the  Anti-Tory,  Colonel  J — cs. 
To  the  Anti- Suttee,  Mr.  P— ynd--r. 

Such  are  the  Pledges  I  propose ; 

And  though  I  can't  now  offer  gold, 
There's  many  a  way  of  buying  those 

Who've  but  the  taste  for  being  sold. 

So  here's,  with  three  times  three  hurrah*, 
A  toast,  of  which  you'll  not  complain,— 

"  Long  life  to  jobbing ;  may  the  days 
"  Of  Peculation  shine  again  !  " 


ST.  JEROME  ON  EARTH. 


FIRST  visrr. 


ISW 


As  St.  Jerome,  who  died  some  ages  ago. 
Was  sitting,  one  day,  in  the  shades  below, 
"  I've  heard  much  of  English  bishops,"  quoth  h^ 
"  And  shall  now  take  a  trip  to  earth,  to  see 
•'  How  far  they  agree,  in  their  lives  and  ways, 
«'  With  our  good  old  bishops  of  ancient  day/ 

Ho  had  learn' d  —  but  leam'd  without  misgiv- 
ings— 
Their  love  for  good  living,  and  eke  good  livin(^  >. 
Not  knowing  (as  ne'er  having  taken  degrees) 
That  good  living  means  claret  and  fricassees, 
While  its  plural  means  simply  —  jjluralities. 
*'  From  all  I  hear,"  said  the  innocent  man, 
"  They  are  quite  on  the  good  old  primitive  p!a« 
"  For  wealth  and  pomp  they  little  can  care, 
"  As  they  all  say  •  No '  to  th'  Episcopal  chair  ; 
"  And  their  vestal  virtue  it  well  denotes 
"  That  they  all,  good  men,  wear  petticoats." 

Thus  saying,  post  haste  to  earth  he  hurries. 
And  knocks  at  th'  Archbishop  of  CanterbLry't. 
The  door  Mas  oped  by  a  lackey  in  lace. 
Saying,  "  What's  your  business  with  his  Grace  ?  ' 
"  His  Grace  !  "  quoth  Jerome  —  for  posed  was  he 
Not  knowing  what  tot-t  this  Grace  could  bo  ; 
Whether  Qr&cc  preventing,  G raco  particultWt 
Grace  of  that  breed  called  Quiiujuarticular  *  ^ 
In  short,  he  rummag'd  his  holy  mind, 
Th'  exact  description  of  Grace  to  find, 
^Vhich  thus  could  represented  h* 
By  a  footman  in  full  livery. 

1  Bo  called  Ijrum  tbe  pre  c«e<lijip  c  <1m  971.04  of  Dt^, 


)1S 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


A.t  last,  out  lo  id  ill  a  laugh  he  broke, 
[For  dearly  the  good  saint  lov'd  his  joke ') 
And  said  —  surveying,  as  sly  he  spoke, 
I'he  costly  palace  from  roof  to  base  — 
"  Well,  it  isn't,  at  least,  a  savmff  Grace  !  " 
«•  Umph  !  "  said  the  lackey,  a  man  of  few  words, 
"  Th'  Archbishop  is  gone  to  the  House  of  Lords." 
••  To  the  House  of  the  Lord,  you  mean,  my  son, 
''  For,  ir.  my  time,  at  least,  there  was  but  one  ; 
"  Unless  such  ma.ny -fold  priests  as  these 
'  Seek,  ev'n  in  their  Lord,  pluralities !  "  " 
"  No  time  for  gab,"  qucth  the  man  in  lace, 
Then,  slamming  the  door  in  St.  Jerome's  face, 
With  u  curse  to  the  single  knockers  all, 
NV^ert  to  finish  his  port  in  the  servants'  hall, 
And  propose  a  toast  (humanely  meant 
To  include  even  Curates  in  its  extent) 
*  To  all  as  se^^^es  th'  Establishment." 


ST.  JER03*IE  ON  EARTH. 

SECOND   VISIT. 

This  much  I  dare  say,  that,  since  lording  and  loitering 
hath  coino  up,  preacliiiig  Iiatli  come  down,  contrary  to  the 
Apostles'  times.  For  tliey  preaclied  and  lorded  not ;  and 
now  they  lord  and  preach  not  .....  Ever  since  tlie 
Prelates  were  made  Lords  and  Nobles,  the  plough  stand- 
eth;  there  is  no  work  done,  the  people  starve."  —  Lati- 
mer, Sei-mon  of  the  Plough. 

"  Once  more,"  said  Jerome,  "  I'll  run  up  and 

see 
How  the  Church  goes  on,"  —  and  off  set  he. 
Just  then  the  packet  boat,  which  trades 
Betwixt  our  planet  and  the  shades, 
Had  arrived  below,  with  a  freight  so  queer, 
"  My  eyes  !  "   said  Jerome,   "  what  have  we 

here  ? "  — 
For  he  saw,  Avhen  nearer  he  explor'd. 
They'd  a  cargo  of  Bishops'  wigs  aboard. 
"  They  are  ghosts  of  wigs,"  said  Charon,  "  all 
"  Once  worn  by  nobs  Episcopal.^ 
"  For  folks  on  earth,  who've  got  a  store 
'  Of  cast-off  things  they'll  want  no  more, 
''  Oft  send  them  down,  as  gifts,  you  know, 
•*  To  a  certain  Gentleman  here  below." 


1  Witness  his  well-known  pun  on  the  name  of  his  adver- 
gary  Vigllantius,  whom  lie  calls  facetiously  Dormitanlius. 

2  The  suspicion  attached  to  some  of  the  early  Fathers  of 
being  Arians  in  tlnir  doctrine  would  appear  to  derive  some 
connrniition  froni   his  passage. 

8  The  wig,  which  had  so  long  formed  an  essential  part 
of  the  dress  of  an  English  bishop,  was  at  thi^  time  begui- 
fclng  to  bo  dispensed  with. 


"  A  sign  of  the  times,  I  plainly  see," 
Said  the  Saint  to  himself  as,  pondering,  h« 
Sail'd  off  in  the  death  boat  gallantly. 

Arriv'd  on  earth,  quoth  he,  "  No  moi& 

*'  I'll  affect  a  body,  as  before  ; 

"  For  I  think  I'd  best,  in  the  company 

•'  Of  Spiritual  Lords,  a  spirit  be, 

"  And  glide,  unseen,  from  See  to  See." 

But  O,  to  tell  what  scenes  he  saw,  — 

It  was  more  than  Rabelais'  pen  could  draw 

For  instance,  he  found  Ex — t— r, 

Soul,  body,  inkstand,  all  in  a  stir,  — 

For  love  of  God  ?  for  sake  of  King  ? 

For  good  of  people  ?  —  no  such  thing ; 

But  to  get  for  himself,  by  some  new  trick, 

A  shove  to  a  better  bishopric. 

He  found  that  pious  soul.  Van  M — Id — t, 

Much  with  his  money  bags  bewilder'd ; 

Snubbing  the  Clerks  of  the  Diocese,* 

Because  the  rogues  showed  restlessness 

At  having  too  little  cash  to  touch. 

While  he  so  Christianly  bears  too  much. 

He  found  old  Sarum's  wits  is  gone 

As  his  own  beloved  text  in  John,*  — 

Text  he  hath  prosed  so  long  upon, 

That  'tis   thought  when  ask'd,  at  the  gate  ol 

heaven. 
His  name,  he'll  answer,  "  John,  v.  7." 

*•  But  enough  of  Bishops  I've  had  to-day," 

Said  the  weary  Saint,  —  "I  must  away. 

"  Though    I    own    I    shuuld    like,    before    i 

go, 
*'  To  see  for  once  (as  I'm  ask'd  below 
♦•  If  really  such  odd  sights  exist) 
"  A  regular  sixfold  Pluralist." 
Just  then  he  heard  a  general  cry  - 
"  There's  Doctor  Hodgson  galloping,  by  !  " 
"Ay,  that's  the  man,"  says  the  Stiint,  "to  fol 

low," 
And  off  he  sets,  with  a  loud  view-hoUo, 
At  Hodgson's  heels,  to  catch,  if  he  can, 
A  glimpse  of  this  singular  plural  man. 
But,  —  talk  of  Sir  Boyle  Roche's  bird  !  * 
To  compare  him  with  Hudgson  is  absurd. 


<  See  the  Bisliop's  Letter  to  Clergy  of  his  Uiocese 

»  1  John,  V.  7.    A  text  which,  though  long  given  up  bj 

all  the  rest  of  the  orthodox  world,  is  still  pertinaciously  ad 

hered  to  by  this  Riglit  Kevercnd  scholar. 
•  It  was  a  saying  of  the  well-known  Sir  Doyle,  that  "  I 

man  could  not  be  in  two  places  at  once,  unless  he  was  f 

bird." 


SATllUCAL  AND   HUJ^IOROUS   POEMS. 


CIS 


■«  Which  way,  sir,  pray,  is  the  doctor  gone  ? "  — 

••  He  is  now  at  his  living  at  Hillingdon."  — 

•'  No,  no,  -   you're  out,  by  many  a  mile, 

"  He's  away  at  his  Deanery,  in  Carlisle."  — 

"  Pardon  me,  sir  ;  but  I  understand 

>*  He's  gone  to  his  living  in  Cumberland."  — 

"  God  bless  me,  no,  —  he  can't  be  there  ; 

«  You  must  try  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square." 

rhuA  all  in  vain  the  Saint  inquir'd, 

From  living  to  living,  raock'd  and  tir'd  ;  — 

Twns  Hodgson  here,  'twas  Hodgson  there, 

Twas  Hodgson  nowhere,  every  where  ; 

Till,  fairly  beat,  the  Saint  gave  o'er. 

And  flitted  away  to  the  Stygian  shore, 

To  astonish  the  natives  under  ground 

With  the  comical  things  ho  on  earth  had  found. 


THOUGHTS  ON  TAR  BARRELS. 

(ViOB  Dcscsimov  or  a  latb  FstcJ) 

1832. 

What  a  pleasing  contrivance !  how  aptly  de- 
vifl'd 
'Twixt   tar  and  magnolias    to  puzzle  one's 
noses  ! 
And  how  the  tar  barrels  must  all  be  surpris'J 
To  find  themselves  seated  like  "  Love  among 
roses  ! " 

What  a  pity  we  can't,  by  precautions  like  these, 
Clear  the  air  of  that  other  still  viler  infec- 
tion ; 
That  radical  pest,  that  old  whiggish  disease. 
Of  which  cases,  true  blue,  are  in  every  direc- 
tion. 

Stead  of  barrels,  let's  light  up  an  Auto  da  Fe 
Of  a  few   good  combustible   Lords  of  "the 
Club;" 
They  would  fume,  in  a  trice,  the  Whig  chol'ra 
away, 
And  there's  B— cky  would  bum  like  a  barrel 
of  bub. 

Row  R — d — n  •would  blaze  !  and  what  rubbish 
throw  out ! 
A  volcano  of  nonsense,  in  active  display ; 

1  Tho  M 8  of  II— tf— d'g  FStc From  dread  of  cliol- 

(ra  bis  Lordship  had  ordered  tar  barreU  to  be  burned  in 
•rery  direction 

*  These  verses,  as  well  as  some  others,  that  follow,  (p. 
133;  were  extorted  from  mo  by  lliat  laiiientabla  measure  of 
•h«  Whig  mlit'stry,  tlie  Irish  Cofircion  Act. 


While  V — no,  as  a  butt,  amidst  laughter,  'nould 
spout 
The  hot  nothings  he's  full  of,  all  night  a:j(l  all 
day. 

And    then,   for  »  finish,   there's    0 — mb— d'l 
Duke,  — 
Good  Lord,  how  his  chin  tuft  would  uackl« 
m  air ! 
Unless  (as  is  shrewdly  surmised  from  his  look) 
He's   already  bespoke  for  combustion  elso 
where. 


THE  CONSl/LTATION.* 

"  When  they  do  agree,  their  unanimity  is  wonderful." 

The  Critic 

1853 
Seeiu  discovers  Dr.  Whig  and  Dr.  Tory  in  eonsuUation 
Patient  on  the  floor  between  them 

Dr.  Whiff.  —  Tuis  wild  Irish  patient  does  pestei 

me  so. 
That  what  to  do  with  him,  I'm  curs' d  if  I  know 

I've  promis'd  him  anodynes 

Dr.  Tory.  Anodynes!  —  Stuff. 

Tie  him  down  —  gag  him  well  —  he'll  be  tran- 
quil enough. 
That's  my  mode  of  practice. 

Dr.  Whiff.  True,  quite  in  your  line, 

But  unluckily  not  much,  till  lately,  in  miiie. 

'Tis  so  painful 

Dr.  Tory.  —  Pooh,  nonsense  —  ask  Ude  how 

he  feels. 
When,  for  Epicure  feasts,  he  prepares  his  live 

eels. 
By  flinging  them  in,  'twixt  the  bars  of  the  fire, 
And  letting  them  wriggle  on  there  till  they  lire. 
lie,  too,  says  "  'tis  painful "  —  ♦'  quite  makes  his 

heart  bleed  "  — 
But  "  your  eels  are  a  vile  oleaginous  breed  "  — 
He  would   fain  use  them  gently,  but  Co/.-fry 

says  "  No," 
And  —  in  short  —  eels  were  bom  to  be  ^i-eated 

just  so.' 
'Tifl  the  same  with  these  Irish,  —  wbo're  oddei 

fish  still,  — 
Your  tender  Whig  heart  shrinks  from  using 

them  ill; 

>  This  eminent  artist,  in  the  second  edit  on  of  the  wa'k 
wherein  he  propounds  this  mode  of  piirirylni;  Ills  eels,  prt>- 
{exsea  himself  much  concerned  at  the  cliartio  of  iiihumanit) 
brought  against  his  practice,  but  still  begs  leave  respectfully 
to  repeat  tliat  it  is  the  only  proper  mode  of  preparing  eels  14 
the  ubis. 


I2C 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


1,  myself,  in  my  youth,  ere  I  came  to  get  wise, 
Used,  at  some  operations,  to  blush  to  the  eyes  ; 
But,  in  fact,  my  dear  brother,  —  if  I  may  make 

bold 
To  style  you.  as  Peachum  did  Lockit,  of  old,  — 
We,  Doctors,  rrnist  act  with  the  firmness  of  Ude, 
And,  indifferent  like  him,  —  so  the  fish  is  but 

stew'd,  -  - 
U'Mt  torture  livt  Pats  for  the  general  good. 

[Here  patient  groans  and  kicks  a  little. 
J>r    Whig.  —  But  what,  if  one's  patient's  so 

devilish  perverse, 
Tliat  he  xcon't  be  thus  tortxir'd  ? 

Dr.  Tory.  Coerce,  sir,  coerce. 

You're  a  juy'nile  performer,  but  once  you  bpgin. 
You  can't  think  how  fast  you  may  train  -^ou' 

hand  in: 
And  (smiling)  who  knows  but  o)''  T^ry  may 

take  to  the  shelf. 
With  the  comforting  tl:x)uj'bt  *l.at,  in  place  and 

in  pelf 
He's  succeedod  b-"-  on*"  just  as  —  bad  as  himself  ? 
Dr.    Whip  {loohing  flattered).— V^hx,  to  tell 

vou  ^he  truth,  I've  a  small  matter  here. 
Which  you  help'd  me  to  make  for  my  patient 

last  year,  — 

[^Goes  to  a  cupboard  and  brings  otU 
a  strait  waistcoat  and  gag. 
And  such  rest  I've  enjoy'd  from  liis  raving, 

since  then, 
ITiat  I've  made  up  my  mind  ho  shall  wear  it 

again. 
Dr.  Tory  (embracing  him). —  O,  charming  !  — 

My  dear  Doctor  Whig,  you're  a  treasure. 
Next  to  torturing,  myself,  to  help  you  is  a  pleas- 
ure. [Assisting  Dr.  Whig. 
Give  me  leave  —  I've  some  practice  in  these 

mad  machines ; 
There  —  tighter  —  the  gag  in  the  mouth  by  all 

means. 
Delightful !  —  all's  snug  —  not  a  squeak  need 

you  fear,  — 
Vou  may  now  jjut  your  anodynes  off  till  next 

year, 

[Scene  closes. 


1  See  Edinburgh  ReFiew,  No.  117. 

«'  Your  Lordship,"  says  Mr.  Ov— rt— n,  in  the  Dedica- 

lion  of  l»'s  Poem  to  the  Bishop  of  Chester,  "  has  Icindly  ex- 

Kessed  yt.ur  persuasion  that  my  •  Jluse  will  always  be  a 

ilusc  of  sacred  song,  and  that  it  will  ie  tuned  as  David' i 


TO  THE  REV.   CH— RL— S  OV— RT— N, 

CURATE    OF   EOMALDKIKK. 
4UTn0B  OF  THE    FOEIICAi.  rOBTBAITUES  Cf  THE  CUUBCH 1 


Sweet  singer  of   RomaldVvrJr,   thou  who  art 

reckon'd. 
By  critics  Episcopal,  Da-id  the  Second,' 
If  thus,  as  a  Curate,  so  lofty  your  fiight, 
Only  think,  in  a  r'.ectory,  how  you  would  write ' 
Once  foirly   Ii-BpiT'd    by  the   "  Tithe-crown  d 

i^pjj'j," 
(Wh'   .»'ats,  I  confess  it,  ourr  lay  Phoebus  hol- 

lOW, 

Having  gotten,  besides  the  old  Nine's  inspira 

tion, 
The  Tenth  of  all  eatable  things  in  creation,) 
There's  nothing,  in  fact,  that  a  poet  like  you. 
So  he-}ii}ied  and  he-tenth'd,  couldn't  easily  do. 

Round  the  lips  of  the  sweet-tongued  Athenian 

they  say. 
While  yet  but  a  babe  in  his  cradle  he  lay, 
Wild  honey  bees  swarm' d,  as  a  presage  to  tell 
Of  the  sweet-flowing  words  that  thence  after- 
wards fell. 
Just  so  round  our  Ov — rt — n's  cradle,  no  doubt 
Tenth  ducklings  and  chicks  were  seen  flitting 

about ; 
Goose  embryos,  waiting  their  doom'd  decimation, 
Came,  sliadowing  forth  his  adult  destination, 
And  small,  sucking  tithe  pigs,  in  musical  droves, 
Announc'd  the  Church  poet  whom  Chester  ap- 
proves. 

0  Horace  !  when  thou,  in  thy  vision  of  yore. 
Didst  dream  that  a  snowy-white  plumage  came 

o'er 
Thy  cthercaliz'd  limbs,  stcaUng  downily  on, 
TiU,  by  Fancy's  strong  spell,  thou  wert  turn'd 

to  a  swan,* 
Little  thought' St  thou  such  fate  could  a  poet 

befall, 
Without  any  effort  of  fancy,  at  all ; 
Little    thought'st    thou    the  world   would  ia 

Ov — rt — n  find 
A  bird,  ready  made,  somewhat  different  in  kizd, 
But  as  perfect  as  Michaelmas'  self  could  pr» 

duce. 
By  gods  yclept  anser,  by  mortals  a  goose. 


*  Sophocles. 


album  mutor  in  alitem 

Superni :  nascunturque  leves 
Per  digitos,  humerosque  pl'ima^ 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


ei( 


SCENE 

FSOM  A   FIAT,   ACTED   AT    OXFORD,    CALLED 

"  MATRICULATION." » 

1834. 
tBny  ilneovtrtd  at  a  table,  with  the  Thirty-Nine  Articles 
hthJt  hira.  — Enter  the  Rt.  Rev.  Doctor  Ph— lip— ta.] 

Ih^-'T  r.  —  TuEiiE,  my  lad,  lie  the  Articles  — 

{Boy  begins  to  count  them)  just  thirty-nine  — 

No  occasion   to  count  —  you've  now  only  to 

sign. 
At  Cambridge,  where  folks  are  less  High-chtirch 

than  wc, 
The   whole  Nine-and-Thirty  arc  lump'd  into 

Three. 
Let's  run  o'er  the  items ;  —  there's  Justification, 
Predestination,  and  Supererogation,  — 
Not   forgetting  Salvation  and  Creed  Athana- 

sian, 
Till  we  reach,  at  last.  Queen  Bess's  Ratifica- 
tion, 
fhat's    sufficient  —  now,    sign  —  having    read 

quite  enough, 
.a  "  believe  in  the  full  and  true  meaning 

thereof  ? " 

{Boi/  itares.) 
l>,  a  mere  form  of  words,  to  make  things  smooth 

and  brief,  — 
A  commodious  and  short  make-believe  of  be- 

Uef, 
Wliich  our  Church  has  drawn  up,  in  a  form  thus 

articular, 
To  keep  out,  in  general,  all  who're  particular. 
But  what's  the  boy  doing?  what!  reading  all 

through, 
And   my  luncheon  fast  cooling  !  —  this  never 

will  do. 
Boi/  {poring  over  the  Articles).     Here  arc  points 

which  —  pray,   Doctor,    what's    "Grace 

of  Congrujty  ? " 
Doctor  P.  {sharply).     You'll  find  out,  young 

sir,  when  you've  more  ingenuity. 
At  present,   by  signing,   you  pledge   yourself 

merely, 
Whate'cr  it  may  be,  to  believe  it  sincerely. 
Both  in  dining  and  sigyiing  we  tako  the  same 

plan,  — 
First,  swallow  all  down,  then  digest  —  as  we  can. 

1  "  It  appears  that  «rhen  a  youth  of  fifteen  goea  to  be  ma- 
triculated at  Oxford,  and  is  required  first  to  subscribe  Tliir- 
iy-Nine  Articles  of  Religions  Belief,  this  only  means  that  he 
angages  himself  aflerwardu  to  understand  what  is  now  abovs 
his  compreliension  ;  that  he  expresses  no  asiient  at  all  to 


Boy  {still  reading).     I've  to  gulp,  I  see,  St 
Athanasius's  Creed, 

Which,  I'm  told,  is  a  very  tough  morsel,  iide«d  , 

As  he  damns 

Doctor  P.  {aside).     Ay,  and  to  would  I,  ■will- 
ingly, too, 

All  confounded  particular  young  boobies,  Ukl 
you. 

This  comes  of  Reforming  !  —  all's  o'er  with  ou: 
land. 

When  people  won't  stand  what  they  can't  un- 
derstand ; 

Nor  perceive  that  our  ever-rcver'd  Thirty-Nine 

Were  made,  not  for  men  to  believe,  but  to  at^n. 
lExit  Dr.  P.  in  a  passion 


LATE  TITHE  CASE. 


«•  Sic  V08  non  vobis." 


1833 


"  The  Vicar  of  B — mb — m  desires  me  to  state  that,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  passing  of  a  recent  Act  of  Parliament,  h« 
is  com|)elled  to  adopt  measures  wliich  may  by  some  tx 
confiitlered  harsh  or  precipitate  -,  but,  in  diiti/  to  what  hi 
owes  to  hit  successors,  he  feels  bound  to  preserve  the  ri!;hu 
of  the  vicarage." — Letter  from  Mr.  S,  Poieell,  August  0 

No,  not  for  yourselves,  ye  reverend  men. 

Do  you  take  one  pig  in  every  ten. 

But  for  Holy  Church's  future  heirs, 

Who've  an  abstract  right  to  that  pig,  as  theirs ; 

The  law  supposing  that  such  heirs  male 

Are  already  seized  of  the  pig,  in  tail. 

No,  not  for  himself  hath  B — mh — m's  pric* 

His  "  well  belov'd  "  of  their  pennies  fleec'd : 

But  it  is  that,  before  his  prescient  eyes, 

All  future  Vicars  of  B — mh — m  rise. 

With  their  embryo  daughters,  nephews,  niece^ 

And  'tis  for  them  the  poor  he  fleeces. 

He  heareth  their  voices,  ages  hence, 

Saying,  "  Take  the  pig"  —  "  O  take  the  pence ; " 

The  cries  of  little  Vicarial  dears, 

The  unborn  B — mh — mites,  reach  his  cars « 

And,  did  he  resist  that  soft  appeal, 

lie  would  not  like  a  true-born  Vicar  feel. 

Thou,  too,  Ij — ndy  of  L — ck — ngt — n ! 
A  Rector  true,  if  e'er  there  was  one, 
Who,  for  sake  of  the  Ij — ndies   i  coming  ag«» 
Gripest  the  tenths  of  laborers'  wagf  s.* 

ly,  when  lis  has  studied  the  subject,  to  withdraw  his  pro- 
visional assent." — EJinburffh  Review,  No.  120. 

t  Fourteen  agricultural  laborers  (one  of  whom  rec.ive* 
so  little  as  six  guineas  for  yearly  wages,  one  eight,  one  nine 
another  ten  guineas,  and  the  best  paid  of  the  who  e  not  roor 


wixu  be  signs ;  tnd  tliat  he  is  (or,  ought  'o  be)  at  full  liber   \  than  18L  annually)  were  all.  in  t«e  coutm  of  the  autumn 


522 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


Tis  true,  in  the  pockets  of  ihy  smallclothes 
The  claim' d  "  obvention  "  '  of  fourpence  goes  ; 
But  its  abstract  spirit,  unconfin'd, 
Spreads  to  all  future  Rector-kind, 
Warning  them  all  their  rights  to  wake, 
And  rather  to  face  the  block,  the  stake. 
Than  give  up  their  darling  right  to  take. 
One  grain  of  musk,  it  is  said,  perfumes 
fSo  subtle  its  spirit)  a  thousand  rooms. 
And  a  single  fourpence,  pocketed  well, 
Through  a  thousand  rectors'  lives  will  tell. 
Then  still  continue,  ye  reverend  souls, 
And  still  as  your  rich  Pactolus  rolls. 
Grasp  every  penny  on  every  side. 
From  every  wretch,  to  swell  its  tide  : 
Remembering  still  what  the  Law  lays  down, 
In  that  pure  poetic  style  of  its  own, 
"If  the  parson  in  esse  submits  to  loss,  he 

'  Inflicts  the  same  on  *he  parson  in  posse." 


FOOLS'  PA-RADISE. 

DREAM   THE   FIRST. 

I  HAVE  been,   like  Puck,   I  have  been  in  a 

trice. 
To  a  realm  they  call  Fools'  Paradise, 
Lying  N.  N.  E.  of  the  Land  of  Sense, 
Ajnd  seldom  bless'd  with  a  glimmer  thence. 
But  they  want  it  not  in  this  happy  place. 
Where  a  light  of  its  own  gilds  every  face ; 
Or,  if  some  wear  a  shadowy  brow, 
'Tis   the    wish    to    look    wise,  —  not  knowing 

/low. 
Self-glory  glistens  o'er  all  that's  there. 
The  trees,  the  flowers  have  a  jaunty  air ; 
The  well-bred  wind  in  a  whisper  blows, 
The  snow,  if  it  snowa,  is  couleur  de  rose. 
The  falling  founts  in  a  titter  fall, 
A.nd  the  sun  looks  simpering  down  on  aljl. 

O,  tisn't  in  tongue  or  pen  to  trace 

IT-e  scenes  I  saw  in  that  joyous  place. 

Th.ere  were  Lords  and  Ladies  sitting  together. 

In  converse  sweet,  "  What  charming  weather  ! 

"  You'll  all  rejoice  to  hear,  I'm  sure, 

«  Lord  Charles  has  got  a  good  sinecure ; 

•  And  the  Premier  says,  my  youngest  brother 

'♦  (ilim  in  the  guards)  shall  have  another. 


832,  served  with  demands  of  tithe  at  the  rate  of  4d.  in  the 
ij.  sterling,  on  behalf  iif  the  Rev.  E'.  l^-<ly,  Rector  of  , 
fcc.  &.e.—Tht  TTiniM,  August,  1833. 


"  Isn't  this  very,  very  gallant !  — 
"  As  for  my  poor  old  virgin  aunt, 
"Who  has  lost  her  all,  poor  thing,  at  whist, 
•'  We  must  quarter  her  on  the  Pension  List." 
Thus  smoothly  time  in  that  Eden  roll'd ; 
It  seem'd  like  an  Age  of  real  gold, 
Where  all  who  liked  might  have  a  slice, 
So  rich  was  that  Fools'  Paradise. 

But  the  sport  at  which  most  time  they  spent 
Was  a  puppet  show,  called  Parliament, 
Perform'd  by  wooden  Ciceros, 
As  large  as  life,  who  rose  to  prose. 
While,  hid  behind  them,  lords  and  squires, 
Who  own'd  the  puppets,  puU'd  the  wires; 
And  thought  it  the  very  best  device 
Of  that  most  prosperous  Paradise, 
To  make  the  vulgar  pay  through  the  nose 
For  them  and  their  wooden  Ciceros. 

And  many  more  such  things  I  saw 

In    this    Eden    of    Church,    and    State,    as  J 

Law; 
Nor  e'er  were  known  such  pleasant  folk 
As  those  who  had  the  best  of  the  joke. 
There  were  Irish  Rectors,  such  as  resort 
To  Cheltenham  yearly,  to  drink  —  port, 
And  bumper,    "Long   may   the    Church    er- 

dure. 
May  her  cure  of  amis  be  a  sinecure, 
And  a  score  of  Parsons  to  every  soul  - 
A  mod'rate  allowance  on  the  whole." 
There  were  Heads  of  Colleges,  lying  about* 
From  which  the  sense  had  all  run  out, 
Ev'n  to  the  lowest  classic  lees. 
Till  nothing  was  left  but  quantities ; 
Which  made  them  heads  most  fit  to  be 
Stuck  up  on  a  University, 
Which  yearly  hatches,  in  its  schools, 
Such  flights  of  young  Elysian  fools. 

Thus  all  went  on,  so  snug  and  nice, 

In  this  happiest  possible  Paradise. 

But  plain  it  was  to  see,  alas  ! 

That  a  downfall  soon  must  come  to  pass. 

For  grief  is  a  lot  the  good  and  wise 

Don't  quite  so  much  monopolize. 

But  that,  ("  lapt  in  Elysium  "  as  they  are'i 

Even  blessed  fools  must  have  their  share. 

And  so  it  happen'd  :  — but  what  befell,    ♦ 

In  Dream  the  Second  I  mean  to  tell. 


1  One  ot  tne  various  general  temui  under  which  oblitM<( 
tithes,  &c.  are  comprised. 


SATmiCAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


«2. 


THE  RECTOR  AND  HIS  CURATE;, 

OJi,    OXE   PCVyD   TWO. 

'  I  tnst  we  sliall  part,  as  we  met,  in  pet.ee  and  charity. 
My  last  (wyinent  to  you  paid  your  salary  up  to  the  1st  of 
till!)  niontii.  Since  tliat,  I  owe  you  for  one  nuuitti,  wliicb, 
beirif!  a  long  month,  of  tliirty-one  days,  amounts,  as  near 
as  1  can  calculate,  to  six  pounds  eight  Nhillings.  My 
ftt-ward  returns  you  as  a  debtor  to  the  amount  of  ibtih 
roi'!«of  TB<c  tHiixiMiS  ro«  coi«-*c«E  nauuno,  which 
leaves  mune  trifling  balance  in  my  favor."  —  Letttr  ofDit- 
misjat  from  the  Rev.  Marcus  Beresford  to  hui  Curate,  the 
Hrv.  T.  A.  Lyons. 

The  account  is  balanced —  the  bill  drawn  out  — 
The  debit  and  credit  all  right,  no  doubt  — 
The  Rector,  rolling  in  wealth  and  state. 
Owes  to  his  Curate  six  pound  eight ; 
riie  Curate,  that  least  well  fed  of  men. 
Owes  to  his  Rector  seven  pound  ten. 
Which  makcth  the  balance  clearly  due 
From  Curate  to  Rector,  one  pound  two. 

Ah  balance,  on  earth  unfair,  uneven ! 
lint  sure  to  be  all  set  right  in  heaven, 
Wlicre  bilL*  like  these  will  be  check'd,  some  day. 
And  the  balance  settled  the  other  way  : 
Where  Lyons  the  curate's  hard-wrung  sum 
Will  back  to  his  shade  with  interest  come ; 
And  Marcus,  the  rector,  deep  may  rue 
This  tot,  in  lus  favor,  of  one  pound  two. 


PADDY'S  METAMORPHOSIS.' 

1833. 
About  fifty  years    since,  in   the   days   of  our 
daddies, 
That  plan  was  commenced  which  the  wise 
now  applaud, 
'.)f  shipping  off  Ireland's  most  turbulent  Paddies, 
As  good  raw  material  for  settlers  abroad. 

P  »me  West  India  island,  whose  name  I  forget. 
Was  the  region  then  chos'n  for  this  scheme 
so  romantic  ; 
a  ad  such  the  success  the  first  colony  met, 
•That  a  second,  soon  after,  set  sail  o'er  th'  At- 
lantic. 

dehold  them  now  safe  at  the  long-look'd-for 
shore, 
Sailing  in  between  banks  that  the  Shannon 
•i.it'ht  greet, 

I  i  have  _va..^,  iii  a  pr*r<>dinK  page,  referred  to  this 
B  lib,  as  being  one  of  those  uTung  from  ine  by  the  Irish  Co- 
'4  .liQ  Act  of  inv  fricndd,  tlie  WhiiiS 


And  thinking  of  friends  whom,  but  two  yean 
before, 
They  had  sorrow'd  to  lose,  but  would  soor 
again  meet. 


And,  hark  !  from  the  shore  a  glad  welcome  therr 
came  — 
"Arrah,  Paddy  from   Cork,   is   it  you,  mj 
sweet  boy  1  " 
While  Pat  stood  astounded  to  hear  his  own  namf 
Thus  hail'd  by  black  devils,  who  caper'd  fo' 
joy! 

Can  it  possibly  be  ?  —  half  amazement  —  half 
doubt, 
Pat  listens  again  —  rubb   us  eyes  and  lookt 
steady ; 
Then  heaves  a  deep  sigh,  and  in  horror  yells  ouf 
"  Good  Lord !  only  think,  —  black  and  ruiij 
already  !  " 

Deceiv'dby  that  well-mimick'dbrogue  in  his  ears, 
Pat  read  his  own  doom  in  these  wool-headed 
figures,  t 

And  thought,  what  a  climate,  in  less  than  tw 
years. 
To  turn  a  whole  cargo  of  Pati  into  niggers  ! 

MORAL. 
'Tis  thus,  —  but  alas  !  by  a  i.iar\'el  more  true 

Than  is  told  in  this  rival  of  Ovid's  best  stories. 
Your  Whigs,  when  in  office  a  short  year  or  two. 

By  a  lusus  nature,  all  turn  into  Tories. 

And  thus,  when  I  hear  them  "  strong  meas- 
ures" advise. 
Ere  the  seats  that  they  sit  on  have  time  to  ge! 
steady, 
I  say,  while  I  listen,  with  tears  in  my  eyes, 
"  Good  Lord !  only  think,  —  black  and  curl) 
already  ! " 

COCKER,  ON  CHURCH  REFORM. 


FOUNDED    UPON   SOME    LATE   CALCtlATl' 


83j 


Fine  figures  of  speech  let  youi  .  li^  f.  it  Jow, 
Old  Cocker  has  figures  that  beat  thent  all  hollow 
Though  famed  for  his  rules  Aristotle  may  be. 
In  but  half  of  this  Sago  any  merit  I  sec, 
For,  as  honest  Joe  Hume  says,  the  ••  tottle  "  *  fm 
me  ! 

*  The  total, — so  pronounced  by  ttiis  iiulustrioua  senttof 


B24 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


For  instance,  wliile  others  discuss  and  debate, 
It  ia  tuas  aoout  Bishops  /  ratiocinate. 

In  England,  where,  spite  of  the  infidel's  laughter, 
'Tis  certain  our  souls  arc  look'd  very  well  after, 
Two  Bishops  can  well  (if  judiciously  sunder'd) 
Of  parishes  manage  two  thousand  two  hun- 
dred, — 
Said  number  of  parishes,  under  said  teachers, 
fJontaining  three  miUions  of  Protestant  crea- 
tures, 
So  tliat  each  of  said  Bishops  full  ably  controls 
One  million  and  fi^c  hundred  thousands  of  souls. 
And  now  comes  old  Cocker.    In  Ireland  we're 

told. 
Half  a  million  includes  the  whole  Protestant  fold ; 
If,  therefore,  for  three  million  souls,  'tis  conceded 
Two  proper-sized  Bishops  are  all  that  is  needed, 
Tis  plain,  for  the  Irish  half  million  who  want 

'em, 
One  third  of  one  Bishop  is  just  the  right  quantum. 
And  thus,  by  old  Cocker's  suVime  Rule  of  Three, 
The  Irish  Church  question's  resolv'd  to  a  T  ; 
Keeping  always  that  excellent  maxim  in  view. 
That,  in  saving  men's  souls,  we  must  save  money 
too. 

Nay,  if —  as  St.  Roden  complains  is  the  case  — 
Tlie  half  million  of  soicl  is  decreasing  apace. 
The  demand,  too,  for  bishop  will  also  fall  off, 
Till  the  tithe  of  one,  taken  in  kind,  be  enough. 
But,  as  fractions  imply  that  we'd  have  to  dissect, 
And  to  cutting  up  Bishops  I  strongly  object. 
We've  a  small,  fractious  prelate  whom  well  wo 

could  spare, 
Who  has  just  the  same  decimal  worth,  to  a  hair  ; 
And,  not  to  leave  Ireland  too  much  in  the  lurch, 
We'll  let  her  have  Ex — t — r,  sofe,'  as  her  Church. 


LES  HOMMES  AUTOMATES. 

1834. 
♦  We  are  persuaded  that  this  our  artificial  man  will  not  only 
walk  and  spedk,  and  perform  most  of  the  outward  func- 
tions of  animal  life,  but  (being  wound  up  once  a  week) 
will  perhaps  reason  as  well  as  most  of  your  country  par- 
sons."  —  Memoirs  ofMartinus  Scriblerus,  chap.  xiL 

It  being  an  object  now  to  meet 
With  Parsons  that  don't  want  to  eat, 
Fit  men  to  fill  those  Irish  rectories. 
Which  soon  will  have  but  scant  refectories, 

1  CorporatiOii  bole. 

«  The  materials  of  which  those  Nurembnrg  Savans,  men- 
kroed  by  Scriblerus,  constructed  their  artificial  man- 


It  has  been  suggested,  —  lest  that  Churck, 
Should,  all  at  once,  be  left  in  the  lurch, 
For  want  of  reverend  men  endued 
With  this  gift  of  ne'er  requiring  food,  — 
To  try,  by  waj'  of  experiment,  whether 
There  couldn't  be  made,  of  wood  and  leather, 
(Howe'er  the  notion  may  sound  chimerical,) 
Jointed  figures,  not  lay,^  but  clerical. 
Which,  wound  up  carefully  once  a  week. 
Might  just  like  parsons  look  and  speak. 
Nay  even,  if  requisite,  reason  too, 
As  well  as  most  Irish  parsons  do. 

Th'  experiment  having  succeeded  quite, 

(Whereat  those  Lords  must  much  delight. 

Who've  shown,  by  stopping  the  Church's  food 

They  think  it  isn't  for  her  spiritual  good 

To  be  serv'd  by  parsons  of  flesh  and  blood,'^ 

The  Patentees  of  this  new  invention 

Beg  leave  respectfully  to  mention, 

They  jiow  are  enabled  to  produce 

An  ample  supply,  for  present  use, 

Of  these  reverend  pieces  of  machinery, 

Ready  for  vicarage,  rect'rj',  deanery, 

Or  any  such  like  post  of  skill 

That  wood  and  leather  are  fit  to  fiU. 

N.  B.  —  In  places  addicted  to  arson. 

We  can't  recommend  a  wooden  parson  : 

But,  if  the  Church  any  such  appoints^ 

They'd  better,  at  least,  have  iron  joints. 

In  parts,  not  much  by  Protestants  haunted, 

A  figure  to  hok  at's  all  that's  wanted  — 

A  block  in  black,  to  eat  and  sleep. 

Which  (now  that  the  eating's  o'er)  comes  chei) 

P.  S.  —  Should  the  Lords,  by  way  of  a  treat. 

Permit  the  clergy  again  to  eat. 

The  Church  will,  of  course,  no  longer  need 

Imitation  parsons  that  never  feed  ; 

And  these  tvood  creatures  of  ours  will  sell 

For  secular  purposes  just  as  well  — 

Our  Beresfords,  turn'd  to  bludgeons  stout, 

May,  'stead  of  beating  their  own  about, 

Be  knocking  the  bi;i!UH  of  Papists  out ; 

While  our  smooth  O'Sullivans,  by  all  means. 

Should  transmigrate  into  turning  machines. 


*  The  wooden  models  used  by  paintem  are,  n  it  val 
knowD,  called  "  lay  figures." 


SATmiCAJL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


ff2» 


HOW  TO  MAKE  ONE'S  SELF  A  PEER. 

4CC011DINO    TO   THE    NEWEST   RECEIPT,    AS    DI8- 
rXCSEU    IX    A    LATB    HEBALDIO    WOKX.' 

1834 

Choose  some  title  that's  dormant — the  Peerage 

hath  many  — 
Lord  Baron  of  Shamdos  sounds  nobly  as  any. 
Nt-xt,  catch  a  dead  cousin  of  said  defunct  Peer, 
And  maixy  him,  offhand,  in  some  given  year. 
To  the    daughter   of   somebody,  —  no    matter 

who,  — 
Fig,  the  grocer  himself,  if  you're  hard  run,  will 

do; 
For,  the  Medici  pills  still  in  heraldry  tell. 
And  why  shouldn't  lollypopa  quarter  as  well  ? 
Thus,  having  your  couple,   and   one   a  lord's 

cousin. 
Young  materials  for  peers  may  be  had  by  the 

dozen ; 
And  'tis  hard  if,  inventing  each  small  mother's 

son  of  'era, 
You  can't  somehow  manage  to  prove  yourself 

one  of  'em. 
Should  registers,  deeds,  and  such  matters  re- 
fractory, 
Stand  in  the  way  of  this  lord  manufactory, 
I've  merely  to  hint,  as  a  secret  auricular. 
One  grand  rule  of  enterprise,  —  don't  be  par- 
ticular. 
A  man  who  once  takes  such  a  jump  at  nobility. 
Must  not  mince  the  matter,  like  folks  of  nihility,' 
But  clear  thick  and  thin  with  true  lordly  agility. 

Tis  true,  tc  a  would-be  descendant  from  Kings, 
Parish    registers    sometimes    are    troublesome 

things  ; 
As  oft,  when  the  yision  is  near  brought  about, 
Some  gobhn,  in  shape  of  a  grocer,  grins  out ; 
Or  some  barber,  perhaps,  with  my  Lord  mingles 

bloods, 
And  one's  patent  of  pecr«ge  is  left  in  the  suds. 

But  there  are  ways  —  whei  folks  are  resolv'd  to 

be  lords  — 
Of  cxpurging  cv'n  troublesome  parish  records. 
What  think  ye  of  scissors  ?  depend  on't  no  heir 
Of  a  Shamdos  should  go  unsupplied  with  a  pair, 
As,  whate'er  else  the  learn'd  in  such  lore  may 

invent. 
Your  scissors  does  wonders  in  proving  d  ■•scent. 


1  Tho  r.\i.m  (o  the  barony  or  Chandos  (in  recollect  right) 
f  dranccd  by  tb«  late  Sir  Eg— r— t— r  Br— d— «. 
79 


Yes,  poets  may  sing  of  those  terrible  shears 
With  which  Atropos  snips  off  both  bumpkins 

and  peers, 
But  they're  nought  to  that  weapon  which  shines 

in  the  hands 
Of  some  wo\ild-be  Patrician,  when  proudly  he 

stands 
O'er   the   careless    church-warden's  baptisnuu 

array, 
And  sweeps  at  each  cut  generations  away. 
By  some  babe  of  old  times  is  his  peerage  resisted  ? 
One  snip,  —  and  the  urchin  hath  never  existed  ' 
Does  some  marriage,  in  days  near  the  Flood,  i- 

terfere 
With  his  one  sublime  object  of  being  a  Peer  ? 
Quick  the  shears  at  once  nullify  bridcgrom  and 

bride,  — 
No  such  people  have  ever  liv'd,  married,  or  died ' 

Such  the  newest  receipt  for  those  high-minded 
elves. 

Who've  a  fancy  for  making  great  lords  of  them- 
selves. 

Follow  this,  young  aspirer,  who  pant'st  for  ■ 
peerage. 

Take  S — m  for  thy  model  and  B — z  for  thf 
steerage. 

Do  all  and  much  worse  than  old  Nicholas  Flan 
does. 

And  —  who  knows  but  you'll  be  Lord  Baron  vf 
Shamdos  ? 


IITE  DUKE  IS  THE  LAD. 

Air.  —  "  A  .naster  I  have,  and  I  am  his  man. 
Oalloping  dreary  dim.'' 

Castle  cif  Andalun* 

The  Duke  is  th3  ^ad  to  frighten  9  lass. 
Galloping,  dreary  duke ; 
Tl  e  Duke  is  the  lad  to  frighten  a  la- 
He's  an  ogre  to  meet,  and  the  d — 1  to  paw, 
With  his  charger  prancing. 
Grim  eye  glancing. 
Chin,  like  a  ^lafti. 
Grizzled  and  tufty, 
Galloping,  dreary  Duke. 

Ye  misses,  beware  of  the  neighborhood 
Of  this  galloping  dreary  Duke.; 
Avoid  him,  all  who  see  no  good 
In  being  run  o'c-r  oy  a  Prince  of  the  Bio  kL 


«  "  TJiis  we  call  pure  Dih.'lit»,  or  mere  withlng." 
Lagic 


Wuu 


ffSS 


SATIRICAL   AND   HUMOilUUS  POEMS. 


For,  surely,  no  nymph  is 
Pond  of  a  grim  phiz, 
And  of  the  married, 
Whole  crowds  have  miscarried 
At  sight  of  this  dreary  Duke. 


EPISTLE 
laoM  khasktjs  on  earth  to  ciceho  in  thb 

SHADES. 

Southampton. 

Ap  'tis  now,  my  c^ear  TuUy,  some  weeks  since  I 

started 
By  railroad,  for   earth,  having  vowed,  ere  we 

parted. 
To  drop  you  a  line,  by  the  Dead-Letter  post, 
Just  to  say  how  I  thrive,  in  my  new  line  of  ghost. 
And  how  deusedly  odd  this  live  world  all  ap- 
pears, 
To  a  man  who's  been  dead  now  for  three  hun- 
dred years, 
I  take  up  my  pen,  and,  with  news  of  this  earth, 
Hope  to  waken,  by  turns,  both  your  spleen  and 
your  mirth. 

In  my  way  to  these  shoros,  taking  Italy  first, 
Lest  the  change  from  Elysi  'm  too  sudden  should 

burst, 
I  forgot  not  to  visit  those  haunts  where,  of  yore. 
You  took  lessons  from  PiEtus  in  cookery's  lore,' 
Turn'd  aside  from  the  calls  of  the  rostrum  and 

Muse, 
To  discuss  the  rich  merits  of  rdtis  and  stews, 
And  preferr'd  to  all  honors  of  triumph  or  trojihy, 
A  supper   on   prawns  with   that    mgiie,  lirtle 

Sophy." 

Having  dwelt  on  such  classical  musings  a  while, 
I  «et  off,  by  a  steamboat,  for  this  happy  isle, 
(A  conve3'ance  t/ou  ne'er,  I  think,  sail'd  by,  my 

TuUy, 
And  therefore,  per  next,  I'll  describe  it  more 

fully,) 
rfaving  heard,  on  the  way,  what  distresses  me 

greatly, 
That  England's  o'errun  by  idolaters  lately, 
Stark,  staring  adorers  of  wood  and  of  stone, 
Whj  will  let  neither  stick,  stock,  or  statue  alone. 


1  See  /lis  Letters  to  Friends,  lib.  ix.  epist.  19,  20,  &c. 
«  Ingentium  squillarum  cum  Sophia  SeptinuL  — Lib,  ix. 
tpist  10. 
I  Tithes  were  p?iid  to  the  I^thian  ApoUa 


Such  the  sad  news  I  heard  from  a  tall  maa  it 
black. 

Who  from  sports  continiintal  was  hurrying  back, 

To  look  after  his  tithes  ;  —  seeing,  doubtle88» 
'twould  follow. 

That,  just  as,  of  old,  your  great  idol,  Apollo, 

Devour'd  all  the  Tenths,'  so  the  idols  in  ques- 
tion. 

These  wood  and  ston*  gods,  may  have  er^wfi;  di 
gestion. 

And  th'  idolatrous  crew,  whom  this  Recic r  de- 
spises. 

May  eat  up  the  tithe  pig  which  he  idolizes. 

London. 
'Tis  all  but  too  true  —  grim  Idolatry  reigtis. 
In  full  pomp,  over  England's   lost  cities  and 

plains  ! 
On  arriving  just  now,  as  my  first  thought  and 

care 
Was,  as  usual,  to  seek  out  some  near  House  of 

Prayer, 
Some  calm,  holy  spot,  fit  for  Christians  to  pray 

on, 
I  was  shown  to  —  what  think  you  ?  —  a  down- 
right Pantheon  1 
A  grand,  pillar'd  temple,  with  niches  and  hal's,* 
Full  of  idols  and  gods,  which  thej'  nickname 

St.  Paul's:  — 
Though  'tis  clearly  the  place  where  the  laola- 

trous  crew. 
Whom  the    Rector  complain'd  of,   their  dark 

rites  pursue ; 
And,  'mong  all  tlie  "  strange  gods  "  Abr'ham'a 

father  carv'd  out,* 
That  he  ever  carv'd  stranger  than  these  I  much 

doubt. 

Were  it  ev'n  my  dear  Tullt,  your  Hebes  and 

Graces, 
And  such  pretty  things,  that  usurp'd  the  Saints' 

places, 
I  shouldn't  much  mind,  —  for,  in  this  ciassic 

dome. 
Such  folks  from  Olympus  would  feel  quite  aX 

home. 
But  the  gods  they've  got  here  !  —  such  a  queei 

omnium  gatherum 
Of  misbegot  things,  that  no  poet  would  fatli  si 

'era ;  — 


1  See  Dr.  Wiseman'*  learned  and  able  letter  to  Mr.  Potb 
der. 
&  Joshui,  xxiv.  2. 


SAllRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


^2. 


Britannias,    in    light,    summer  wear   for     rhe 

skies,  — 
Uld  Thames,  tum'd  to  stone,  to  his  no  small 

surprise,  — 
father  Nile,  too,  —  a  portrait,  (in  spite  of  what's 

said, 
li.«.t  no  mortal  e'er  yet  got  a  glimpse  of  his 

Aid  a.  Ganges,  which  India  would  think  some- 
what fat  for't, 
Cnless  'twas  some  full-grown  Director  had  sat 

for't :  — 
Not   to   mention   th'   et   cateras   of    Genii   and 

Sphinxes, 
Fame,  Vict'ry,  and  other  such  semi-clad  minxes ; 
Sea  Captains,*  —  the  idols  here  most  idolized ; 
And  of  whom   some,   alas,  might  too  well  be 

comprised 
Among  ready-made  Saints,  as  they  didd  eannon- 

ized  ;  — 
With   a  multitude    more  of  odd  cockneyfied 

deities. 
Shrined  in  such  pomp  that  quite  shocking  to  see 

it  'tis  ; 
Nor  know  I  what  better  the  Rector  could  do 
I'han  to  shrine  there  his  own  belov'd  quadruped 

too ; 
As  most  surely  a  tithe  pig,  whate'er  the  world 

thinks,  is 
A  much  fitter  beast  for  a  church  than  a  Sphinx  is. 

But  I'm  call'd  off  to  dinner  —  g^ce  just  has 
been  said. 
And  my  host  waits  for  nobody,  living  or  dead. 


LINES' 

ON     THE     DEPARTURE     OF     LORDS   0 — ST — K— OH 
AND    ST W — RT    FOR   THE    CONTINENT. 

4C  Paris*  et  FratrM,  et  qui  rapuSre  sub  illis, 
Vix  tenutra  ouuiua  (scis  lioe,  Menelae)  neraiidas. 

Otio.  Metam.  lib.  xiii.  v.  203. 

fj  ),  Brothers   in  wisdom  —  go,  bright  pair  of 
Peers, 
Aud  may  Cupid  and  Fame  fan  you  both  with 
their  pinions  ! 

k  "  Nee  cuntigit  ulli 

Hoc  vidisse  caput."  Clavoiam, 

I  CaplsJns  Mos8e,  Riun,  kc.  &.c 

*  Tbis  and  the  fullnwinf!  squib,  which  must  have  been 
RT'tten  about  the  year  181&-Ii>,  have  been  by  loihe  oversight 
DtH'Cced. 

*  Ovid  in  miitaken  in  saying  that  it  waa  "  at  Pari*  "  thee* 


The  one,  the  best  lover  we  have  —  o/hts  y«Air<, 
And  the  other  Prime  Statesman  of  Britain'i 
dominions. 

Go,  Hero  of  Chancery,  bless'd  with  the  smile 
Of  the  Misses  that   love,  and  the  monarchi 
that  prize  thee ; 
Forget  Mrs.  Ang — lo  T — yl — r  a  while, 

And  all  tailors  but  him  who  so  well  datuiijiu 
thee. 

Never  mind  how  thy  juniors  in  gallantry  scoff. 
Never    heed    how    perverse   affidavits    may 
thwart  thee. 
But  show   the   young  Misses  thou'rt  scholai 
enough 
To  translate   "  Amor  Fortis "  a  love,  about 
forty  ! 

And  sure  'tis  no  wonder,  when,  fresh  as  young 
Mars, 
From  the  battle  you  came,  with  the  Orders 
,         you'd  earn'd  in't, 
That  sweet  Lady  Fanny  should  cry  out  "  my 
Mtara .' " 
And  forget  that  the  Moon,  too,  was  some  way 
concem'd  in't. 

For  not  the  great  R — g — t  himself  has  endur'd 
(Though  I've  seen  him  with  badges  and 
orders  all  shine. 

Till  he  look'd  like  a  house  that  was  over  insur'd) 
A  much  heavier  burden  of  glories  than  thine. 

And  'tis  plain,  when  a  wealthy  young  lady  so 
mad  is. 
Or  atit/  young  ladies  can  so  go  astray. 
As  to  marrr  old  Dandies  that  might  be  theil 
daddies. 
The  stars  *  are  in  fault,  my  Lord  St     w — rt, 
not  they  ! 

Thou,  too,  t'other  brother,  thou  TuUy  of  loriea, 

f  hou  Malaprop  Cicero,  over  whose  lips 
Such  a  smooth  rigmarole  about  •'  monarch^"* 
and  "  glories," 
And  "nuUidge,"*  and   "features,"   like  sjl- 
labub  slips. 

rapacious  transactioiM  took  place  — we  iboald  read  "• 
Vienna." 

»  "  When  Weak  women  go  astray. 

The  stars  are  more  In  fault  than  they." 

•  It  is  thus  the  noble  lord  pronounces  the  word  "  knowl 
edge" — deriving  it,  as  far  as  his  '^wn  share  ia  coacenie4 
from  tlM  Latin,  "  vullua." 


528 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMs. 


Go,  haste,  at  the  Congress  pursue  thy  vocation 
Of  adding  fresh  sums  to  this  National  Debt 
of  ours, 
Leaguing  with.  Kings,  who,  for  mere  recreation, 
£reak  premises,  fast  as  your  Lordship  breaks 
metaphors. 

Fare  ye  -well,  fare  ye  well,  bright  Pair  of  Peers, 
And  raay  Cupid  and  Fame  fan  ycii  ^oth  with 
their  pinions  ! 
Tlie  one,  the  best  lover  we  have  —  of  his  years. 
And  the  other,  Prime  Statesman  of  Britain's 
dominions. 


TO  THE  SHIP 

W   WHICH    LORD    C — 8T — E — GH    SAILED    FOR   THE 
CONTINENT. 

Imitated  from  Horaer.,  lib.  i.  ode  3. 

So  may  my  Lady's  pray'rs  prevail,' 

And  C — nn — g's  too,  and  lucid  Br — gge's, 
And  Eld — n  beg  a  favoring  gale 

From  jllolus,  that  older  Bags,* 
To  speed  thee  on  thy  destin'd  way, 
O  ship,  that  bear'st  our  C — st — r — gh,' 
Our  gracious  R — g — t's  better  half,* 

And,  therefore,  quarter  of  a  King  — 
(As  Van,  or  any  other  calf. 

May  find,  without  much  figuring). 
Waft  him,  O  ye  kindly  breezes, 

Waft  this  Lord  of  place  and  pelf, 
Any  where  his  Lordship  pleases. 

Though  'twere  to  Old  Nick  himself! 

O,  what  a  face  of  brass  was  his,* 

Who  first  at  Congress  show'd  his  phiz  — 


'  Sic  te  Diva  potens  Cypri, 

Sic  fratres  Helence,  Iticida  sidera, 
VcKitorumque  regat  pater. 
»  See  a  description  of  the  acKot,  or  Bags  of  MfAna  in  tbe 
Wvssoy  1  b.  10. 

Navis,  qu«  tibi  creditum  ' 
Dehes  Virgiliuin. 

*  AnimiE  dimidium  meum. 

»  nil  robur  et  «s  triplex. 

Circa  pectus  erat,  qui,  &c. 

•  pr«ecipitem  Africum 

Deccrtantein  Aquilonibus. 

'  Nequicquara  Deus  abscidit 

Prudens  oceano  dissociabili 
Terras,  si  tamen  impie 
Non  tangenda  Rates  transiliiint  vada. 
rWs  last  line,  we  may  suppose,  alludes  to  some  diatia- 
fuisbed  Rats  that  attended  the  voyager. 


To  sign  (iway  the  Rights  of  Man 

To  Russian  threats  and  Austrian  juggle ; 
And  leave  the  sinking  Afiican' 

To  fall  without  one  saving  struggle  — 
'Mong  ministers  from  North  and  South, 

To  show  his  lack  of  shame  and  sense, 
And  hoist  the  Sign  of  "  Bull  and  Mouth  " 

For  blunders  and  for  eloquence  1 

In  vain  we  wish  our  Sees,  at  home' 

To  mind  their  papers,  desks,  and  shelves, 

If  silly  Sees,  abroad  will  roam 

And  make  such  noodles  of  themselves. 

But  such  hath  always  been  the  case  — 

For  matchless  impudence  of  face. 

There's  nothing  like  your  Tory  race  !  ' 

First,  Pitt,'  the  chos'n  of  England,  taught  hei 

A  taste  for  famine,  fire,  and  slaughter. 

Then  came  the  Doctor,'"  for  our  ease, 

With  E— d— ns.  Ch— th— ms,  H_wk— b— », 

And  other  deadly  maladies. 

When  each,  in  turn,  had  run  their  rigs, 

Necessity  brought  in  the  Whigs  :  " 

And  O,  I  blush,  I  blush  to  say, 

Whcii  these,  in  turn,  were  put  to  flight,  too. 
Illustrious  T — mp — e  flew  awaj' 

With  lots  of  pens  he  had  no  right  to  !  '* 
In  short,  what  loill  not  mortal  man  do  ? " 

And  now,  that  —  strife  and  bloodshed  past- 
We've  done  on  earth  what  harm  we  can  do. 

We  gravely  take  to  heav'n  at  last,'* 
And  think  its  favoring  smile  to  purchase 
(O  Lord,  good  Lord  !)  by  —  building  church  ea 


Aiidax  op.nia  perpeti 
Gens  mil  jier  vetitum  nefaa. 

Audax  Japet!  genus 
Ignem  fritude  nial&  gentibus  iitiulit 

Post— — - — 


macles,  et  nova  tehrinm 

Teriis  inr.ul>lt  cohor" 


'  tarda  necessitas 


Lcthi  corripuit  gradum. 

U  Exf)ert(i8  vacuum  Daedalus  a«n 

Penms  non  homini  iitis. 

This  alludes  to  the  1200/.  worth  of  stationery,  which  hv 
Lordship  is  said  to  have  ordered,  when  on  the  point  o/  •• 
eatinff  his  place. 

I'  Nil  mortalibus  arduum  est 

'*  Cffiluiu  ipsum  petinius  stultitii 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


62» 


SKETCH    OF    THE    FIRST  ACT   OF  A 
NEW  ROMANTIC   DRAMA. 

•  And  now,"   quoth  the  goddess,   in   accents 

jocose, 
■•  Ilfaving  got  good  materials,  I'll  brew  such  a 

doso 
■*  Of  Double  X  mischief  as,  mortals  shall  say, 
'*  Tliey'vo  not  known  its  equal  for  many  a  long 

day." 
Here  she  wink'd   to  her  subaltern  imps  to  be 

steady. 
And  all  wagg'd  their  fire-tipp'd  tails  and  stood 

ready. 

« So,  now  for  th'  ingredients  :  —  first,  hand  me 
that  bishop ; " 

VVTiareon,  a  whole  bevy  of  imps  run  to  fish  up, 

From  out  a  large  reservoir,  wherein  they  pen 
'em, 

rhe  blackest  of  all  its  black  dabblers  in  venom ; 

And  wrapping  him  up  (lest  the  virus  should 
ooze. 

And  one  "  drop  of  th'  immortal "  '  Right  Rev.* 
they  might  lose) 

Ln  the  sheets  of  his  own  speeches,  charges,  re- 
views, 

Pop  him  into  the  caldron,  while  loudly  a  burst 

From  the  bystanders  welcomes  ingredient  the 
first! 

••  Now  fetch  the  Ex-Chancellor,"  mutter'd  the 

dame  — 
•He   who's   call'd  after  Harry  the  Older,  by 

name." 
"The  Ex- Chancellor  !  "  echoed  her  imps,  the 

•whole  crew  of  'em  — 

♦  Why  talk  of  oue  Ex,  when  your  Mischief  has 

two  of  'cm  ? " 

"  True,  true,"  said  the  hag,  looking  arch  at  her 
elves, 

"  And  a  double-£Lr  dose  they  compose,  in  them- 
selves." 

ITiis  joke,  the  sly  meaning  of  which  was  seen 
lucidly, 

Bet  all  the  devils  a-laughing  most  deusedly. 

So,  in  went  the  pair,  and  (what  none  thought 
Burprifing) 

Bhow'd  talants  for  sinking  as  great aa  for  rising; 

While  not  a  grim  phiz  in  that  realm  but  was 
lighted 

With  joy  to  see  spirits  so  twin-like  united  1 


1  •'  To  In9«  no  drop  of  the  immNlal  man." 
•  Tiw  prcMui  liijito^  of  Ex— (•  -f. 


Or  (plainly  to  speak)  two  such  birds  of  a  feathet, 
In  one  mess  of  venom  thus  spitted  togetliet. 
Here  a  fiashy  imp  rose  —  some  connection,  na 

doubt. 
Of  the  young  lord  in  question  —  and,  scowling 

about, 
"  Hop'd  his  fiery  friend,  St — nl — y,  would  not 

be  left  out , 
"As  no  schoolboy  unwhipp'd,  the  wL.le  worlo 

must  agree, 
"  Lov'd   mischief,  pure  mischief^  more  deariy 

than  he." 

But,  no  —  the  wise  hag  wouldn't  hoar  of  tht 

whipster ; 
Not  merely  because,  as  a  shrew,  he  eclips'd  her, 
And  nature  had  giv'n  him,  to  keep  him  atill 

young, 
Much  tongue  in  his  head  and  no  head  in  hia 

tongue ; 
But  because  she  well  knew  that,  for  change  ever 

ready. 
He'd  not  even  to  mischief  keep  properly  steady; 
ThAt  soon  ev'n  the  wrong  side  would  cease  to 

delight. 
And,  for  want  of  a  change,  he  must  swerve  to 

the  riff  hi  ; 
While,  on  each,  so  at  random  his  missiles  ho 

threw, 
That  the  side  he  attack'd  was  most  safe,  of  the 

two.  — 
This  ingredient  was  therefore   put  by  on  tb« 

shelf. 
There  to  bubble,  a  bitter,  hot  mess,  by  itsel£ 
"  And  now,"  quoth  the  hag,  as  her  caldron  sho 

ey'd. 
And  the  tidbits  «o  fricndlily  rankling  inside, 
"  There  wants  but  some  seasoning  ;  —  so,  come, 

ere  I  stew  'em, 
"  By  way  of  a  relish,  we'll  throw  in  ♦  •\-  John 

Tuam.' 
«*  In  cooking  up  mischief,  there's  no  flesh  or  fish 
"  Like  your  meddling  High  Priest,  to  add  cast 

to  the  dish." 
Thus    saying,   she    pops    in  the  Irish   Qrand 

Lama  — 
Which  great  event  ends  the  First  Act  of  thi 

Drama. 

ANIMAL  MAGNETISM. 

Though  fam'd  was  Mcsmer,  in  his  day, 
Nor  less  so,  in  ours,  is  Dupotet, 
To  say  nothing  of  all  the  wonders  dono 
By  that  wizard.  Dr.  Elliotoon. 


no 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


^Ticii,  standing  as  if  the  go'ls  to  invoke,  he 
Upwaves  his  arm,  and  —  down  drops  Okey  !  ' 

Though  strange  these  things,  to  mind  and  sense, 
It  you  wish  still  stranger  things  to  see  — 

If  you  wish  to  know  the  power  immense 

Of  the  true  magnetic  influence, 
Just  go  to  her  Majesty's  Treasury, 

And  learn  the  wonders  working  there  — 

And  I'll  be  hang'd  if  you  don't  stare  ! 

Talk  of  your  animal  magnetists. 

And  that  wave  of  the  hand  no  soul  resists, 

Not  all  its  witcheries  can  compete 

With   the  friendly  beckon  towards   Downing 
Street, 

Which  a  Premier  gives  to  one  who  wishes 

To  taste  of  the  Treasury  loaves  and  fishes. 

It  actually  lifts  the  lucky  elf. 

Thus  acted  upon,  above  himself;  — 

He  j  umps  to  a  state  of  clairvoyance. 

And  is  placeman,  statesman,  all,  at  once  ! 

These  effects,  observe  (with  which  I  begin), 
Take  place  when  the  patient's  motion'd  in ; 
Far  different,  of  course,  the  mode  of  affection. 
When  the  wave  of  the  hand's  in  the  out  direc- 
tion ; 
The  effects  being  then  extremely  unpleasant. 
As  is  seen  in  the  case  of  Lord  B m,  at  pres- 
ent; 
In  whom  this  sort  of  manipulation 
Has  lately  produc'd  such  inflammation, 
Attended  with  constant  irritation. 
That,  in  short  —  not  to  mince  his  situation  — 
It  has  work'd  in  the  man  a  transformation 
That  puzzles  all  human  calculation  ! 

Ever  since  the  fatal  day  which  saw 

That  "  pass  "  *  perform'd  on  this  Lord  of  Law  — 

A  pass  potential,  none  can  doubt. 

As  it  sent  Harry  B m  to  the  right  about  — 

The  condition  in  which  the  patient  has  been 
Is  a  thing  quite  awful  to  be  seen. 
Not  that  a  casual  eye  could  scan 

This  wondrous  change  by  outward  survey  ; 
It  being,  in  fact,  th'  interior  man 

That's  tum'd  completely  topsy  turvy :  — 
1  ike  a  case  that  lately,  in  reading  o'er  'em, 
I  found  in  the  Acta  Eruditorum, 
Of  a  man  in  whose  inside,  when  disclos'd, 
The  whole  order  of  things  was  found  tr&nspos'd ; » 

'  The  nnme  of  the  heroine  of  the  perfjnnancca  at  Ju, 
North  London  Hcapital. 

2  The  tec"  nical  term  for  the  movements  of  the  magnet- 
■er's  band. 


By  a  lusus  naturte,  strange  to  see, 

The  liver  plac'd  where  the  heart  sHouJd  bo, 

And  the  spleen  (like  B m'Sy  since  laid  on  thi 

shelf  j 
As  diseas'd  and  as  much  out  of  plafe  u  himself 

In  short,  'tis  a  case  for  consultation, 

K  e'er  there  was  one,  in  this  thinking  nation  ; 

And  therefore  I  humbly  beg  to  propose, 

That  those  savans  w  ho  mean,  as  the  runiot  goek^ 

To  sit  on  Miss  Okey's  wonderful  case, 

Should  also  Lord  Harry's  case  embrace  ; 

And  inform  us,  in  both  these  patients'  states, 

Which  ism  it  is  that  predominates. 

Whether  magnetism  and  somnambulism, 

Or,  simply  and  solely,  inountebankism. 


ITIE  SONG  OF  THE  BOX. 

Let  History  boast  of  her  Romans  and  Spartans, 
And  tell  how  they  stood  against  tyranny's 
shocks ; 
They  were  all,  I  confess,  in  my  eye,  Betty  Mar- 
tins, 
Compar'd  to  George  Gr — te  and  his  wonder- 
ful Box. 

Ask,  where  Liberty  now  has  her  seat  ?  —  O,  it 

isn't 

By  Delaware's  banks    or    on   Switzerland's 

rocks ;  — 

Like  an  imp  in  some  conjurer's  bottle  imprison'd, 

She's  slyly  shut  up  in  Gr — te's  wonderful  Box. 

How  snug  !  —  'stead  of  floating  through  ether's 
dominions. 

Blown  this  way  and  that,  by  the  "  populi  vox,' 
To  fold  thus  in  silence  her  sinecure  pinions, 

And  go  fast  asleep  in  Gr-  te's  wonderful  Box. 

Time  was,  when  free  speech  tvas  the  lifebreala 
of  freedom  — 
So  thought  once  the  Seldens,  the  HttnpdeiJi. 
the  Lockes ; 
But  mute  be  our  troops,  when  to  ambush  we 
lead  'em, 
For  "  Mum"  is  the  word  with  us  Knights  jf 
the  Box. 


*  Omnes  feri  inteniEia  ccrpori?  partes  inv^tnincirdinesitaa 
—  AcUXrudiL  1690. 


Pui^i,  exquisite  Box  !  no  corruption  can  soil  it ; 
There's  Otto  of  Rose  in  each  >>reath  that  un- 
locks ; 
Wliile  Gr — te  is  the  '*  Betty,"  that  serves  at  the 
toilet, 
And  brenthes  all  Arabia  around  from  his  Box.' 

\tS  a  singular  fact,  that  the  fam'd  Hugo  Grotius  ' 
(A    namesake  of  Gr — te's  —  being   both  of 
Dutch  stocks), 
like  Or — te,  too,  a  genius  profound  as  preco- 
cious. 
Was   also,  like  him,  much  renown'd  for   a 
Box  ;  — 
\n  immortal  old  clothes  box,  in  which  the  great 
Grotius 
When  suffering,  in  prison,  for  views  het'rodox, 
Was  pock'd  up  incog,  spite  of  jailers  ferocious,' 
And  sent  to  his  wife,*  carriage  free  in  a  Box  ! 

But  the  fame  of  old  Hugo  now  rests  on  the  shelf. 
Since   a   lival  hath   ris'n   that    all    parallel 
mocks ;  — 
Thu  Grotius  ingloriously  sav'd  but  himself^ 
While  ours  saves  the  whole  British  realm  by 
bBo^! 

\n(x  O  when,  at  last,  ev'n  this  greatest  of  Or — tes 

Must  bend  to  the  Power  that  at  every  door 

knocIiB,* 

May  ho  drop  in  the  urn  like  his  own  "silent 

votes," 

And  the  tomb  of  his  rest  be  a  large  Ballot  Box. 

While  long  at  his  shrine,  both  from  county  and 
city. 
Shall  pilgrims  tricnnially  gather  in  flocks, 
And  sing,  while  they  whimper,  th'  appropriate 
ditty, 
"  O  breathe  not  his  name,  let  it  sleep  —  in  the 
Box." 

ANNOONCEMENT  OF  A  NEWTHALABA. 

AODUESSED   TO   BOBEKT  BOUTHET,  ESQ. 

When  erst,  my  Southey,  thy  tuneful  tongue 
The  terrible  tale  of  ThalabA  sung  — 

1  And  all  Arabia  breathe*  from  yonder  box. 

Porc'i  Rape  qftit  Lock. 

*  Oro3t,  or  Orott,  Latinized  into  Grotius. 

*  For  the  particnlara  of  tliis  escape  of  Grotiim  from  the 
Oaslle  (if  I»iiven^tein,  by  nieann  of  a  box  (only  tlirce  feet 
Uid  a  half  long,  it  u  said)  in  which  books  used  to  be  occa- 
lionally  sent  to  hint  and  foul  lia  <n  returned,  tee  any  of  the 
Riographlcal  Dictionaries. 


Of  iiim,  the  Dcctroyer,  ucom'u  to  rout 
That  grim  div-an  of  conjurers  out, 
Whose  dwelling  dark,  as  legends  say. 
Beneath  the  roots  of  the  ocean  lay, 
(Fit  place  for  deep  ones,  such  as  they,) 
How  little  thou  knew'st,  dear  Dr.  Southejt 
Although  bright  genius  all  allow  thee. 
That,  some  years  thence,  thy  wondering  eyes 
Should  see  a  second  Thalaba  rise  — 
As  ripe  for  ruinous  rigs  as  thiuo. 
Though  his  havoc  lie  in  a  different  line, 
And  should  find  this  new,  improv'd  Destroyoi 
Beneath  the  wig  of  a  Yankee  lawyer ; 
A  sort  of  an  "  alien,"  alias  man. 
Whose  country  or  party  guess  who  can. 
Being  Cockney  half,  half  Jonathan  ; 
And  his  life,  to  make  the  thing  completer, 
Being  all  in  the  genuine  Thalaba  metre, 
Loose  and  irregular  as  thy  feet  are  ;  — 
First,  into  Vrhig  Pindarics  rambling, 
Then  in  low  Tory  doggerel  scrambling  ; 
Now  love  his  theme,  now  Church  his  glory 
(At  once  both  Tory  and  ama-tory). 
Now  in  th'  Old  Bailey-^y  meandering. 
Now  in  soft  couplet  style  philandering ; 
And,  lastly,  in  lame  Alexandrine, 
Dragging  his  wounded  length  along,* 
When  scourg'd  by  Holland's  silken  throng. 

In  short,  dear  Bob,  Destroyer  the  Second 
May  fairly  a  match  for  the  First  be  reckon' d ; 
Save  that  your  Thalaba's  talent  lay 
In  sweeping  old  conjurers  clean  away, 
While  ours  at  aldermen  deals  his  blows, 
(Who  no  great  conjurers  are,  God  knows. 
Lays  Corporations,  by  wholesale,  level, 
Sends  Acts  of  Parliament  to  the  devil. 
Bullies  the  whole  Milesian  race  — 
Seven  millions  of  Paddies,  face  to  face ; 
And,  seizing  that  magic  wand,  himself, 
Which  erst  thy  conjurers  left  on  the  shelf^ 
Transforms  the  boys  of  the  Boyne  and  Liffey 
All  inXo  foreigners,  in  a  jiffy  — 
Aliens,  outcasts,  every  soul  of  'em, 
Born  but  for  whips  and  chains,  the  whole  of  *Mn  i 

Nfvci,  in  chort,  did  parallel 


B£)i;*ij.t  two  heroes  gee  so  well; 


*  This  is  not  quite  according  to  the  beta  of  tlw  eai*  s  tm 
wife  liaving  been  the  contriver  of  the  Ktratacem,  aad  M 
mained  in  the  prison  herself  to  give  him  lime  foi  eacap*. 

>  Pallida  Mors  cquo  puUat  pede,  &.C.  —  Hokat. 

•  "A  needless  Alexandrine  eg  Is  the  tong 

That,  U<  a  wovaioi  «»dk«   Inp  Itt  «low  Iwgt* 
along." 


•532                                     SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 

And,  among  the  points  in  which  they  fit, 

0  W— R — ngt— n,  0  Stephenson, 

There's  one,  dear  Bob,  I  can't  omit. 

Ye  ever-boring  pair. 

That  hacking,  hectoring  blade  of  thine 

Where'er  I  sit,  or  stand,  or  run, 

D?alt  much  in  the  Domdaniel  line  ;  • 

Ye  haunt  me  every  where. 

And  'tis  but  rendering  justice  due, 

Though  Job  had  patience  tough  enough, 

To  say  that  ours  and  his  Tory  crew- 

S'jch  duplicates  would  try  it ; 

Damn  Daniel  most  devoutly  too. 

TiU  one'3  tiArn'd  out  and  t'other  off, 
We  shan't  have  peace  or  quiet. 

But  small's  the  chance  that  Law  affords  — 

Such  folks  are  daily  let  off ; 

RIVAL  TOPICS." 

And,  'twixt  th'  Old  Bailey  and  the  Lords, 
They  both,  I  fear,  vriU  get  off. 

AN  rXTKAVAGANZA. 

0  W — LL — NOT— N  and  Stephenson, 

0  morn  and  e^  ening  papers. 

Times,  Herald,  Courier,  Globe,  and  Sun, 
When  will  ye  cease  our  ears  to  stun 

THE  BOY  STATESMAN. 

With  these  two  heroes'  capers  ? 

BY   A   TORY. 

Still  "  Stephenson  "  and  "  W— U— ngt— n," 

The  everlasting  two  !  — 
StiU  doom'd,  from  rise  to  set  of  sun, 

"  That  boy  will  be  the  death  of  mo." 

MatUiewa  at  Home. 

To  hear  what  mischief  one  has  done, 

Ah,  Tories  dear,  our  ruin  is  near, 

And  t'other  means  to  do  :  — 

With  St — nl — y  to  help  us,  we  can't  but  fall  j 

What  biilo  the  banker  pass'd  to  friends, 

Already  a  warning  voice  I  hear. 

But  nevsi  meant  to  pay ; 

Like  the  late  Charles  Matthews'  croak  in  my  ear, 

Wliat  BiHs  the  other  wight  intends, 

"That  boy  —  that  boy'll  be  the  death  of  you 

As  honest,  in  their  way ;  — 

aU." 

Bills,  payable  at  distant  sight. 

Beyond  the  Grecian  kalends. 

He  will,  God  help  us  !  —  not  cv'n  Scriblcrius 

When  all  good  deeds  will  come  to  light, 

In  the  «'  Art  of  Sinking  "  his  match  could  be ; 

When  W — U — ngt — n  will  do  what's  right, 

And  our  cause  is  growing  exceeding  serious, 

And  Rowland  pay  his  balance. 

For,  all  being  in  the  same  boat  as  he. 

If  down  my  Lord  goes,  down  go  we, 

To  catch  the  banker  aU  have  sought. 

Lord  Baron  St — nl — y  and  Company, 

But  still  the  rogue  unhurt  is  ; 

As  deep  in  Oblivion's  swamp  below 

While  t'other  juggler  —  who'd  have  thought  ? 

As  such  "  Masters  Shallow  "  well  could  go ; 

Though  slippery  long,  has  just  been  caught 

And  where  we  shall  all  both  low  and  high, 

By  old  Archbishop  Curtis  ;  — 

Embalm' d  in  mud,  as  forgotten  lie 

And,  such  the  power  of  papal  crook, 

As  already  doth  Gr — h — m  of  Netherby  ' 

The  crosier  scarce  had  quiver'd 

But  that  boy,  that  boy !  — there's  a  tale  I  know 

About  his  ears,  when,  lo,  the  Duke 

Which  in  talking  of  him  comes  apropos. 

Was  of  a  Bull  deliver' d  ! 

Sir  Thomas  More  had  an  only  son. 

And  a  foolish  lad  was  that  only  one. 

fiir  Richard  Birnie  doth  decide 

And  Sir  Thomas  said,  one  day  to  his  wife, 

That  Rowland  "  must  be  mad," 

«  My  dear,  I  can't  but  wish  you  joy. 

In  private  coach,  with  crest,  to  ride. 

"  For  you  pray'd  for  a  boy,  and  you  now  hava 

When  chaises  could  be  had. 

a  boy. 

And  t'other  hero,  all  agree. 

"  Who'll  continue  a  boy  to  the  end  of  his  life." 

St.  Luke's  will  soon  arrive  at. 

If  thus  he  shows  off  publicly. 

Ev'n  such  is  our  o^wn  distressing  lot. 

When  he  might  pass  .  a  private. 

With  the  evcr-vcung  statearpAn  we  have  got;  — 

1     '  Vain  ere  tf  *  spells,  the  Destroyer 

>  Tiia  date  of  Ous  a^^uib  must  hnvo  been,  I  thiuk,  aboof 

Xtixia  till  Doxdaniel  floor." 

IQ^-a 

7haiat-i,  a  IJolricLl  Koiuanx. 

SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


«M 


Nay  ev'ii  still  worse  ;  for  Master  More 
Wasn't  more  a  youth  than  ha'd  bsen  before, 
While  ours  such  power  of  boyhood  shows, 
That,  the  older  he  gets,  the  more  juv'nile  he 

grows. 
And,  at  wh?.t  extreme  old  age  he'll  close 
Ilis  scLooiboy  course,  heaven  only  knows  ;  — 
Some  century  hence,  should  he  reach  so  far. 

And  ourselves  to  witness  it  heav'n  condemn. 
We  shall  find  him  a  sort  cf  cub  Old  Parr, 

A  whipper-snapper  Methusalem ; 
Nay,  cv'n  should  he  make  still  longer  stay  of  it, 
The  boy'll  want  judgment,  ev'n  to  the  day  of  it ! 
Meanwhile,  'th  a  serious,  sad  infiiction  ; 

And,  day  and  night,  with  awe  I  recall 
The  late  Jlr.  Matthews'  solemn  prediction, 

<<  That  boy'll  be  the  death,  the  death  of  you 
all." 


LETTER 
Yvjon  lahht  o'doanioax  to  the  kbt. 

MUBTAOU    o'mVLLIOA.X. 

AasAH,  where  were  you,  Murthagh,  that  beau- 
tiful day  ?  — 
Or,  how  came  it  your  riverence  was  laid  c# 
the  shelf. 
When  that  poor  craythur,  Bobby  —  as  you  were 
away  — 
Had  to  make  twict  as  big  a  Tom-fool  of  kimaelf. 

Throth,  it  wasn't  at  all  civil  to  lave  in  the  lurch 
A  boy  80  desarving  your  tindh'rest  affection ; 

Two  such  iligant  Siamase  twins  of  the  Church, 
As  Bob  and  yourself,  ne'er  should  cut  the 
connection. 

if  thus  in  two  different  directions  you  pull, 
'Faith,  they'll  swear  that  yourself  and  your 
rivcrcnd  brother 
Are  like  those  quare  foxes,  in  Gregory's  Bull, 
Whose  tails  were  join'd  one  way,  while  they 
iMk'd  atiother  l^ 

Och  blcss'd  be  he,  whosomdever  ho  be, 
Th&t  help'd  soft  Magce  to  that  Bull  of  a  Let- 
thcr! 

1  «  you  will  increase  ihe  enmity  with  which  they  are  re- 
gaided  by  their  aitiiociatcs  in  liereoy,  thu^i  tying  these  fuxes 
by  the  talU,  that  their  face*  may  tend  in  oppoait*  direc- 
tioiu."— lios't  BuU,  read  at  Exeter  Hall,  July  14. 

1  "Ar.  inijeninus  device  of  my  learned  Ihend."— Boa't 
IttUtr  to  StandariL 

ilad  I  cunmiiicd  only  my  own  wisliea,  I  should  not  bavo 
Mlcnved  this  hasty  attack  on  Dr.  Todd  to  have  made  its  ip- 
oeaxaiice  in  thU  Collection ;  being  now  fully  convinced  that 
80 


Not  ev'n  my   own  sclfi  though  I  sometime! 
make  free 
At  such  buU  manuiactuie,  could  make  hi^a 
abetther. 

To  be  sure,  when  a  lad  takes  to  forgin',  this  w»y 

'Tis  a  thrick  he's  much  timptcd  to  carry  co 

gayly ; 

Till,  at  last,  his  "  inj  anions  devices,"  *  some  day. 

Show  him  up,  not  at  Exether  Hall,  but  th' 

Ould  Bailey. 

That  Parsons  should  forge  thus  appears  mighty 
odd. 
And  (as  if  somethin'  "  odd "  in  their  namei, 
too,  must  be,) 
One  forger,  of  ould,  was  a  riTsrend  Dod, 
While  a  riverend  Todd's  now  his  match,  to 
aT.» 

But,  no  m&tther  who  did  it  —  all  blcssins  betia* 
him, 
For  diehin'  up  Bob,  in  a  manner  so  nate ; 
And  there  wanted  but  you,  Murthagh  'Toumeeo* 
beside  him. 
To  make  the  whole  grand  dish  of  buU-ctAf 
complate. 


MUSINGS  OF  AN  UNREFORMED  PEER. 

Of  all  the  odd  plans  of  this  monstrously  quecx 

age. 
The  oddest  is  that  of  reforming  the  peerage  ;  — 
Just  as  if  we,  great  dons,  with  a  title  and  star, 
Did  not  get  on  exceedingly  well,  as  wo  are. 
And  perform  aU  the  functions  of  noodles,  by 

birth. 
As  completely  as  any  bom  noodles  on  earth 

How  acres  descend,  is  in  law  books  display' d, 
But  we  oa  tcweacres  descend,  ready  made  ; 
And,  by  right  of  our  rank  in  Debrett's  nomen 

clature. 
Are,  all  of  us,  botn  legislators  by  nature  •  — • 
Like  ducklings,  to  water  instinctively  taking. 
So  we,  with  like  quackery,  take  to  law  m-iking 

tlio  charge  brought  against  that  reverend  gentleman  of  In- 
tending to  pass  off  as  genuine  liis  famous  mock  Papal  Let- 
ter was  altogether  unfounded.  Finding  it  to  lie  tiie  wish, 
however,  of  my  reverend  friend  —  as  I  am  now  glad  to  b< 
permitted  to  call  him  —  that  both  tlie  wrong  and  the  repara* 
tion,  the  Ode  and  the  Talinode,  should  be  tlius  placed  if 
Juxtaposition,  I  have  thought  it  but  due  to  liiu  to  comph 
with  bis  request. 


iii 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


And  God  forbid  any  reform  should  come  o'er  us, 
To  make  us  more  wise  +.han  our  sires  were  be- 
fore us. 

Th'  Egyptians  of  old  the  same  policy  knew  — 

If  your  sire  was  a  cook,  you  must  be  a  cook  too  : 

Thus  making,  *'rom  father  to  son,  a  good  trade 
of  it, 

Poisoners  by  right  (so  no  more  could  be  said 
of  it), 

f  he  cooks,  like  our  lordships,  a  pretty  mess 
made  of  it ; 

While,  fam'd  for  amservative  stomachs,  th'  Egyp- 
tians 

Without  a  wry  face  bolted  all  the  prescriptions. 

It  is  true,  we've  among  lis  some  peers  of  the 
past, 

Who  keep  pace  with  the  present  most  awfully 
fast  — 

Fruits,  that  ripen  beneath  the  new  light  now 
arising 

With  speed  that  to  us,  old  conserves,  is  sur- 
prising, 

Conserv'es,  in  whom  —  potted,  for  grandmamma 
uses  — 

'Twould  puzzle  a  sunbeam  to  find  any  juices. 

'Tis  true,  too,  I  fear,  midst  the  general  move- 
ment, 

Ev'n  our  House,  God  help  it,  is  doom'd  to  im- 
provement. 

And  all  its  live  furniture,  nobly  descended. 

But  sadly  worn  out,  must  be  sent  to  be  mended. 

With  movables  'mong  ixs,  like  Br m  and  like 

D — rh — m, 

No  wonder  ev'n  fixtures  should  learn  to  bestir 
'em; 

And,  distant,  ye  gods,  be  that  terrible  day. 

When  —  as  playful  Old  Nick,  for  his  pastime, 
thoy  say. 

Flies  off  with  old  houses,  sometimes,  in  a  storm — 

So  ours  may  be  whipp'd  off,  some  night,  by  Re- 
form ; 

Aad,  as  up,  like  Loretto's  fam'd  house,*  through 
the  air, 

K  3t  angels,  but  devils,  our  lordships  shall  bear, 

Grim>  radical  phizes,  unus'd  to  the  sky. 

Shall  flit  round,  like  cherubs,  to  wish  us  "  good 
by," 

While,  perch' d  up  on  clouds,  little  imps  of  ple- 
beians. 

Small  Grotes  and  O'Connells,  shall  sing  lo  Paeans. 


1  The  Casa  Santa,  supposed  to  have  been  carried  by  an- 
gels through  the  air  from  Galileo  to  Italy. 


THE  REVEREND   PAMPHLETEER. 

A    aOMANTIC    BALLAD. 

O,  HAVE  you  heard  what  happ'd  of  late  ?    • 

If  not,  come  lend  an  ear, 
While  sad  I  state  the  piteous  fate 

Of  the  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

AU  prais'd  his  skilful  jock^yship. 

Loud  rung  the  Tory  cheer, 
While  away,  away,  with  spur  and  whip, 

Went  the  Reverend  Pamplileteer. 

The  nag  he  rode  —  how  could  it  err  ! 

'Twas  the  same  that  took,  last  year, 
That  wonderful  jump  to  Exeter 

With  the  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

Set  a  beggar  on  horseback,  wise  mei.  SAjr, 
The  course  he  will  take  is  clear  ; 

And  in  that  direction  lay  the  way 
Of  the  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

,  "  Stop,  stop,"  said  Truth,  but  vain  her  cry 
Left  far  away  in  the  rear. 
She  heard  but  the  usual  gay  "  good  by  " 
From  her  faithless  Pamphleteer. 

You  may  talk   of   the   jumps    of   HomeT 
gods. 

When  cantering  o'er  our  sphere  — 
I'd  back  for  a  bounce,  'gainst  any  odds, 

This  Reverend  Pamphleteer. 

But  ah,  what  tumMo?  a  jockey  hath ! 

In  the  midst  of  his  career, 
A  file  of  the  Tines  lay  right  m  tne  path 

Of  the  headlong  Pamphleteer. 

Whether  he  tripp'd  or  shied  thereat, 

Doth  not  so  clearly  appear : 
But  down  he  came,  as  his  sermons  flat  — 

This  Reverend  Pamphleteer 

Lord  King  himself  could  scarce  desire 

To  see  a  spiritual  Peer 
FaU  much  more  dead,  in  the  dirt  and  laire^ 

Than  did  this  Pamphleteer. 

Yet  pitying  parsons,  many  a  day. 

Shall  visit  his  silent  bier. 
And,  thinking  the  while  of  Stannoj«,  m> 

"  Poor  dear  old  Pamphleteer  1 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


831 


"  He  has  finish'd,  at  last,  his  busy  span, 
'•  And  now  lies  coolly  here  — 

"  As  often  he  did  in  life,  good  man, 
«  Oood,  Reverend  Pamphleteer  !  " 


A  RECENT  DIALOGUE. 


isas. 


A  BISHOP  and  a  bold  dragoon, 

Both  heroes  in  their  M-ay, 
Did  thus,  of  late,  one  afternoon, 

Unto  each  other  say  :  — 
••  Dear  bishop,"  quoth  the  brave  hussar, 

"  As  nobody  denies 
*•  That  you  a  Avise  logician  are, 

*'  And  I  am  —  otherwise, 
"  'Tis  fit  that  in  this  question,  we 

•'  Stick  each  to  his  own  art  — 
•♦  That  yonrs  should  be  the  sophistry, 

"  And  mine  the  fi<jhting  part. 
••  My  creed,  I  need  not  tell  you,  is 

••  Like  that  of  W n, 

"  To  whom  no  harlot  comes  amiss, 

♦*  Save  her  of  Babylon  ; ' 
••  And  when  we're  at  a  loss  for  words, 

"  If  laughing  roasoners  flout  us, 
•'  For  lack  of  sense  we'll  draw  our  swords  — 

*•  The  sole  thing  sharp  about  us."  — 
"  Dear  bold  dragoon,"  the  bishop  said, 

*'  'Tis  true  for  *ar  thou  art  meant ; 
••  And  reasoning  —  bless  that  dandy  head ! 

"  Is  net  in  thy  department. 

So  leave  the  argument  to  me  — 

"  And,  when  my  holy  labor 
••  Hath  lit  the  fires  of  bigotry, 

•'  Thou'lt  poke  them  with  thy  sabre. 
"  From  pidpit  and  from  sentry  box, 

"  We'll  make  our  joint  attacks, 
"  I  at  the  head  of  my  Cassocks, 

"  And  you,  of  your  Cossacks. 
"  So  here's  your  health,  my  brave  hussai; 

•'  My  exquisite  old  fighter  — 
'   Success  to  bigotry  and  war, 

"  The  musket  and  the  mitre  !  " 
Thus  pray'd  the  minister  of  heaven  — 

AVhile  Y — k,  just  entering  then, 
Snor'd  out  (as  if  some  Clerk  had  given 

His  nose  the  cue)  *'  Amen." 

T.  B. 

1  Cui  nana  meretrix  diiiplicuit  prcter  Babylonicam. 
*  Tb«  only  parallel  I  know  to  :his  surt  of  oblivk>B  i«  to  b* 
<ncid  in  t  line  of  the  late  Mr.  R.  P.  Knig))t  — 

J>»  yeaning  memory  of  tiling*  forgot" 


THE  WELLINGTON  SPA. 

"  And  drink  oblivion  to  our  woea." 

Akka  Matilda 

lea. 
Talk  no  more  of  your  Cheltenham  and  Har 
rowgate  springs, 
'Tis  from  Lethe  we  now  our  potations  mis 
draw; 
Your  Lethe's  a  cure  for  —  all  possible  things. 
And  the  doctors  have  nam'd  it  the  Welling 
ton  Spa. 

Other  physical  waters  but  cure  you  in  part ; 
0)ie  cobbles  your  gout  —  t'other  mends  youi 
digestion  — 
Some  settle  your  stomach,  but  this  —  bless  yoiu 
heart !  — 
It  will  settle,  forever,  your  Catholic  Question. 

Unlike,  too,  the  jjotions  in  fashion,  at  present, 
This  Wellington  nostrum,  restoring  by  stealth. 

So  purges  the  mem'ry  of  all  that's  unpleasant. 
That  patients  forget  themselves  into    rude 
health. 

For  instance,  th'  inventor  —  his  having  once  said 

'*  He  should  think  himself  mad,  if,  at  any 

one's  call, 

"He  became  what  he  is"  —  is  so  purg'd  from 

his  head, 

That  he  now  doesn't  think  he's  a  madman  at  all 

Of  course,  for  your  mem'ries  of  very  longstand- 
ing- 
Old  chronic  diseases,  that  date  back,  undaunt- 
ed, 
To  Brian  Boroo  and  Fitx- Stephens'  first  land- 
mg  — 
A  dev'l  of  a  dos9  of  the  Lethe  ia  wanted. 

Bet  ev'n  Irish  patisnts  can  hardly  regret 

An  oblivion,  so  much  in  their  own  native  style 
So  conveniently  plann'd,  that,   Whatc'er  the) 
forget. 
They  may  go  on  remcmb'ring  it  still,  all  ths 
while  !  * 


A  CHARACTER 


IBM 


Halp  Whig,  half  Tory,  like  those  midway  things, 
'Twixt  bird  and  beast,  that  by  ndstake  hart 


A  mongrel  statesman,  'twist  two  factions  nurs'd, 
Who,  of  the  faults  of  each,  combines  the  worst  — 
The  Tory's  loftiness,  the  Whigling's  sneer, 
The  leveller's  rashness,  and  the  bigot's  fear  ; 
The  thirst  for  meddling,  restless  still  to  show 
How  Freedom's  clock,  repair'd  by  Whigs,  will 

go; 
The  alarm  when  others,  more  sincere  than  they, 
Advance  the  hands  to  the  true  time  of  day. 

By  Mother  Church,  high-fed  and  haughty  dame, 
The  boy  was  dandled,  in  his  dawn  of  fame ; 
List'ning,  she  smil'd,  and  bless'd  the  flippant 

tongue 
On  which  the  fate  of  unborn  tithe  pigs  hung. 
Ah,  who  shall  paint  the  grandam's  grim  dismay. 
When  loose  Refonn  cntic'd  her  boy  away ; 
When  shock'd  she  heard  him  ape  the  rabble's 

tone. 
And,  in  Old  Sarum's  fate,  foredoom  her  own  ! 
Groaning  she  cried,  while  tears  roll'd  down  her 

chocks, 
••  Poor,  glib-tongued  youth,  he  means  not  what 

he  speaks. 
"  Like  oil  at  top,  these  Whig  professions  flow, 
"  Eut,  pure  £3  lymph,  runs  Tcrj'ism  below. 
"  Alas,  that  tongue  should  start  thus,  in  the  race, 
"  Ere  mind  can  reach  and  regulate  its  pace  !  — 
"  For,  once  outatripp'd  by  tongue,  poor  lagging 

mind, 
■'  At  every  step,  still  further  limps  behind. 
"  But,  bless  the  boy  !  —  whatc'er  his  wandering 

be, 
"  Still  turns  his  heart  to  Toryism  and  me. 
"Like  those  odd  shapes,  portray'd  in  Dante's 

lay,' 
"  With  heads  flx'd  on,  the  wrong  and  backward 

way, 
"  His  fi:!et  and  eyes  pursue  a  diverse  track, 
"  While  those  march  onward,  these  look  fondly 

.  back." 
And  well  she  knew  him,  well  foresaw  the  day. 
Which  now  hath  come,  Avhen  snatch'd  from 

Whigst  away, 
riic   Belfsame  changeling  drops  the  mask  he 

wore. 
Anil  rests,  rcstor'd,  in  granny's  arms  once  more. 

But  whither  now,  mix'd  brood  of  mod2m  light 
And   ancient  darkness,  can'st  thou  bend  thy 
flight? 


"  Cbe  dalle  reni  era  tomato  '1  volte, 
E  iiidietro  venir  li  convenia, 
Pdrchi  '1  veder  dinanzi  era  lor  tolto." 


Tried  by  both  factions,  and  to  neither  thie, 
Fear'd  by  the  old  school,  laugh'd  at  by  the  new 
For  this  too  feeble,  and  for  that  too  rash, 
This  wanting  more  of  fire,  that  less  of  flash, 
Lone  shalt  thou  stand,  in  isolation  cold, 
Betwixt  two  worlds,  the  new  one  and  the  old, 
A  small  and  "  vex'd  Bermoothes,"  which  the  ey« 
Of  venturous  seaman  sees  —  and  paasea  by. 


A  GHOST  STORY. 

TO   THE   AIE   OF   «•  miFORTUNATE  MIS8   BAtLET.' 

133S. 
Not  long  in  bed  had  L-— ndh — rst  liin. 

When,  as  his  lamp  bum'd  dimly. 
The  ghosts  of  corporate  bodies  slain,* 

Stood  by  his  bedside  grimly. 
Dead  aldermen,  who  once  could  feast, 

But  now,  themselves,  are  fed  on, 
And  skeletons  of  may'rs  deceas'd. 
This  doleful  chorus  led  on :  — 
"  O  Lord  L— ndh— rst, 
"  Unmerciful  Lord  L — ndh — rst, 
"  Corpses  we, 
"  AU  burk'd  by  thee, 
"  Unmerciful  Lord  L — ndh — rst ! " 

"  Avaunt,  j'e  frights  !  "  his  Lordship  cried, 

"  Ye  look  most  glum  and  whitely." 
"  Ah,  L — ndh — rst  dear  !  "  the  frights  replied, 

"  You've  us'd  us  unpolitely. 
"  And  now,  ungrateful  man!  to  drive 

"  Dead  bodies  from  your  door  so, 
"  Who  quite  corrupt  enough,  alive, 
"  You've  made,  by  death,  still  more  bo. 

"O,  Ex-Chancellor, 
"  Destructive  Ex-Chancellor, 
"  See  thy  work, 
"  Thou  second  Burke, 
"  Destructive  Ex-Chancellor  I  " 

Bold  L — ndh— rst  then,  whom  nought  conlj 
keep 

Awake,  or  surely  that  would. 
Cried,  "  Curse  you  all"  —  fell  fast  asleep — 

And  dreamt  of  «'  Small  o.  Attwood.' 
While,  shock'd,  the  bodies  flew  down  staira. 

But,  courteous  in  their  panic, 
Precedence  gave  to  ghosts  of  may'rs. 

And  corpses  aldermanic. 


s  Referring  to  the  line  taken  by  Lord  If— ndli— nt,  OK  ll» 
question  of  Municipal  Reform. 


BATnUCAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


8*" 


Crying,  "  O,  Lord  L — ndh — rst, 
•*That  terrible  Lord  L— ndh— rst, 
"  Not  Old  Scratch 
"  Himself  could  match 
•'  That  terrible  Lord  L— ndh— rst." 


THOUGHTS 

ojr  xnt  UATB 

"^RSTEUCTIVn  PROPOSITIONS  OF  THE  TORIES.i 


BT   A.    COMMOX   COUNCILXAX. 


1835. 


1  SAT  me  down  in  my  easy  chair, 

To  read,  as  xisual,  the  morning  papers ; 
But  —  who  shall  describe  my  look  of  despair. 

When  I  came  to  Lefroy's  «•  destructive "  ca- 
pers ? 
That  he  —  that,  of  all  live  men,  Lefroy 
Shf^uld  join  in  the  cry  •'  Destroy,  destroy !  " 
^^'ho,  ev'n  when  a  babe,  as  I've  heard  said, 
On  Orange  conserve  was  chiefly  fed, 
And  never,  till  now,  a  movement  made 
That  wasn't  most  manfully  retrograde  ! 
Only  think  —  to  sweep  from  the  light  of  day 
Mayors,  maces,  criers,  and  wigs  away  ; 
To  annihilate  —  never  to  rise  again  — 
A  whole  generation  of  aldermen. 
Nor  leave  them  ev'n  th'  accustom'd  tolls. 
To  keep  together  their  bodies  and  souls  !  —    — 
At  a  time,  too,  when  snug  posts  and  places 

Are  fulling  away  from  us,  one  by  one, 
Crush  —  crash  —  like  the  mummy  cases 

Bclzoni,  in  Egypt,  sat  upon. 
Wherein  lay  pickled,  in  state  sublime. 
Conservatives  of  the  ancient  time ;  — 
To  choose  such  a  moment  to  overset 
The  few  snug  nuisances  left  us  yet ; 
To  add  to  the  ruin  that  round  us  reigns, 
Bv  knocking  out    mayors'   and  town    clerks' 

brains ; 
By  dooming  all  corporate  bodies  to  fall, 
Ti'.l  they  leave,  at  last,  no  bodies  at  all  — 
Nought  but  the  ghosts  of  by-gone  glory. 
Wrecks  of  a  wcrld  that  once  was  Tory  !  — 
Where  pensive  criers,  like  owls  unblest, 

Kobb'd  of  theu  roosts,  shall  still  hoot  o'er 
them ; 
Nor  mai/'rs  shall  know  where  to  seek  a  nest, 

Till  Gaily  Knight  shall  Jind  one  for  them ;  — 
Till  mayors  and  kings,  with  none  to  rue  'em. 

Shall  perish  all  in  one  common  plague ; 

1  Theae  TerxM  were  written  in  rererence  to  the  Bill 
r.ueht  :n  at  tbis  lime,  for  Uio  rer>rin  of  Curporaiiona,  and 


And  the  aovereigna  of  Belfast  and  Tuam 

Must   join    their    brother,   Charles    Dix,   # 
Prague. 

Thus  mus'd  I,  in  my  chair,  alone, 

(As  above  dcscrib'd)  till  dozy  grown. 

And  nodding  assent  to  n:y  own  opinions, 

I  found  myself  borne  to  sleep's  dominions. 

Where,  lo,  before  my  dreaming  eyes, 

A  new  House  of  Commons  appcar'd  to  rise. 

Whose  living  contents,  to  fancy's  survey, 

Sccm'd  to  me  all  turn'd  topsy  turvy  — 

A  jumble  of  polypi  —  nobody  knew 

Which  was  the  head  or  which  the  cue. 

Here,  Inglis,  turn'd  to  a  sans  culotte, 

Wai  dancing  the  hays  with  Hume  and  Grote; 

There,  ripe  for  riot.  Recorder  Shaw 

Was  learning  from  Roebuck  ••  9a-ira ;  " 

While    Stanley    and     Graham,     as    poiiiarU 

wenches, 
Scream'd  •'  h  baa ! "  from  the  Tory  benches; 
And  Peel  and  O'Connell,  check  by  jowl. 
Were  dancing  an  Irish  carmagnole. 

The  Lord  preserve  us  !  —  if  dreams  come  tme. 
What  ia  this  hapless  realm  to  do  ? 

ANTICIPATED  MEETING 

or  TnB 

DHITISH   ASSOCIATION  IN  THE  YEAR  2836. 

1836. 
After  some  observations  from  Dr.  M'Grig 
On  that  fossile  reliquium  call'd  Petrified  Wig, 
Or  PerruquoUthua  —  a  specimen  rare 
Of  those  wigs,  made  for  antediluvian  wear, 
Which,  it  seems,  stood  the  Flood  without  turn 

ing  a  hair  — 
Mr.  Tomkins  rose  up,  and  requested  attention 
To  facts  no  less  wondrous  which  he  had  to  men 
tion. 

Some  large  fossil  creatures  had  lately  been  found        | 

Of  a  species  no  longer  now  seen  above  ground, 

But  the  same  (as  to  Tomkins  most  clearly  ap- 
pear?) 

With  those  nnimals,  lost  now  for  hundreds  oi 
years. 

Which  our  ancestors  us'd  to  call  '  Bishopi' 
and  •'  Peers," 

But  which  Tomkins  more  erudite  names  hai 
bestow'd  on. 

Having  call  the  Peer  fossil  th'  Amtocrttodon.* 

the  sweeping  amendments  propoeed  Ytj  Lord  Lyndhunt  srl 
other  Tory  Peers,  in  order  to  obstruct  the  meoMire. 
*  A  term  formed  on  the  model  of  tti«  MaModon.  4t« 


638 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMC^HuUS   tOEMS. 


AJid,  finding  much  food  under  t'other  one's  tho- 
rax, 
Has  christen' d  that  creature  th'  Episcopus  Vorax. 

Lest  the  savantes  and  dandies  should  think  this 
aU  fable, 

Mi  Tomkins  most  kindly  produc'd,  on  the 
table, 

A  sample  of  each  of  these  species  of  creatures, 

Both  tol'rably  human,  in  structure  and  fea- 
tures, 

Except  that  th'  Episcopus  seems,  Lord  deliver 
us  ! 

To've  been  carnivorous  as  well  as  granivorous  ; 

And  Tomkins,  on  searching  its  stomach,  found 
there 

Large  lumps,  such  as  no  modern  stomach  could 
bear. 

Of  a  substance  call'^J  Tithe,  upon  which,  as  'tis 
said. 

The  whole  Genus  Clericum  formerly  fed  ; 

And  which  having  lately  himself  decompounded. 

Just  to  see  what  'twas  made  of,  he  actually 
found  it 

Compos' d  of  all  possible  cookable  things 

That  e'er  tripp'd  upon  trotters  or  soar'd  upon 
wings  — 

All  products  of  earth,  both  gramineous,  herba- 
ceous, 

Hordeaceous,  fabaceous,  and  eke  farinaceous. 

All  clubbing  their  quotas,  to  glut  the  oesopha- 
gus 

Of  this  ever-greedy  and  grasping  Tithophagus.^ 

"  Admire,"  exclaim'd  Tomkins,  "  the  kind  dis- 
pensation 

"  By  Providence  shed  on  this  much-favor'd  na- 
tion, 

"  In  sweeping  so  ravenous  a  race  from  the 
earth, 

"  That  might  else  have  occasion'd  a  general 
dearth  — 

"  And  thus  burying  'em,  deep  as  ev'n  Joe  Hume 
would  sink  'em, 

'With  the  Ichthyosaurus  and  Palaeorynchum, 

'  And  other  queer  ci-devajit  things,  under 
ground  — 

"  N  ii  forgetting  that  fossilized  vouth,*  so  re- 
nown'd, 

"  Who  liv'd  just  to  witness  the  Deluge  —  was 
gratified 

^  Much  by  the  sight,  and  has  since  been  found 
stratified:  " 

•  The  zoSlogical  term  for  a  tithe  eater. 
Tlie  man  found  by  Scheuclizer,  and  supposed  by  him 
|o  ha; 9  >*"«ua«sed  tiie  Deluge  ("  homo  diluvii  testis  "),  but 


Thi*   tjxcturesque  touch — ouitp  in  Tomkins'r 

way  — 
Call'd  forth  from  the  savantes  a  general  hurrah ; 
While  inquiries  among  them  went  rapidly  round, 
As  to  Avhere  this  young  stratified  man  couid  be 

found. 
The  "  learn'd  Theban's  "  discourse  next  as  live- 
ly flow'd  on, 
To  sketch  t'other  wonder,  th'  Aristocratodon  — 
An  animal,  differing  from  most  human  creatures 
Not  so  much  in  speech,  inward  structure,  o* 

features. 
As  in  having  a  certain  excrescence,  T.  said, 
Which  in  form  of  a  coronet  grew  from  its  head 
And  devolv'd  to  its  heirs,  when  the  creatur 

was  dead. ; 
Nor  matter'd  it,  while  this  heirloom  was  trans 

mitted. 
How  unfit  were  the  headi,  so  the  coronet  fitted. 

He  then  mention'd  a  strange  zoological  fact, 

Whose  announcement  appear' d  much  applause 
to  attract. 

In  France,  said  the  learned  professor,  this  race 

Had  so  noxious  become,  in  some  centuries' 
space. 

From  their  numbers  and  strength,  that  the  land 
was  o'errun  with  'em. 

Every  one's  question  being,  "  What's  to  be  dor>« 
with  'em  ? " 

When,  lo  !  certain  knowing  ones  — savans,  may- 
hap. 

Who,  like  Buckland's  deep  followers,  under- 
stood trap,' 

Slyly  hinted  that   nought  upon   earth  was  st 


For  Arwtocratodons,  when  rampant  and  rude, 

As  to  stop,  or  curtail,  their  allowance  of  food 

This  expedient  was  tried,  and  a  proof  it  affbrdk 

Of  th'  effect  that  short  commons  will  have  upor 
lords ; 

For  this  whole  race  of  bipeds,  one  6ne  sum- 
mer's morn. 

Shed  their  coronets,  just  as  a  deer  sneds  lot 
horn. 

And  the  moment  these  gewgaws  fell  off,  they 
became 

Quite  a  new  sort  of  creatui  a  —  so  harmless  and 
tame. 

That  zoologists  might,  for  the  first  time,  main 
tain  'em 

To  be  near  akin  to  the  ffen  is  humanum, 

who  turned  out,  I  am  sorr>'  to  say,  to  be  merely  a  great  I'* 
ard. 
3  Fanicularly  the  Ibrmatioa  called  TVtinntiM  Tra^ 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS.                                     SS* 

A.nd  tV  expe.iment,  tried  bo  ouccessfully 

then. 

If  any  need  pray  for  the  dead, 

Sinuid  be  kept  in  remembraace,  when  m 

anted 

'Tis  those  to  whom  post  obits  fall ; 

again. 

Since  wisely  hath  Solomon  said, 

•            •             •             •             « 

*Tis  «'  money  that  answercth  alL" 
But  ours  be  the  patrons  who  live ;  — 

For,  once  in  their  glebe  they  are  throwii, 
The  dead  have  no  living  to  give. 

SONGS  OF  THE  CHURCH. 

And  therefore  we  leave  them  alone. 

No.  1. 

Though  in  morals  we  may  not  excel. 
Such  perfection  is  rare  to  be  had ; 

IJEAVE  ME  ALONE. 

A  good  life  is,  of  course,  very  well. 

A  rASTOKAL  BALLAD. 

But  good  living  is  also  —  not  bad. 

*  We  tre  evrr  ptanding  on  the  dercnsive.    All  that  we  lay 
to  llieni  i», '  Ifaee  uj  alone.'    The  EHtablished  Church  is 

And  when,  to  feed  earthworms,  I  go, 
Let  this  epitaph  stare  from  my  stoi.e, 

pan  mid  parcel  iif  the  constitution  of  this  country 

Tou 

••  Here  lies  the  Right  Rev.  so  and  so  ; 

are  bound  to  conform  to  lliis  constituticin.    We  a^k 

of  you 

«•  Pass,  stranger,  and  —  leave  him  alone.** 

nothing   more  j  —  let  lu  alone."  —  Letter  in   'J'ke 

T\me*, 

Nov.  1838. 

I83a 

— 

OoME,  list  to  my  pa.storal  tones, 

la  clover  my  shepherds  I  keep  ; 
My  stalls  arc  well  furnish'd  with  drones, 
Whoso  preaching  invites  one  to  sleep. 

EPISTLE  FROil  HENRY  OF  EX— T-R 
TO  JOHN  OF  TUAM. 

A.t  my  spirit  let  infidels  scoff, 

Deae  John,  as  I  know,  like  ovir  brother  of  I^on- 

So  they  leave  but  the  substance  my  own 

f 

don. 

For,  in  sooth,  I'm  extremely  well  off. 

You've  sipp'd  of  all  knowledge,  both  sacred  and 

If  the  world  will  but  let  me  alone. 

mundane. 
No  doubt,  in  some  ancient  Joe  Miller,  you'ye 

1  )issenter8  arc  grumblers,  we  know ;  — 

read 

Though  excellent  men,  in  tlujir  way, 

What  Cato,  that  cunning    old    Roman,   once 

They  never  like  things  to  be  so. 

said  — 

Let  things  be  however  they  may. 

That  he  ne'er  saw  two  rev'rend  soothsayers 

But  disscnting's  a  trick  1  detest; 

meet. 

.\nd,  besides,  'tis  an  axiom  well  known, 

Let  it  be  where  it  might,  in  the  shrine  or  the 

Hie  creed  that's  best  paid  is  the  best, 

street, 

If  the  M?ipaid  would  let  it  alone. 

Without  wondering    the    rogues,   'mid    theii 
solemn  grimaces, 

To  me,  I  own,  very  surprising 

Didn't  burst  out  a-laughing  in   each    other'i 

Your  Newmans  and  Puseys  all  seem. 

faces.' 

Who  start  first  with  rationalizing, 

What  Cato  then  meant,  though  'tis  so  long  ago, 

Then  jump  to  the  other  extreme. 

Even  we  in  the  present  times  pretty  well  know ; 

Far  better,  'twixt  nonsense  and  sense. 

Having   soothsayers  also,  who  —  sooth   to  say, 

A  .nice  Aa{/"-way  concern,  like  our  own. 

John  — 

N\  hrre  piety's  mix'd  up  with  pence, 

Are  no  better  in  some  points  than  those  -A   laji: 

Aud  the  latter  are  tie'er  left  alone. 

gone. 
And  a  pair  of  whom,  meeting  (between  you  aj-.  1 

Of  Jl  our  tormentors,  the  Press  is 

me). 

The  one  that  most  tears  us  to  bits  ; 

Might  laugh  in   their  sleeves,  too—  nil   \xmu 

A.nd  now,  Mrs.  WooUrey's  '•  excesses," 

though  they  be. 

Have  thrown  all  its  imps  into  fits. 

But  this,   by   the   way— my  ir.tention    bein| 

The  dev'ls  havt  been  at  us,  for  weeks. 

chiefly. 

\nd  there's  no  saying  w^en    they'll 

have 

In  this,  my  first  letter,  to  hint  to  you  briefly. 

dotie ;  — 

0  dear,  how  I  wish  Mr.  Breeks 

1  Minn  M,  ai  angur  augur*!!)  aMpicieiu  (ibi  temrfr»Ml  I 

Ha<l  lot'l  Mr?    Woolfrey  alone ! 

rim. 

840 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMiS. 


That,  seeing  how  fond  you  of  Tuum  '  must  be, 

WL*iP  Meum's  at  all  times  the  main  point  with 
me, 

We  scarce  could  do  better  than  form  an  alli- 
ance, 

To  set  these  sad  Anti-Church  times  at  defi- 
ance.: 

You,  John,  recollect,  being  still  to  embark, 

With  no  share  in  the  firm  but  your  title  *  and 
mark ; 

Or  ev'n  should  you  feel  in  your  grandeur  in- 
clin'd 

To  call  yourself  Pope,  why,  I  shouldn't  much 
mind  ; 

While  my  church  as  usual  holds  fast  by  your 
Tuum, 

And  every  one  else's,  to  make  it  all  Suum. 

Thus  allied,  Fve  no  doubt  we  shall  nicely  agree, 

As  no  twins  can  be  liker,  in  most  points,  than 
we  ; 

Both,  specimens  choice  of  that  mix'd  sort  of 
beast, 

(See  Rev.  xiii.  1,)  a  political  priest ; 

Both  mettlesome  chargers,  both  brisk  pam- 
phleteers, 

Ripe  and  ready  for  all  that  sets  men  by  the  ears  ; 

And  I,  at  least  one,  who  would  scorn  to  stick 
longer 

By  any  giv'n  cause  than  I  found  it  the  stronger. 

And  who,  smooth  in  my  turnings,  as  if  on  a 
swivel. 

When  the  tone  ecclesiastic  won't  do,  try  the 
cii'll. 

In  short  (not  to  bore  you,  e'\enjure  divino) 
We've  the  same  cause  in  common,  John  —  all 

but  the  rhino  ; 
And  that  vulgar  surplus,  whate'er  it  may  be. 
As  you're  not  us'd  to  cash,  John,  you'd  best 

leave  to  me. 
And  80,  without  form  —  as  the  postman  won't 

tarry  — 
I'm,  dear  Jack  of  Tuam, 

Yours, 

ExBTEB  Harbt. 


1  So  «pelled  in  those  ancient  versicles  which  John,  we 
kndsntand,  frequently  chants:  — 

"  Had  every  one  Suum, 
You  wouldn't  have  Tuum, 
But  I  should  have  Meum, 
And  sing  Te  Deuoi." 


SONG  OF  OLD  PUCK. 

"  And  those  things  do  best  please  me, 
That  befall  preposterously." 

Puck  Junior,  Midsummer  JViglit's  Drtam 

Who  wants  old  Puck  ?  for  here  am  I, 
A  mongrel  imp,  'twixt  earth  and  sky. 
Ready  alike  to  crawl  or  fly  ; 
Now  in  the  mud,  now  in  the  air, 
And,  so  'tis  for  mischief,  reckless  where. 

As  to  my  knowledge,  there's  no  end  to't. 
For,  where  I  haven't  it,  I  pretend  to't ; 
And,  'stead  of  taking  a  learn' d  degree 
At  some  dull  university. 
Puck  found  it  handier  to  commence 
With  a  certain  share  of  impudence. 
Which  passes  one  off"  as  learn' d  and  clever 
Beyond  all  other  degrees  whatever ; 
And  enables  a  man  of  lively  sconce 
To  be  Master  of  all  the  Arts  at  once. 
No  matter  what  the  science  may  be— 
Ethics,  Physics,  Theology, 
Mathematics,  Hydrostatics, 
Aerostatics  or  Pneumatics  — 
Whatever  it  be,  I  take  my  luck, 
'Tis  all  the  same  to  ancient  Fuck  ; 
Whose  head's  so  full  of  all  sorts  of  wares. 
That  a  brother  imp,  old  Sraugden,  swears, 
If  I  had  but  of  law  a  little  smatt'ring, 
I'd  then  be  perfect '  —  which  is  flatt'ring. 

My  skill  as  a  linguist  all  must  know 
Who  met  me  abroad  some  months  ago  ; 
(And  heard  me  abroad  exceedingly,  too. 
In  the  moods  and  tenses  of  parlez  vous) 
When,  as  old  Chambaud's  shade  stood  mute, 
I  spoke  such  French  to  the  Institute 
As  puzzled  those  learned  Thebans  much. 
To  know  if  'twas  Sanscrit  or  Higlx  Dutch, 
And  might    have    pass'd  with    th'   unobsen 

ing 
As  one  of  the  unkno\\-n  tongues  of  Irving. 
As  to  my  talent  for  ubiquity, 
There's  nothing  like  it  in  all  antiquity 
Like  Mungo  (my  peculiar  care) 
"  I'm  here,  I'm  dere,  I'm  ebery  where."  * 


»  For  his  keeping  the  title  he  may  quote  classical  auttp 
uty,  as  Horace  expressly  says,  "  Poteris  servare  Tuam."— 
De  Art.  Poet.  v.  329.— CAronicfe. 

»  Verbatim,  as  said.    This  tribute  is  only  equalled  by  tha.' 

of  Talleyrand  to  his  medical  friend,  Dr. :  "  II  se  cob 

BoJt  en  tout  J  et  mSme  un  peu  en  m^decine." 

*  Song  in  «  The  Padlock." 


HATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS                                       6«i 

If  any  one's  -wanted  to  take  the  chair, 

Were  bid  for,  with  eagerness  ev'n  more  absurd 

Upon  any  subjcet,  any  where, 

Than  has  often  distinguish'd  this  greU  think 

Just  look  around,  and  —  Puck  is  there  ! 

ing  nation. 

When  slaughter's  at  hand,  your  bird  of  prt-j 

la  never  kno^vn  to  be  out  of  the  way  ; 

Talk  of  wonders  one  now  and  then  ser*  adrcr 

And  wherever  mischiefs  to  be  got. 

tis'd, 

There's  Puck  ittstaiUer,  on  the  spot. 

"  Black  swans  "  —  "  Queen  Anno  farthings"— 

or  e'vn  ••  a  child's  caul "  — 

Only  find  me  in  neguB  and  applause, 

Much  and  justly  as  all   these  rare  obiects  ar« 

And  I'm  your  man  for  any  cause. 

priz'd, 

11  tcroni;  the  cause,  the  more  my  delight ; 

"St— nl— y's  talents"  outdid  them  —  swans, 

Bat  I  don't  object  to  it,  ev'n  when  riff  hi. 

farthings,  and  all ! 

If  I  only  can  vex  some  old  friend  by't ; 

There's  D — rh — m,    for  instance ;  —  to    worry 

At  length,  some  mistrust  of  this  coin  got  abroad ; 

him 

Even  quondam  believers  began  much  to  doubt 

Fills  up  my  cup  of  bliss  to  the  brim  ! 

of  it; 

Some  rung  it,   some  rubb'd  it,   suspecting  a 

(note  by  the  editor.) 

fraud  — 

Those  who  are  anxious  to  run  a  muck 

And  the  hard  rubs  it  got  rather  took  the  shir.J 

Can't  do  better  than  join  with  Puck. 

out  of  it. 

They'll  find  him  bon  diable  —  spite  of  his  phiz  — 

And,  in  fact,  his  great  ambition  is. 

Others,  wishing  to  break  the  poor  prodigy's  fall. 

While  playing  old  Puck  in  first-rate  style. 

Said  'twasTinoMTi  well  to  all  who  nad  studied 

To  be  thought  Robin  Goodfellow  all  the  while. 

the  matter. 

That  the  Greeks  bad  not  only  great  talents  but 



amall* 

And    those  found    on    the  youngster   werp 

POLICE  REPORTS. 

clearly  tfie  latter. 

CASE   OP   ntPOSTUKE. 

While  others,  who  view'd  the  grave  farce  witu  a 

grin  — 

Akono   other  stray  floshmen,  dispos'd  oi,  this 

Seeing  counterfeits  pass  thus  for  coinage  sc 

week. 

massy. 

Was  a  youngster,  nam'd  St — nl — y,  genteelly 

By  way  of  a  hint  to  the  dohs  taken  in, 

connected, 

Appropriately  quoted  Budseus  ne  Atae. 

Who  has  lately  been  passing  off  coins,  as  an- 

tique. 

In  short,  the  whole  sham  by  degrees  was  fbuna 

Which  have  proved  to  be  sham    ,nes,  though 

out, 

long  unsuspected. 

And  this  coin,  which  they  chose  by  such  fine 

names  to  call. 

The  ancients,  our  readers  need  hardly  be  told. 

Prov'd   a  mere    lacker'd    article  —  showy,   no 

Had  a  coin  they  call'd  «•  Talents,"  for  whole- 

doubt. 

sale  demands ; ' 

But,  ye  gods,  not  the  true  Attic  Talent  at  alL 

And  'twas  some  of  said  coinage  this  youth  was 

so  bold 

As  th'  impostor  was  still  young  enough  to  re- 

As to  fancy  he'd  got,  God  knows  how,  in  his 

pent. 

hands. 

And,  besides,  had  some  claims  to  a  grands 

connection. 

People   took   him,  however,  like  fools,  at  his 

Their  Worships — considerate  for  once-     only 

word  ; 

sent 

And  these  talents  (all  priz'd  at  his  own  valua- 

The young  Thimblcrig  off  to  tVc  House  of 

tion,) 

Correction. 

>  For  ai   account  o(  the  coin  called  Talents  by  the  an- 

t The  Talentum  Magnum  and  tbe  TaltntuB  Atdcam  i^ 

cients,  s«e  BudsiLs  de  Asse,  and  the  other  writers  de  Re 

pear  to  have  been  tte  same  coin. 

Nama  i:ia.                                                                                ' 
81 

64S 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


REFLECTIONS. 

iSDSSeSED    TO   THE   AUTHOB   OF   THE   ARTICLE    OF 
THE   CHURCH    IN   THE   LAST    NUMBER   OF   THE 

QUARTERLY  REVIEW. 

Tk  quite  of  your  mind  ;  —  though  these  Pats 

cry  aloud 

That  they've  got  "  too  much  Church,"  'tis  all 

nonsense  and  stuff; 

VoT  Church  is  like  Love,  of  which  Figaro  vow'd 

That  even  too  much  of  it's  not  quite  enough.* 

Ay,  dose  them  with  parsons,  'twill  cure  all  their 
ills  ;  — 
Copy  Morison's  mode  when  from  pill  box  un- 
dnunted  he 
Pours   through  the    patient  his    black-coated 
pills, 
Nor  cares  what  their  quality,  so  there's  but 
quantity 

I  verily  thinlt,   'twould    be  worth  England's 
while 
To  consider,  for  Paddy's  own  benefit,  whether 
'Twould  not  be  as  well  to  give  up  the  green 

isle 
To  the  care,  wear  and  tear  of  the  Church  alto- 
gether. 

The  Irish  are  well  us'd  to  treatment  so  pleas- 
ant ; 
The  harlot  Church  gave  them  to  Henry  Plan- 
tagenet,* 
And  now,  if  King  William  would  make  them  a 
present 
To  t'other  chaste  lady  —  ye  Saints,  just  im- 
agine it ! 

Chief  Sees.,  Lord- Lieutenants,  Commanders-in- 
chief, 
Might  then  all  be  cuU'd  from  th'  episcopal 
benches ; 
W\vie  colonels  in  black  would  afford  some  re- 
lief 
From  the  hue  that  reminds  one  of  th'  old 
scarlet  wench's. 

Fhink  how  fierce  at  a  charge  (being  practis'd 
therein) 
The  Right  Reverend  Brigadier  Ph— 11— tts 
would  slash  on ! 

I  En  fait  d'amour,  trop  m&me  n'est  pas  assez.  —  Barii»r 
u  SnUle. 
«  Grant  of  Ireland  to  Henry  II.  by  Pope  Adrian. 


How  General  Bl — mf— d,  through  thick  anu 
through  thin. 
To  the  end  of  the  chapter  (or  chapters)  would 
dash  on  I 

For,  in  one  point  alone  do  the  amply  fed  race 

Of  bishops  to  beggars  similitude  bear  — 
That,  set  them   on  horseback,  in  fuU  8te9j  i< 
chase, 
And  they'll  ride,  if  not  puil'd   »j;  in  time  - 
you  know  where. 

But,  bless  you,  in  Ireland,   that  matters  not 
much, 
Where  affairs  have    for  centuries  gone   the 
same  way ; 
And  a  good  stanch  Conservative's  system  is  such 
That  he'd  back  even  Beelzebub's  long-founded 
sway. 

I  am  therefore,  dear  Quarterly,  quite  of  youj 
mind ;  — 
Chiirch,  Church,  in  all  shapes,  into  Erin  let's 
pour  ; 
And  the  more  she  rejecteth  our  med'cine  so 
kind. 
The  more  let's  repeat  it — "Black  dose,  as 
before." 

Let  Coercion,  that  peacemaker,  go  hand  in  hanc 
With  demure-ey'd  Conversion,  fit  sister  anc 
brother ; 
And,  covering  with  prisons  and  churches  the 
land, 
All  that  won't  go  to  one,  we'll  put  into  the 
other. 

For  the  sole,  leading  maxim  of  us  who're  in 
clin'd 
To  rule  over  Ireland,  not  well,  but  religiously, 
Is  to  treat  her  like  ladies,  who've  just  been  con- 
fin'd 
(Or  who  ought  to  be  so")  and  to  church  her  pr<» 
digiously. 


NEW  GRAND  EXHIBITION  OF  MODELS 

OF  THE 
TWO  HOUSES  OF  PARLIAMENT. 

Come,  step  in,  gentlefolks,  here  ye  may  view 
An  exact  and  nat'ral  representation 


SATiniCAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS.                                       844 

.'Like  Sibum's  Model  of  Waterloo  ') 

'Twould  do  your  heart  good,  ma'am,  then  U 

Of  the  Lords  and  Commons  of  this  here  nation. 

be  by. 

WTien,  bursting  with  gunpowder,  'stead  of 

There  they  are  —  all  cut  om  in  cork  — 

with  bUe, 

The  "  Collective  Wisdom  "  wondrous  to  see ; 

Crack,  crack,  goes  the  bishop,  while  dowagen 

My  eyes  !  when  aU  them  heads  are  at  work, 

cry. 

What  a  vastly  weighty  aonsarn  it  must  be. 

•<  How  iixe  the  dear  man,  both  in  matter  and 

style  !  " 

Ai  for  tha  "  wisdom,"  —  tfiat  may  come  anon  ; 

'I'hough,  to  say  truth,  we  sometimes  see 

Should  you  want  a  few  Peers  and  M.  P.'s,  to 

;;^  And  I  find  the  phenomenon  no  uncommon  'un) 

bestow. 

A  man  who's  M.  P.  with  a  head  that's  M.  T. 

As  presents   to  friends,  we  can  recommend 

these  : »  — 

Our  Lords  are  rather  too  small,  'tis  true  ; 

Our  nobles  are  come  down  to  ninepence,  yoa 

But  they  do  well  enough  for  Cabinet  shelves; 

know. 

And  besides,  —  what's  a  man  with  creeturs  to 
do 
That  make  such  werrt/  small  figures  them- 

And we  charge  but  a  penny  apiece  for  M.  P.'a. 

Those  of  bottle  corks  made  take  most  with  th« 

selves  ? 

trade, 

(At  least,  'mong  such  as  my  Irish  writ  sum  • 

tlieie  —  don't  touch  those  lords,  my  pretty 

mons,) 

dears  —  {Aside.) 

Of  old  whiskey  corks  our  O'Connells  are  made, 

Curse  the  children  !  —  this  comes  of  reforming 

But  those  we  make  Shaws  and  Lcfroys  of^  an 

a  nation : 

rum  'uns. 

rhose  meddling  young  brats  have  so  damag'd 

So,  step  in,  gentlefolks,  &c.  &c 

my  peers. 

Da  Caoo. 

I  must  lay  in  more  cork  for  a  new  creation. 

Fhem  yonder's  our  bishops  —  "  to  whom  much 

ANNOUNCEMENT 

is  giv'n," 

And  who'rc  ready  to  take  as  much  more  as 

or 

you  please : 

A   NEW   GHAND    ACCELERATION    COKPANT 

The  seers  of  old  times  saw  visions  of  heaven, 

But  these  holy  seers  see  nothing  but  Sees. 

rOB  TOE  PROUOTIOir  OF 

THE  SPEED   OP  UTERATUBE. 

Like  old  Atlas  •  (the  chap,  in  Cheapside,  there 

below,) 

Lous  complaints  being  made,  in  these  quick- 

'Tia  for  so  much  per  cent,  they  take  heaVn  on 

reading  times, 

their  shoulders  ; 

Of  too  slack  a  supply,  both  of  prose  works  and 

And  joy  'tis  to  know  that  old  High  Church 

rhymes. 

and  Co., 

A  new  Company,  form'd  on  the  keep-moving 

Though  not  capital  priests,  are  such  capital 

plan. 

holders. 

First  propos'd  by  the  great  firm  of  Catch-'em- 

who-can, 

Here's  one  on  'em,  Ph— Up — ^ts,  who  now  is 

Beg  to  say  they've  now  ready,  in  full  wind  ani 

away. 

speed, 

As  we're  having  him  fill'd  with  bumbustible 

Some  fast-going  authors,  of  quite  a  new  breed  — 

stuff", 

Such  as  not  ho  who  rutia  but  who  gallcpi  may 

Small  crackers   and  squibs,   for  a  great  gala 

read  — 

day. 

And  who,  if  well  curried  and  fed,  they've  n« 

When  we   annually  fire  his  Right  Rever- 

doubt, 

ence  oflf. 

Will  beat  even  Bentley's  swift  stud  out  and  om 

^  On«  or  the  moct  interesting  and  curioua  of  all  the  extai- 

1  The  sien  of  the  Inaurance  Office  in  CheapiMa 

thkMaoftliedajr 

B44 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


It  is  true,  in  these  day;j,  such  a  drug  is  renown, 
We've  "Immortals"  as  rife  as  M.  P.'s  about 

town ; 
And  not  a  Blue's  rout  but  can  offhand  supply 
Some  invalid  bard  who's  insui'd  "  not  to  die." 
Btill,  let  England  but  once  try  our  authors,  she'll 

find 
How  fast  they'll  leave   even  these  Immortals 

behind ; 
And  how  truly  the  toils  of  Alcides  were  light, 
Compar'd  with  his  toil  who  can  read  all  they 

write. 

In  fact,  there's  no  saying,  so  gainful  the  trade. 
How  fast  immortalities  now  may  be  made ; 
Since  Helicon  never  will  want  an  "  Undying 

One," 
As  long  as  the  public  continues  a  Buying  One ; 
And  the    company  hope    yet   to  witness   the 

hour. 
When,  by  strongly  applying  the  mare-motive ' 

power, 
A  three-decker  novel,  'midst  oceans  of  praise. 
May  be  written,  launch'd,  read,  and  —  forgot, 

in  three  days ! 

In  addition  to  all  this  stupendous  celerity, 
Which  — to  the  no  small  relief  of  posterity  — 
Paj's  off  at  sight  the  whole  debit  of  fame, 
Nor  troubles  futurity  ev'n  with  a  name 
(A  project  that  won't  as  much  tickle  Tom  Tegg 

as  tis, 
Since  'twill  rob  Aim  of  his  second-priced  Peg- 
asus) ; 
We,  the  Company  —  still  more  to  show  how  im- 
mense 
Is  the  power  o'er  the  mind  of  pounds,  shillings, 

and  pence ; 
And  that  not  even  Phoebus  himself,  in  our  day, 
Could  get  up  a  lay  without  first  an  outlay  — 
Beg  to  add,  as  our  literature  soon  may  com- 
pare. 
In  its  quick  make  and  vent,  with  our  Birming- 
ham ware, 
And  it  doesn't  at  all  matter  in  either  of  these 

lines, 
How  sham  is  the  article,  so  it  but  shines,  — 
We  keep  authors  ready,  all  perch'd,  pen  in  hand. 
To  write  off,  in  any  giv'n  style,  at  command 
No  matter  what  bard,  be  ho  living  or  dead,* 
Aik  a  work  from  his  pen,  and  'tis  done  soon  as 
said: 

I  "  'Tis  money  makes  the  mare  to  go." 
We  have  lodgings  apart,  for  our  posthumous  people. 
As  w»  find  that,  if  left  with  the  live  ones,  they  keep  ill. 


j  There  being,  on  th'  estabUshment,  six  Waltei 

Scotts, 
One  capital  Wordsworth,  and  South  eys  in  lots 
ThreechoiceMrs.Nortons,  all  singing  like  sirens. 
While  most  of  our  pallid  young  clerks  are  Lord 

Byrons. 
Then  we've  ***s  and  ***s  (for  whom  there'a 

small  call), 
And  ***-s  and  ***s  (for  whom  no  call  at  all" 

In  short,  whosoe'er  the  last  "  Lion  "  may  be, 
We've  a  Bottom  who'll  copy  his  roar'  to  a  T, 
And  so  well,  that  not  one  of  the  buyers  who've 

got  'em 
Can  tell  which  is  lion,  and  which  only  Bottom. 

N.  B.  —  The  company,  since  they  set  up  in  this 

line. 
Have  mov'd  their  concern,  and  are  now  at  the 

sign 
Of  the  Muse's  Velocipede,  Fleet  Street,  where  aU 
Who  wish  well  to  the  scheme  are  invited  to  call. 


SOME    ACCOUNT    OF    THE    LATE   DIN- 
NER TO   DAN. 

From  tongue  to  tongue  the  rumor  flew ; 
All  ask'd,  aghast,  •'  Is't  true  ?  is't  true  ? " 

But  none  knew  whether  'twas  fact  or  fable ; 
And  still  tl^e  unholy  rumor  ran. 
From  Tory  woman  to  Tory  nian, 

Though  none  to  come  at  the  truth  was  able  — 
Till,  lo,  at  last,  the  fact  came  out. 
The  horrible  fact,  beyond  all  doubt. 

That  Dan  had  din'd  at  the  Viceroy's  table  ; 
Had  flesh'd  his  Popish  knife  and  fork 
In  the  heart  of  th'  Established  mutton  and  pork  ! 

Who  can  forget  the  deep  sensation 

That  news  produc'd  in  this  orthodox  nation  ? 

Deans,  rectors,  curates,  all  agreed, 

K  Dan  was  aliow'd  at  the  Castle  to  feed, 

'Twas  clearly  all  up  with  the  Protestant  cref  i  1 

There  hadn't,  indeed,  such  an  apparition 

Been  heard  of,  in  Dublin,  since  that  day 
When,  during  the  first  grand  exhibition 

Of  Don  Giovanni,  that  naughty  play. 
There  appear'd,  as  if  rais'd  by  necromancers. 
An  extra  devil  among  the  dancers  ! 
Yes  —  ev'ry  one  saw,  witli  fearful  thrill. 
That  a  devil  too  much  Uad  join'd  the  quadrillr  ;  * 

«  "  Bottom :  Let  me  play  t»i«i  lion ;  1  will  roar  vou  u 
twere  any  nightingale." 
4  History  of  the  Irish  Stag*. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


AM 


Ar.d  Bulphur  was  smelt,   and  the   lamps   let 

faU 
A.  grim,  green  light  o'er  the  ghastly  ball, 
Aud  the  poor  sham  dev'ls  didn't  like  it  all ; 
For,  they  knew  from  whence  th'  intruder  had 

come, 
rhoiigh  he  left,  that  night,  his  tail  at  home. 

fhis  fiict,  we  see,  is  a  parallel  case 

To  the  dinner  that,  some  weeks  since,  took  place. 

With  the  dilferencc  slight  of  fiend  and  man, 

It  shows  what  a  ucat  of  Popish  sinners 
That  city  must  be,  where  the  devil  and  Dan 

May  thus   drop  in,   at  quadrilles   and  din- 


iJut,  mark  the  end  of  these  foul  proceedings. 
These  demon  hops  and  Popish  feedings. 
Some  comfort  'twill  be  —  to  those,  at  least. 

Who've  studied  this  awful  dinner  question  — 
To  know  that  Dan,  on  the  night  of  that  feast. 

Was  seiz'd  with  a  dreadful  indigestion  ; 
That  envoys  were  sent,  post  haste,  to  his  priest. 
To  come  and  absolve  the  suffering  sinner. 
For  eating  so  much  at  a  heretic  dinner ; 
And  some  good  people  were  even  afraid 
That    Peel's    old    confectioner  —  still    at    the 

trade  — 
Had  poison'd  the  Papist  with  orangeade. 


NEW  HOSPITAL  FOR    SICK  LITERATL 

Wrni  all  humility  we  beg 

To  inform  the  public,  that  Tom  Tcgg  — 

Known  for  his  spunky  speculations. 

In  buying  up  dead  reputations, 

And,  by  a  mode  of  galvanizing 

Which,  all  must  own,  is  quite  surprising, 

Making  dead  authors  move  again, 

As  though  they  still  were  living  men  ;  — 

All  this,  too,  manag'd,  in  a  trice, 

By  those  two  magic  words,  ••  Half  Price," 

Which  brings  the  charm  so  quick  about, 

That  worn-out  poets,  left  without 

A  second  yboi  whereon  to  stand, 

Are  made  to  go  at  second  Iiand ;  — 

Twill  please  the  public,  we  repeat. 

To  learn  that  Tegg,  who  works  this  feat, 

KnA,  therefore,  knows  what  care  it  needs 

To  keep  alive  Fame's  invalids, 

Has  oped  a  Hospital,  in  town, 

for  :ascs  cl'  knock'd-up  renown  — 


Falls,  fractures,  dangerous  Epic^'u 

(By  some  call'd  Cantos),  stabs  from  wits ; 

And,  of  all  wounds  for  which  they're  nun'd. 

Dead  cuts  from  publishers,  the  worst ;  — 

All  these,  and  other  such  fatalities, 

That  happen  to  frail  immortabties. 

By  Tegg  are  so  expertly  treated. 

That  ofttimes,  when  the  cure's  completed* 

The  patient's  made  robust  enough 

To  stand  a  few  more  rounds  of  puff. 

Till,  like  the  ghosts  of  Dante's  lay, 

He's  puff'd  into  thin  air  away  1 

As  titled  poets  (being  phenomenons) 

Don't   like  to    mix    with    low    and    comma** 

'uns, 
Tegg's  Hospital  has  separate  wards* 
Express  for  literary  lords. 
Where  prose  peers,  of  immoderate  length. 
Are    nurs'd,    when    they've     outgrown    then 

strength, 
And  poets,  whom  their  friends  despair  of^ 
Are  —  put  to  bed  and  taken  care  oL 

Tegg  begs  to  contradict  a  story, 

Now  current  both  with  Whig  and  Tory. 

That  Doctor  W— rb— t>-n,  M.  P., 

Well  known  for  his  antipathy,  / 

His  deadly  hate,  good  man,  to  all 

The  race  of  poets,  great  and  small  — 

So  much,  that  he's  been  heard  to  own, 

Ho  would  most  willingly  cut  down 

The  holiest  groves  on  Pindus'  mount 

To  turn  the  timber  to  account !  — 

The  story  actually  goes,  that  ho 

Prescribes  at  Tegg's  Infirmary ; 

And  oft,  not  only  stints,  for  spite, 

The  patients  in  their  copyright, 

But  that,  on  being  call'd  in  lately 

To  two  sick  poets,  suffering  greatly. 

This  vaticidal  Doctor  sent  them 

So  strong  a  dose  of  Jeremy  Benthan^ 

ITiat  one  of  the  poor  bards  but  cried, 

"  O,  Jerry,  Jerry  !  "  and  then  died  ; 

While  t'other,  though  less  stuff  was  giTCB* 

Is  on  his  road,  'tis  fear'd,  to  heaven  1 

Of  this  evsnt,  hov/e'er  unpleasant, 
Tegg  means  to  say  no  more  at  present. 
Intending  shortly  to  prepare 
A  statement  of  the  whole  tfTair, 
With  full  accounts,  at  the  same  time. 
Of  some  late  cases  (prose  Rnd  rhyme) 
Subscrib'd  with  every  author's  name. 
That's  now  on  the  Sick  List  of  Foma. 


246 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


RELIGION  AND  TRADE. 

''  Sir  Hobeit  Peel  believed  it  was  necessary  to  originate  all 
respecting  religion  and  trade  in  a  Committee  of  tlie 
House."— CAureA  Extension,  May  Zi,  1830. 

Bay,  who  was  the  wag,  indecorously  witty, 
Who  first,  in  a  statute,  this  libel  convey'd ; 

And   thus  slyly  referr'd  to  the  selfeame  com- 
mittee, 
As  matters  congenial,  Religion  and  Trade  ? 

O  Durely,  my  Ph — ^llp — ts,  'twas  thou  didst  the 

deed; 

For  none  but  thyself,  or  some  pluralist  brother, 

.♦ecustom'd  to  mix  up  the  craft  with  the  creed, 

Could  bring  such  a  pair  thus  to  twin  with 

each  other. 

And  yet,  when  one  thinks  of  times  present  and 
gone. 
One  is  forc'd  to  confess,  on  maturer  reflection, 
rhat  'tisn't  in  the  eyes  of  committees  alone 
That  the  shrine  and  the  shop  seem  to  have 
some  connection. 

Not  to  mention  those  monarchs  of  Asia's  fair 

land, 

Whose  civil  Ust  all  is  in  ♦'  god-money  "  paid ; 

And  where  the  whole  peoplcj  by  royal  command, 

Buy  their  gods  at  the  government  mart,  ready 

made  j '  — 

There  was  also  (as  mention' d,  in  rhyme  and  in 
prose,  is) 
Gold   hoap'd,  throughout  Egypt,   on  every 
shrine. 
To  make  rings   for  right  reverend  crocodiles' 
noses  — 
Just  such  as,  my  Ph — lip — ts,   would  look 
well  in  thine. 

But  one  needn't  fly  off",  in  this  erudite  mood ; 
And  'tis  clear,  without  going  to  regions  so 
sunny. 
That  priests  love  to  do  the  least  possible  good, 
Foi  the  largest  most  possible  quantum  of 
money. 

'•  Of  him,"  saith  the  tex,  "  unto  whom  much  is 
given, 
"  Of  him   much,    in    turn,  will   be  also  re- 
quired : "  — 

t  TTie  Birmans  may  not  buy  the  sacred  marble  in  mass, 
kot  miul  purchase  flgurea  of  the  deity  already  made.— 


"By  ma,"  quoth  the  sleek  and  obese  man  of 
heaven  — 
"  Give  as  much  as  you  will  —  mere  will  stil 
be  desir'd." 

More   laoney  !   more   churches  !  —  O  Nimrod, 
hadst  thou 
'Stead  of  Tower  extension,  sosae  sb  rter  way 
gone  — 
Hadst  thou  known  by  what  methods  we  moun\ 
to  heav'n  noio. 
And  tried  Church  extension,  the  feat  had  been 
done  ! 


MUSINGS, 

BUOaESTED   BY   THE    LATE    PROMOTION    OF   MRS. 
NETHERCOAT. 

«'  The  widow  Nethercoat  is  appointed  jailer  of  Loughrea, 
in  the  room  of  her  deceased  husband."  —  Limerick  Chron- 
tele, 

Whetheb  as  queens  or  subjects,  in  these  days. 
Women  seem  form'd  to  grace  alike  each  sta- 
tion ;  — 

As  Captain  Flaherty  gallantly  says, 

"  You,  ladies,  are  the  lords  of  the  creation ! " 

Thus  o'er  my  mind  did  prescient  visions  float 
Of  all  that  matchless  woman  yet  may  be  ; 

When,  hark,  in  rumors  less  and  less  remote. 
Came  the  glad  news  o'er  Erin's  ambient  sea, 

The  important  news  —  that  Mrs.  Nethercoat 
Had  been  appointed  jailer  of  Loughrea  ; 

Yes,  mark  it.  History  —  Nethercoat  is  dead. 

And  Mrs.  N.  now  rules  his  realm  instead  ; 

Hers  the  high  task  to  wield  th'  uplocking  keys. 

To  rivet  rogues  and  reign  o'er  Rapparees  ! 

Thus,  while  your  blust'rers  of  the  Tory  school 
Find  Ireland's  sanest  sons  so  hard  to  rule, 
One  meek-ey'd  matron,  in  Whig  doctrines  nurs'a 
Is  all  that's  ask'd  to  curb  the  maddest,  wors 

Show  me  the  man  that  dares,  with   bit  shiest 

brow. 
Prate  about  Erin's  rage  and  riot  now  ;  — 
Now,  when  her  temperance  forms  her  sole  ex« 
cess ; 
When  long-lov'd  whiskey,  fading  from  hei 
sight, 
"  Small  by  degrees,  and  beautifully  less," 
'      Will  soon,  like  other  spirits,  vanish  quite ; 


SaIirical  and  humorous  poems. 


e«f 


When  of  red  coats  the  number's  grown  bo  small, 

That  soon,  to  cheer  the  warlike  parson's  eyes, 
No  glimpse  of  scarlet  will  be  seen  at  all, 

Save  that  which  she  of  Babylon  supplies  ;  — 
Or,  at  the  most,  a  corporal's  guard  will  be. 

Of  Ireland's  red  defence  the  sole  remains  ; 
While  of  its  jails  bright  woman  keeps  the  key. 

And  captive  Paddies  languish  in  her  chains  ! 
Long  may  such  lot  be  Erin's,  long  be  mine  ! 
C  yes  —  if  ev  n  this  world,  though  bright  it  shine, 

in  Wisdom's  eyes  a  prison  house  must  be, 
A  t  least  let  woman's  hand  our  fetters  twine, 

An'l  blithe  I'll  sing,  more  joyous  than  if  free, 

Th  •  Ncthercoats,  the  Nethercoats  for  me  ! 


INTENDED  TRIBUTE 


^rraoB  op  an  article  in  the  last  nithbeb 

OF   THE   QUARTEKLT    REVIEW, 
IVnTLCD 

"BOMANISU  IN  IBELAND." 

.1  glads  us  much  to  be  able  to  say 

That  a  meeting  is  fix'd,  for  some  early  day, 

Of  all  sxich  dowagers  —  A«  or  she  — 

(No  matter  the  sex,  so  they  dowagers  be,) 

Whose  opinions,  concerning  Church  and  State, 

From  about  the  time  of  the  Curfew  date— 7 

Stanch  sticklers  still  for  days  by-gone, 

And  admiring  them  for  their  rust  alone  — 

To  whom  if  we  would  a  leader  give, 

Worthy  their  tastes  conservative. 

We  need  but  some  mummy  statesman  raise. 

Who  was  pickled  and  potted  in  Ptolemy's  days ; 

For  that's  the  man,  if  waked  from  his  shelf 

To  oonbcrve  und  swaddle  this  world,  like  himselfl 

Such,  we're  happy  to  state,  are  the  old  he  dames 
Who've  met  in  committee,  and  given  their  names 
(In  good  hieroglyphics),  with  kind  intent 
Tn  pay  some  handsome  compliment 
To  their  sister  author,  the  nameless  he. 
Who  wrote,  in  the  last  new  Quarterly, 
That  charming  assault  upon  Popery ; 

1  8e«  Congreve'i  Love  for  Love^ 

*  Brau.'  Stratagem. 

*  Th«  writer  of  the  artirle  has  groped  about,  with  much 
luccess,  ill  what  he  calls  "  the  dark  rccesnes  of  Dr.  Deiis't 
luquiiiitiun*." — Quatlerly  Review, 

*  "  Pray  may  we  ask,  has  there  been  any  rebellioai 
voTwnent  of  Popery   n  Ireland,  lince  the  plantiiig  of  (he 


An  article  justly  prized  by  them, 
As  a  perfect  antediluvian  gem  — 
The  work,  as  Sir  Sampson  Legend  would  say. 
Of   some    "fellow   the    Flood    couldn't    waU 
away."  • 

The  fund  being  rais'd,  there  remain'd  but  to  m« 
What  the  dowager  author's  gift  was  *o  *>e. 
And  here,  I  must  say,  the  Sisters  Blue 
Show'd  delicate  taste  and  judgment  too. 
For,  finding  the  poor  man  suffering  greatly 
From  the  awful  stuff  he  has  thrown  up  lately  — 
So  much  so,  indeed,  to  the  alarm  of  all. 
As  to  bring  on  a  fit  of  what  doctors  call 
The  Antipapistico  monortiania 
(I'm  sorry  with  such  a  long  word  to  detain  ye\ 
They've  acted  the  part  of  a  kind  physician. 
By  suiting  their  gift  to  the  patient's  condition ; 
And,  as  soon  as  'tis  ready  for  presentation. 
We  shall  publLsh  the  facts,  for  the  gratification 
Of  this  highly-favor'd  and  Protestant  fiation. 

Meanwhile,  to  the  great  alarm  of  his  neigh  -  •ors, 
He  still  continues  his  Quarterly  labors  ; 
And  often  has  strong  No-Popery  fits. 
Which  frighten  his  old  nurse  out  of  her  wits 
Sometimes  he  screams,  like  Scrub  in  the  play,* 
•'  Thieves  !  Jesuits  !  Popery  !  "  night  and  day| 
Takes  the  Printer's  Devil  for  Doctor  Dens,* 
And  shies  at  him  heaps  of  High-church  pens ; 
Which  the  Devil  (himself  a  touchy  Dissenter) 
Feels  all  in  his  hide,  like  arrows,  enter. 
'Stead  of  swallowing  wholesome  stuff  from  tha 

druggist's, 
He  will  keep  raving  of  "  Irish  Thuggists  ; "  • 
Telia  us  they  all  go  murd'ring,  for  fun. 
From  rise  of  morn  till  set  of  sun, 
Pop,  pop,  as  fast  as  a  minute  gun  !  • 
If  ask'd,  how  comes  it  the  gown  and  cassock 

are 
Safe  and  fat,  'mid  this  general  massacre  — 
How  haps  it  that  Pat's  own  population 
But  swarms  the  more  for  this  trucidation  — 
He  refers  you,  for  all  such  memoranda. 
To  the  "  archives  of  the  Propaganda  !  "  ^ 

This  is  all  we've  got,  for  the  present,  to  say  — 
But  shall  take  up  the  subject  some  future  day, 

Ulster  colonies,  in  which  something  of  the  kind  was  bo( 
visible  among  the  Presbyterians  of  tlie  North .' "  —  Ibid. 

»  "  Lord  Lorton,  for  instance,  who,  for  clearing  bis  ttM 
of  a  village  of  Irish  Thuggists,"  ice  tec--  Ibid, 

•  "  Observe  how  murder  after  murdM  ia  cominitted  lik* 
minute  guns."  —  Hid. 

1  "  Might  not  tlie  archivea  of  the  Propaganda  poMiblT 
aupply  the  key  ? " 


M8 


SATIRICAL  A^D  T^MOT^CuS  FOIL^IS. 


GRAND  DINNER  OF  TYPE  AND   CO. 

A  pooB  poet's  DUEAM.* 

As  I  sate  in  my  study,  lone  and  still, 
riiinking  of  Sergeant  Talfourd's  Bill, 
And  the  speech  by  Lawyer  Sugden  made, 
In  spirit  congenial,  for  "  the  Trade," 
Sudden  I  sunk  to  sleep,  and,  lo, 

Upon  Fancy's  reinless  nightmare  flitting, 
I  found  myself,  in  a  second  or  so, 
At  the  table  of  Messrs.  Type  and  Co. 

With  a  goodly  group  of  diners  sitting ;  — 
All  in  the  printing  and  publishing  line, 
Dress' d,  I  thought,  extremely  fine, 
And  sipping,  like  lords,  their  rosy  wine ; 
While  I,  in  a  state  near  inanition, 

W^ith  coat  that  hadn't  much  nap  to  spare 
/Having  just  gone  into  its  second  edition), 

Was  the  only  wretch  of  an  author  there. 
But  think,  how  great  was  my  surprise, 
When  I  saw,  in  casting  round  ray  eyes. 
That  the  dishes,  sent  up  by  Type's  she  cooks, 
Bore  all,  in  appearance,  the  shape  of  books  ; 
Large  folios  —  God  knows  where  they  got  'em, 
In  these  small  times  —  at  top  and  bottom ; 
And  quartoes  (such  as  the  Press  provides 
For  no  one  to  road  them)  down  the  sides. 
Then  flash'd  a  horrible  thought  on  my  brain. 
And  I  said  to  myself,  "  'Tis  all  too  plain, 
"  Like  those,  well  known  in  school  quotations, 
"  Who  ate  up  for  dinner  their  own  relations, 
"  I  see  now,  before  me,  smoking  here, 
"  The  bodies  and  bones  of  my  brethren  dear  j  — 
"  Bright  sons  of  the  lyric  and  epic  Muse, 
"  All  cut  up  in  cutlets,  or  hash'd  in  stews  ; 
"  Their  works,  a  light  through  ages  to  go,  — 
"  Themselves,  eaten  up  by  Type  and  Co. !  " 

While  thus  I  moralized,  on  they  went. 
Finding  the  fare  most  excellent ; 
And  all  so  kindly,  brother  to  brother, 
Helping  the  tidbits  to  each  other  : 
'♦  A  slice  of  Southcy  let  me  send  j'ou  "  — 
'  This  cut  of  Campbell  I  recommend  you  "  — 
"  And  here,  my  friends,  is  a  treat  indeed, 
"  The  immortal  Wordsworth  fricasseed  !  " 

rhus  having,  the  cormorants,  fed  some  time. 
Upon  joints  of  poetry  —  all  of  the  prime  — 


1  Written  during  the  late  agitation  of  the  question  of 
fopyright 

*  "  F(ir  a  certain  man  named  Demetrius,  a  silversmith, 
rhich  luide  sbrinei  for  Diana,  brought  no  small  gain  unto 


With  also  (as  Type  in  a  whisper  avorr'd  it) 

'•  Cold  prose  on  the  sideboard,  for  such  as  pre. 

ferred  it "  — 
They  rested  a  while,  to  recruit  their  force. 
Then  pounc'd,  like  kites,  on  the  scccnd  course, 
Which  was  singing  birds  merely  —  Moore  and 

others  — 
Who  all  went  the  way  of  their  larger  brothers 
And,  num'rous  now  though  such  songsters  be, 
'Twas  really  quite  distressing  to  see 
A   whole  dishful  of   Toms  —  Moore,  Dibdin, 

Bayly,  — 
Bolted  by  Type  and  Co.  so  gayly ! 

Nor  was  this  the  worst  —  I  shudder  to  think 
What  a  scene  was  disclos'd  when  they  came  to 

drink. 
The  warriors  of  Odin,  as  every  one  knows, 
Used   to   drink   out  of   skulls    of   slaughter'u 

foes: 
And  Type's  old  port,  to  my  horror  I  found, 
Was  in  skulls  of  bards  sent  merrily  round. 
And  still  as  each  well-fill'd  cranium  came, 
A  health  was  pledg'd  to  its  owner's  name ; 
While  Type  said  slyly,  'midst  general  laughte*, 
"  We  eat  them  up  first,  then  drink  to  them 

after." 

There  was  no  standing  this  —  incensed  I  broke 
From  my  bonds  of  sleep,  and  indignant  woke, 
Exclaiming,  "  O  shades  of  other  times, 
"  Whose  voices  still  sound,  like  deathless  chimes, 
'»  Could  you  e'er  have  foretold  a  daj'  would  be, 
"  When  a  dreamer  of  dreams   should  live  to 

see 
"  A  party  of  sleek  and  honest  John  BulLs 
••  Hobnobbing  each  other  in  poets'  skullfl  1  ' 


CHURCH  EXTENSION. 

TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  MORNING  CHROltfcLU 

Sir  —  A  well-known  classical  traveller,  wnile  employoi 
in  exploring,  some  time  since,  the  supposed  site  of  the  Tejn 
pie  of  Diana  of  Ephesus,  was  so  fortunate,  in  the  couise  o 
his  researches,  as  to  light  upon  a  very  ancient  baric  manv 
script,  which  has  turned  out,  on  examihiition,  to  be  part  ol 
an  old  Ephesian  newspaper;  —  a  newspaper  published,  ai 
you  will  see,  so  far  back  as  the  time  w  heu  Demetlius.  tlM 
great  Shrine  Extender,^  flourished. 

I  am,  Sir.  yours,  &.t 


the  craftsmen  ;  whom  he  called  togcthei  with  the  workmen 
of  like  occupation,  and  saii,  Sirs,  ye  kn  )W  that  by  this  crafl 
we  have  our  wealth." — 9eU,  xix. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


849 


BPBE8IAN   OAZBTTE. 


Second  editien. 


iMPOiiTAXT  event  for  the  rich  and  religious  ! 
Great  Meeting  of  Silversmiths  held  in  Queen 
Square ;  — 
Church  Extension,  their  object,  —  th'   excitc- 
merit  prodigious ;  — 
Demetrius,  head  man  of  the  craft,  takes  the 
chair  1 

nird  edition. 

The  Chairman  still  up,  when  our  dev'l  came 
away  ; 
Having  prefac'd  his  speech  with  the  usual 
state  prayer, 
rhat  the  Three-headed  Dian '  would  kindly,  this 
day, 
Take  the  Silversmiths'  Company  ander  her 
care. 

Being  ask'd  by  some  low,  unestablish'd  divines, 
•♦  "When  your  churches  are  up,  where  are 
flocks  to  bo  got  ?  " 
He    manfully   answer' d,    "Let    us    build    the 
shrines,* 
"  And  wo  care  not  if  flocks  are  found  for 
them  CI  not." 

He  then  added  —  to  show  that  the  Silversmiths' 
Guild 
Were  above  all  confin'd  and  intolerant  views  — 
"  Only  paij  through  the  nose  to  the  altars  we 
build, 
"  You  may  praij  through  the  nose  to  what 
altars  you  choose." 

This  tolerance,  rare  from  a  shrine-dealer's  lip 
(Though  a  tolerance  mix'd  with  due  taste  for 
the  till)  — 
So  much  charm'd  all  the  holders  of  scriptural 
scrip, 
Tliat  their  shouts  of  '♦  Hear  !  "  "  Hear !  "  are 
reCchoing  still. 

Fourth  editioti, 

d  TMt  stir  in  the  Shrine  Market !  altars  to  Phce- 
bus 
Are   going  dog  cheap  —  may  be  had  for   a 
rebus.  , 

'Jld  Dian's,  as  usual,  outsell  all  the  rest;  — 
But  Venus' s,  also,  are  much  in  request. 


'  Tria  Virginia  jra  Diana 

•  Xb«  "  f  htine*  "  ai>  cupposod  to  hare  been  small  cburch- 
A2 


LATEST  ACCOUNTS  FROM  OLYMPUS 

As  news  from  Olympus  has  grown  rather  rar». 
Since  bards,  in  their  cruises,  have  ceos  il  tu  «>»b4 

there. 
We  extract  for  our  readers  th'  intelligence  ^.tvoii. 
In  our  latest  accounts  Ixcin  that  ci-devant  lleiv- 

en  — 
rhat  realm  of  the  By-gones,  where  still  sit,  lu 

state. 
Old  god-heads  and  nod-heads,  now  long  ciit  of 

date. 

Jove  himself,  it  appears,  since  Lis  love  days  ar« 

o'er, 
Seems  to  find  immortality  rather  a  bora ; 
Though  he  still  asks  for  news  of  earth's  cApeis 

and  crimes, 
And  reads  daily  his  old  follow-Thund'rsr,  lh« 

Times. 
He  and  Vulcan,  it  seems,  by  their  wives  still 

henjjecA'rf  arc. 
And  kept  on  a  stinted  aUowanco  of  nectar. 

Old  Phoebus,  poor  lad,  has  given  up  inspira- 
tion. 

And  pack'd  off  to  earth  on  a  pujf  speculation. 

The  fact  is,  ho  found  his  old  shrines  had  grown 
dim, 

Since  bards  look'd  to  Bentley  and  Colbum,  nnt 
him. 

So,  he  sold  off  his  stud  of  ambrosia-fed  nags, 

Came  incog,  down  to  earth,  and  now  writes  for 
the  Magi; 

Taking  care  that  his  work  not  a  gleam  hath  to 
linger  in't. 

From  which  men  could  guess  that  the  god  had 
a  finger  in't. 

There  are  other  small  facts,  well  deserving  at 

tcntion. 
Of  which  our  Olympic  despatches  •  make  men- 
tion. 
Poor  Bacchus  is  still  very  ill,  they  allege. 
Having  never  recover'd  the  Temperance  Plcdc* 
"  What,  the  Irish  !  "  ho  cried  —  these  1  look'i 

to  the  most ! 
"  If  they  give  up  the  tpirit,  I  give  up  the  ghost :  " 
While  Momus,  who  us'd  of  the  gods  to  make 

fun. 
Is  tum'd  Socialist  now,  and  declares  there  ar« 
none  I 


es,  or  cliapeU,  adjoining  to  the  great  templet       "  adhuia 
in  qiibus  lUtua  reponebantur."—  Ebaim. 


«50 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


But  these  ch'anges,  though  curiou's,  are  all  a 

mere  farce 
Compar'd  to  the  new  "  casi:s  belli "  of  Mars, 
Who,  for  years,  has  been  suffering  the  horrors 

of  quiet, 
Uncheer'd  by  one  glimmer  of  bloodshed  or  riot ! 
In  yain  from  the  clouds  his  belligerent  brow 
Did  he  pop  forth,  in  hopes  that  somewhere  or 

s'imehow, 
Like  Pat  at  a  fair,  he  might  "  coax  up  a  row  : " 
But  the  joke  wouldn't  take  —  the  whole  world 

had  got  wiser ; 
Men  liked  not  to  take  a  Great  Gun  for  adviser ; 
And,  still  less,  to  march  in  fine  clothes  to  be  shot, 
Without  very  well  knowing  for  whom  or  for 

what. 
The  French,  who  of  slaughter  had  had  their  full 

swing. 
Were  content  with  a  shot,  now  and  then,  at  their 

King; 
While,  in  England,  good  fighting's  a  pastime  so 

hard  to  gain, 
JiTobody's  left  to  fight  with,  but  Lord  C — rd 

g— n. 

Tis  needless  to  say,  then,  howmonstrously  happy 
OW  Mars  has  been  made  by  what's  now  on  the 

tapis  ; 
How  much  it  delights  him  to  see  the  French  rally. 
In  Liberty's  name,  around  Mehemet  Ali ; 
Well  knowing  that  Satan  himself  could  not  find 
A  confection  of  mischief  much  more  to  his  mind 
Than  the  old  Bonnet  Rouge  and  the  Bashaw 

combin'd. 
Right  well,  too,  he  knows,  that  there  ne'er  were 

attackers. 
Whatever  their  cause,  that  they  didn't  find 

backers ; 
While  any  slight  care  for  Humanity's  woes 
May  be  soothed  by  that  "  Art  Diplomatique," 

which  shows 
How  to  come,  in  the  most  approv'd  method,  to 

blows. 

rhis  18  all,  for  to-day —  whether  Mars  is  much 

vex'd 
hX  his  friend  Thiers's  exit,  we'll  know  by  our 

next. 

THE  TRIUMPHS  OF  FARCE. 

Jtra  earth,  as  it  rolls  through  the  regions  of 
space, 
(Vears  always  two  faces,  the  dark  and  the 
Bunny ; 


And  poor  human  life  runs  the  same  sort  <rf 
race. 
Being  sad,  on  one  side  —  on  the  other  siia 
funny. 

Thus  oft  we,  at  eve,  to  the  Haymarket  hie, 
To  weep  o'er  the  woes  of  Macicaay  ;  —  out 
scarce  ,    • 

Hath  the  teardrc^p  of  Tragedy  pass'd  from  the 
eye, 
When,  lo,  we're  all  laughing  in  fits  at  the 
Farce. 

And  still  let  us  laugh  —  pr(tech  the  Mtirld  as  it 
may  — 
Where  the  cream  of  the  joke  is,  the  swanu 
will  soon  follow ; 
Heroics  are  very  grand  things,  in  their  way, 
But  the  laugh  at  the  long  run  will  carry  it 
hollow. 

For  instance,  what  sermon  on  human  affairs 
Could  equal  the  scene  that  took  place  t'other 
day 
"Twixt  Romeo  and  Louis  Philippe,  on  the  stairs— 
The   Sublime   and  Ridiculous  meeting  half 
way! 

Yes,  Jocus  !  gay  god,  whom  the  Gentiles  sup- 
plied, 
And  whose  worship  not  ev'n  among  Christian* 
declines, 
In  our  senate  thou'st  languish'd  since  Sheridan 
died. 
But  Sydney  still   keeps   thee  alive  in   our 
shrines. 

Rare  Sydney  !  thrice  honor'd  the  stall  where  kt 
sits, 
And  be  his  ev'ry  honor  he  deigneth  to  cUmt 
at! 
Had  England  a  hierarchy  form'd  all  of  wits, 
Who  but  Sydney  would  England  proclaim  aa 
its  primate  ? 

And  long  may  he  flourish,  frank,  meiry,  and 
brave  — 
A  Horace  to  hear,  and  a  Paschal  to  read  j* 
While  he  lattghs,  all  is  safe,  but,  when  Sydney 
grows  grave, 
'We  shall  then  think  the  Church  is  in  il«ngw 
indeed. 


1  Some  parts  of  the  ProninciaUs  may  be  slid  to  I  e  ot  VD* 
highest  order  of  jeux  d' esprit,  or  sauibs. 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS.                                      U\ 

lleauwhile,  it  much  glads  us  to  find  he's  pre- 

And learn  from  her  the  method  tiue, 

paring 

To  do  one's  books  —  and  readers,  too. 

To  teach  other  bishops  to  «♦  seek  the  right 

For  so  this  n}Tnph  of  nou*  and  nerve 

way ; "  ' 

Teaches  mankind  "  How  to  Observe  ;  " 

Aad  means  shortly  to  treat  the  whole  Bench  to 

And,  lest  mankind  at  all  should  swerrc^ 

an  airing, 

Teaches  them  also  "  IVhat  to  Observe.'* 

Just  such  as  hz  gare  to  Charles  James  t'other 

day* 

No,  no,  my  friend  —  it  can't  be  blink'd 

The  Patron  is  a  race  extinct ; 

fyt  our  part?,  though  gravity's  good  for  the  soiil, 

As  dead  as  any  Mcgatherion 

Such  a  fancy  have  we  for  the  side  that  there's 

That  ever  Buckland  built  a  theory  on. 

fun  on. 

Listead  of  bartering,  in  this  age. 

\^ed  rather  with   Sydney  south-west  take  a 

Our  praise  for  pence  and  patronage. 

'« stroll," 

Wc,  authors,  now,  more  prosperous  cIto^ 

Than  coach  it  north-cast  with  his  Lordship  of 

Have  learn'd  to  patronize  ourselves  ; 

Luiinun. 

And  since  all-potent  Puffing's  made                   ^ 

' 

The  life  of  song,  the  soul  of  trade, 

More  frugal  of  our  praises  grown. 

We  puflf  no  merits  but  our  own. 

THOUGHTS  ON  PATRONS,  PUFFS,  AND 

OTHER  MATTERS. 

Unlike  those  feeble  gales  of  praise 

Which  critics  blew  in  former  days, 

nr  AN    EPISTLB    FBOX   T.    M.   TO   8.    B. 

Our  modem  puffs  are  of  a  kind 

VThat,  thou,  my  friend  !  a  man  of  rhymes. 

That  truly,  really  raise  the  wind ; 

>  nd,  better  still,  a  man  of  guineas. 

And  since  they've  fairly  set  in  blowing, 

To  talk  of  •'  patrons,"  in  these  times. 

We  find  them  the  best  trade  winds  gomjr* 

When  authors  thrive,  like  spinning  jennies, 

'Stead  of  frequenting  paths  so  slippy 

And  Arkwright's  twist  and  Bulwer's  page 

As  her  old  haunts  near  Aganippe, 

Alike  may  laugh  at  patronage  ! 

The  Muse,  now,  taking  to  the  till. 

Has  open'd  shop  on  Ludgate  Hill 

No,  no  —  those  times  are  pass'd  away. 

(Far  handier  than  the  Hill  of  Puidus, 

When,  doom'd  in  upper  floors  to  star  it, 

As  seen  from  bard's  back  attic  >%-iudows) ; 

The  bard  inscrib'd  to  lords  his  lay, — 

And  swallowing  there  without  cessation 

Himself,  the  while,  my  Lord  Mountgarret. 

Large  draughts  {at  tight)  of  inspiration. 

No  more  he  begs,  with  air  dependent. 

Touches  the  nota  for  each  new  theme, 

His  "  little  bark  may  sail  attendant  " 

While    still    iresh    "c/tange   cornea    o'er   ^ei 

Under  some  lordly  skipper's  steerage  ; 

dream." 

But  launch'd  triumphant  in  the  Row, 

Or  ta'en  by  Murray's  self  in  tow, 

What  Steam  is  on  the  deep  —  and  more  — 

Cuts  both  Star  Chamber  and  the  peerage. 

Is  the  vast  power  of  Puff"  on  shore ; 

Which  jumps  to  glory's  future  tenses 

Patrons,  indeed  !  when  scarce  a  sail 

Before  the  present  even  commences  ; 

Is  wlisk'd  from  England  by  the  gale, 

And  makes  •'  immortal "  and  "  di\ine  "  of  oa 

But  bears  on  board  some  authors,  shipp'd 

Before  the  world  has  read  one  line  of  us. 

For  foreij.n  shores,  all  well  equipp'd 

Witli  proper  book-making  machinery. 

In  old  times,  when  the  God  of  Song 

To  sketch  the  morals,  manners,  scenery, 

Drove  his  own  two-horse  team  along, 

Of  all  such  lands  as  they  shall  see, 

Carrying  inside  a  bard  or  two, 

Or  tiot  FCC,  as  the  case  may  be :  — 

Book'd  for  posterity  "  all  through  ;  "  — 

It  being  enjoin'd  on  all  who  go 

Their  luggage,  a  few  close-pack'd  rhyme*, 

To  study  first  Miss  M**  *♦*•** 

(Like  yours,  my  friend,)  for  after  times  — 

1  "  Tbia  ktToll  In  th«  metropolU  ii  extreni«Iy  well  con- 

about,"  &:c.  Jcc— Srorav  Bmni'i  LutUUwH  Ot  JM 

tnved  (i)r  y  >iir  Liirilship'i  iipe«cb ;  but  luppotte,  my  dear 

ap<ff  London. 

Lord,  thai  iiuitead  of  going  E.  *nd  N.  £.  you  bad  turned  1 

162 


SATIRICAL  AND  HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


Bo  slow  the  pull  to  Fame's  abode, 
That  folks  oft  slept  upon  the  road ;  — 
And  n  ;mer's  self,  sometimes,  they  say, 
Took  to  his  nightcap  on  the  way.' 

Ye  Gods  !  how  different  is  the  story 
With  our  new  galloping  sons  of  glory, 
Who  scorning  all  such  slack  and  slow  time. 
Dash  to  posterity  in  710  time  ! 
Baise  but  one  general  blast  of  Puff 
To  start  your  author  —  that's  enough. 
In  vain  the  critics,  set  to  watch  him. 
Try  at  the  starting  post  to  catch  him  : 
B^'b  off  —  the  puffers  carry  it  hollow  — 
The  critics,  if  they  please,  may  follow. 
Ere  they  've  laid  down  their  first  positions, 
He's  fairly  blown  through  six  editions  ! 
In  vain  doth  Edinburgh  dispense 
Her  blue  and  yellow  pestilence 
(That  plague  so  awful  in  my  time 
To  young  and  touchy  sons  of  rhyme)  — 
The  Quarterly,  at  three  months'  date, 
To  catch  th'  Unread  One,  comes  too  late ; 
And  nonsense,  littcr'd  in  a  hurry, 
Becomes  "  immortal,"  spite  of  Murray. 

But,  bless  me  !  —  while  I  thus  keep  fooling, 
I  hear  a  voice  cry,  "  Dinner's  cooling." 
That  postman,  too,  (who,  truth  to  tell, 
'Mong  men  of  letters  bears  the  bell,) 
Keeps  ringing,  ringing,  so  infernally, 
That  I  must  stop  — 

Yours  sempitemally. 


THOUGHTS  ON  MISCHIEF. 

BY  LORD  ST— NL-Y. 

(his  first  attempt  in  verse.) 

"  Evil,  be  thou  my  good."  Milton 

H«  w  various  are  the  inspirations 

Of  different  men,  in  different  nations  ! 

A.S  genius  prompts  to  good  or  evil. 

Son  e  call  the  Muse,  some  raise  the  devil. 

Oh'.  Socrates,  that  pink  of  sages. 

Kept  a  pet  demon,  on  board  wages, 

lo  go  about  with  him  incog.. 

And  sometimes  give  his  wits  a  jog. 

Be  L — nd — st,  in  our  day,  we  know. 

Keeps  fresh  relays  of  imps  below. 

To  forward,  from  that  nartelcss  spot, 

Flis  inspirations,  hot  and  h  Jt. 

1  duandoque  bonus  dormitat  lomerua.  —  IIokat 


But,  neat  as  are  old  L — nd — st's  doings— 
Beyond    ev'n    Hecate's    "  hell-broth "    Or«ir- 

ings  — 
Had  I,  Lord  Stanley,  but  my  will, 
I'd  show  you  mischief  prettier  still ; 
Mischief,  combining  boyhood's  tricks 
With  age's  sourest  politics  ; 
The  urchin's  freaks,  the  vet'ran's  gall,* 
Both  duly  mix'd,  and  matchless  all  ; 
A  compound  nought  in  history  reaches 
But  Machiavel,  when  first  in  breeches  ! 

Yes,  Mischief,  Goddess  multiform. 

Whene'er  thou,  witch-like,  rid'st  the  stono, 

Let  Stanley  ride  cockhorse  behind  thee  — 

No  livelier  lackey  could  they  find  thee. 

And,  Goddess,  as  I'm  well  aware. 

So  mischiefs  done,  you  care  not  where, 

I  own,  'twill  most  my  fancy  tickle 

In  Paddy  land  to  play  the  Pickle ; 

Having  got  credit  for  inventing 

A  new,  brisk  method  of  tormenting  — 

A  way,  they  call  the  Stanley  fashion, 

Which  puts  all  Ireland  in  a  passion ; 

So  neat  it  hits  the  mixture  due 

Of  injury  and  insult  too  ; 

So  legibly  it  bears  upon't 

The  stamp  of  Stanley's  brazen  front. 

Ireland,  we're  told,  means  land  of  Ire  ; 
And  why  she's  so,  none  need  inquire. 
Who  sees  her  millions,  martiai,  manly, 
Spat  upon  thus  by  me.  Lord  St — nl — y. 
Already  in  the  breeze  I  scent 
The  whiff  of  coming  devilment ; 
Of  strife,  to  me  more  stirring  far 
Than  th'  Opium  or  the  Sulphur  war. 
Or  any  such  drug  ferments  are. 
Yes  —  sweeter  to  this  Tory  soul 
Than  all  such  pests,  from  pole  tc  pole. 
Is  the  rich,  "sweltcr'd  venom  "  got 
By  stirring  Ireland's  '♦  channed  pot ;  "  ■ 
And,  thanks  to  practice  on  that  land, 
I  stir  it  with  a  master  hand. 

Again  thou'lt  see,  when  forth  hath  gone 
The  War-Church-cry,  «'0n,  Stanley,  on  !  " 
How  Caravats  and  Shanavests 
Shall  swarm  from  out  their  mountain  nesta, 
With  all  their  merry  moonlight  brothers. 
To  whom  the  Church  (s<e;7-dame  to  others") 
Hath  been  the  best  of  nursing  mothers 


"  Swelter'd  venom,  sleeping  get. 
Boil  ttaou  first  i'  the  charmed  pot." 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


651 


Again  o'er  Erin's  rich  domain 
Shall  Rockites  and  right  reverends  reign  ; 
And  both,  exempt  from  vulgar  toil. 
Between  them  share  that  titheful  soil ; 
Puzzling  ambition  which  to  climb  at, 
Fbe  post  of  Captain,  or  of  Primate. 

And  80,  long  life  to  Church  and  Co.  — 
Burrah  for  mischief !  —  here  we  go. 


EPISTLE  FROM  CAPTAIN  ROCK  TO 
LORD   I^NDH— T. 

Deab  L — ndh—t,  —  you'll  prjdon  my  making 

thus  free,  — 
But  form  is  all  fudge  'twixt  such  "comrogues  " 

as  wo. 
Who,  whate'er  the  smooth  views  we,  in  public, 

may  drive  at. 
Have  both  the  same  praiseworthy  object,  in 

private  — 
Namely,  never  to  let  the  old  regions  of  riot. 
Where  Rock  hath  long  reign'd,  have  one  instant 

of  quiet. 
But  keep   Ireland  still    in  that  liquid  we've 

taught  her 
To  love  more  than  meat,  drink,  or  clothing  — 

hoi  voter. 

All  the  difTrence  betwixt  you  and  me,  as  I  take 
it. 

Is  simply,  that  you  make  the  law  and  /  break  it ; 

And  never,  of  big  ^vigs  and  small,  were  there  two 

Play'd  so  well  into  each  other's  hands  as  wc  do ; 

Insomuch,  that  the  laws  you  and  yours  manu- 
facture, 

Beem  all  made  express  for  the  Rock  boy»  *<* 
fracture. 

Not  Birmingham's  self  —  to  her  shame  be  it 
spoken  — 

E'^T  made  things  more  neatly  contriv'd  to  be 
broken ; 

And  hence,  I  confes'   in  this  island  religious. 

The  breakage  of  laws  —  and  of  heads  is  pro- 
digious. 

And  long  may  it  thrive,  my  Ex-Bigwig,  say  I,  — 
X«»ough,  of  late,  much  I  fear'd  all  our  fun  was 
gone  by ; 

1  Excheq'ier  tithe  proccoea,  wnred  under  a  eominiadon 
M  ^te  lion    -Chronitle. 


As,   except   when  some  tithe-hunting  panon 

show'd  sport. 
Some  rector  —  a  cool  hand  at  pistols  and  port, 
"Who  "  keeps  dry  "  his  powder,  but  never  Aim 

self— 
One  who,  leaving  his  Bible  to  rust  on  the  oheH 
Sends  his  pious  texts  home,  in  the  shape  of  baU 

cartridges, 
Shooting  his  "  dearly  beloved,"  like  partridges ; 
Except  when  some  hero  of  this  sort  tum'd  out. 
Or,  th'  Exchequer  sent,  flaming,  its  tithe  writs  ' 

about  — 
A  contrivance  more  neat,  I  may  say,  without 

flattery. 
Than  e'er  yet  was  thought  of  for  bloodshed  and 

battery ; 
So  neat,  that  even  I  might  be  proud,  I  allow, 
To  have  hit  off"  so  rich  a  receipt  for  a  rote ; 
Except  for  such  rigs  turning  up,  now  and  then 
I  was  actually  growing  the  dullest  of  men  ; 
And,  had  this  blank  fit  been  allow'd  to  increase 
Might  have  snor'd  myself  down  to  a  Justice  of 

Peace. 
Like  you,  Reformation  in  Church  and  in  State 
Is  the  thing  of  all  things  I  most  cordially  hato 
If  on'^e  these  curs'd  Ministers  do  as  they  like, 
All's  o'er,  my  good  Lord,  with  your  wig  and  m^ 

pike. 
And  one  may  be  hung  up  on  f  other,  henceforth. 
Just  to  show  what  such  Captains  and  Chanc'llor* 

were  worth. 

But  we  must  not  despair  —  ev'n  already  Hop* 

sees 
You're  about,  my  bold  Baron,  to  kick  up  a  breeze 
Of  the  true  baffling  sort,  such  as  suits  mcand  you, 
Who  have  box'd  the  whole  compass  of  party 

right  through, 
^jid  care  not  one  farthing,  as  all  the  worlj 

knows, 
So  we  but  raise  the  wind,  from  what  quarter  it 

blows. 
Forgive,  me,  dear  Lord,  that  thus  rudely  I  dar? 
My  own  small  resources  with  thine  to  compare  : 
Not  ev'n  Jerry  Diddler,  in  "raising  the  wind," 

durst 
Compete,  for  one  instant,  with  thee,  my  deal 

L— ndh—t. 

But,  hark,  there's  a  shot !  —  some  parsonic  prac 

tioner  ? 
No  —  merely  a  bran-new  Rebcllior  Commit 

sioner ; 
The  Courts  having  now,  with  true  law  '»n>dition 
Put  even  Rebellion  itself  *'  in  '-ommispion  ' 


854 


SATIRICAL  AND   HUMOROUS  POEMS. 


As  seldom,  in  this  Avay,  I'm  any  man's  debtor, 
I'll  just  pay  my  shot,  and  then  fold  up  this  letter. 
In  the  mean  time;  hurrah  for  the  Tories  and 

Rocks  ! 
Hurrah  for  the  parsons  who  fleece  well  their 

flocks ! 
Hurrah  for  all  mischief  in  all  ranks  and  spheres, 
And,  above  all,  hurrah  for  that  dear  House  of 

Peers ! 


CAPTAIN  ROCK  IN  LONDON. 

LETl'ER  FROM  THE  CAPTAIN  TO  TERRY  ALT,  ESQ.' 

Here  I  am,  at  head  quarters,  dear  Terry,  once 
more. 

Deep  in  Tory  designs,  as  I've  oft  been  before :  — 

For,  bless  them  !  if  'twasn't  for  this  wrong- 
headed  crew. 

You  and  I,  Terry  Alt,  would  scarce  know  what 
to  do ; 

So  ready  they're  always,  when  dull  we  are 
growing, 

To  set  our  old  concert  of  discord  a-going, 

While  L— ndh— t's  the  lad,  with  his  Tory-WTiig 
face, 

To  play,  in  such  concert,  the  true  double  base. 

I  had  fcar'd  this  old  prop  of  my  realm  was  be- 
ginning 

To  tire  of  his  course  of  political  sinning. 

And,  like  Mother  Cole,  when  her  heyday  was 
pass'd. 

Meant,  by  way  of  a  change,  to  try  virtue  at 
last. 

But  I  MTong'd  the  old  boy,  who  as  stanchly 
derides 

A.11  reform  in  himself  as  in  most  things  besides ; 

A.nd,  by  using  two  faces  through  life,  all  allow. 

Has  acquir'd  face  sufficient  for  any  thing  now. 

Ir    hort,  he's  all  right ;  and,  if  mankind's  old  foe, 
M  jr     Lord  Harry"  himself — who's  the  leader, 

we  know, 
^l  another  red-hot  Opposition,  below  — 

I  The  lubnrdi  v  te  officer  or  lieutenant  of  Captain  Rock. 


If  that  "  Lord,"  in  his  well-known  discernment 

but  spares 
Me  and  L — ndh — t,  to  look  after  Ireland's  ifiiaira 
We  shall  soon  such  a  region  of  devilment  make  it, 
That  Old  Nick  himself  for  his  own  may  mi* 

take  it. 

Ev'n  already  —  long  life  to  such  Bigwigs,  say  I, 
For,  as  long  as  they  flourish,  we  Rocks  cannct 

die  — 
He  has  serv'd  our  right  riotous  cause  \.y  a  speech 
Whose   perfection   of  mischief  he   only    could 

reach ; 
As  it  shows  off  both  his  and  my  merits  alike. 
Both  the  swell  of  the  wig,  and  the  point  of  the 

pike ; 
Mixes  up,  with  a  skill  which  one  can't  but  ad- 
mire. 
The  lawyer's  cool  craft  with  th'  incendiary's 

fire, 
And  enlists,  in  the  gravest,  most  plausible  man- 
ner. 
Seven  millions  of  souls  under  Rockery's  banner 
O  Terry,  my  man,  let  this  speech  iiever  die  ; 
Through  the  regions  of  Rockland,  like  flame,  let 

it  fly; 
Let  each  syllable  dark  the  Law  Oracle  utter'd 
By  all  Tipperary's  wild  echoes  be  mutter'd, 
Tlil  nought  shall  be  heard,  over  hill,  dale,  or 

flood. 
But  "  You're  aliens  in  language,  in  creed,  and  in 

blood ; " 
While  voices,  from  sweet  Counemara  afar, 
Shall  answer,  like  true  Irish  echoes,  "  We  are ! " 
And,  though  false  be  the  cry,  and  though  sense 

must  abhor  it, 
Still  th'  echoes  may  quote  Law  authority  for  it, 
And  nought  L — ndh — t  cares  for  my  spread  of 

dominion 
So  he,  in  the  end,  touches  cash  "  for  th'  opinion," 

But  I've  no  time  for  more,  my  deai  Terry,  iusi 

now. 
Being  busy  in  helping  these  Lords  through  thei/ 

row. 
They're  bad  hands  at  mob  work  but,  once  thej 

begin. 
They'll  have  plenty  of  practice  to  break  then 

well  in. 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


8M 


THE    FUDGES    IN    ENGLANO: 

BEnra  a  beqttel  to  the 
"PUDGE    FAMIL.Y    IN    PARIS." 


PREFACE. 

Tub  name  of  the  country  town,  in  England  — 
t  well-known  fashionable  watering-place  —  in 
which  the  events  that  gave  rise  to  the  following 
tonrespondence  occurred,  is,  for  obvious  reasons, 
nippre«sed.  The  interest  attached,  however, 
to  the  facts  and  pcrsona<?es  of  the  s^""  ^renders 
it  independent  of  all  time  and  place ;  and  when 
it  is  recollected  that  the  whole  train  of  romantic 
circumstances  so  fully  unfolded  in  these  Letters 
has  passed  during  the  short  period  which  has 
now  elapsed  since  the  great  Meetings  in  Exeter 
Hall,  due  credit  will,  it  is  hoped,  be  allowed  tb 
the  Editor  for  the  rapidity  with  which  he  has 
brought  the  details  before  the  Public;  while, 
at  the  same  time,  any  errors  that  may  have  been 
the  result  of  such  haste  will,  he  trusts,  with 
equal  consideration,  be  pardoned. 


LETTER  I. 


KOM  PATRICK  V40AN,  ESQ.,  TO  TI»B  B»T.  TUCH'JU) 
,    CURATE  OP   ,    W   lRB».ArD. 

Who  d'ye  think  we've  rot  licrc  f  —  qcute  re- 
formed from  the  giddy, 
Fantastic  young  thing,  that  once  maue  such  a 
noise  — 
Why,  the  famous  Miss  Fudge  —  that  delectable 
Biddy, 
Whom  you  and  I  f  aw  once  at  Paris,  when  boys, 
It   tV?  full  blaze  of  bonnets,  and  ribbons,  and 
aiis  — 
Such  a  thing  as  no  rainbow  hath  colors  to 
paint ; 
Ere   time   had    reduced  her  to  wrinkles   and 
prayers, 
And  the  Flirt  found  a  decent  retreat  in  the 
Saint. 

Pool  ••  Pa  "  hath  popp'd  off —  gone,  as  charity 

judges, 
To  some  choice  Elysium  reserv'd  for  tJie  Fudges ; 


And  Miss,  with  a  fortune,  besides  cxpsctationi 
From  some  much-revered  and  much-palsied  ?«•• 

lations, 
Now   wants  but  a  husband,   with    requisitei 

meet,  — 
Age  thirty,  or  thereabouts  —  stature  six  feet, 
And  warranted  godly  —  to  make  all  complete. 
Nota  bene  —  a  Churchman  would  suit,  if  he'« 

high, 
But  Socinians  or  Catholics  need  not  apply. 

What  say  you,  Dick  ?  doesn't  this  tempt  youi 

ambition  ? 
The  whole  wealth  of  Fudge,  that  renown'd 

man  of  pith, 
All  brought  to  the  hammer,  for  Church  compt 

tition,  — 
Sole  encumbrance.  Miss  Fudge  to  be  take- 

therewith. 
Think,  my  boy,  for  a  Curate  how  gloriou^  f 

catch  ! 
While,  instead  of  the  thousands  of  souls  jroc 

now  watch. 
To  save  Biddy  Fudge's  is  all  you  need  do  ; 
And  her  purse  will,  meanwhile,  be  the  saving 

of  you. 

You  may  ask,  Dick,  how  comes  it  that  I,  a  poor 
elf, 

Wanting  substance  ev'n  more  than  your  spirit- 
ual self, 

Should  thus  generously  lay  my  own  claims  on 
the  shelf, 

When,  God  knows  !  there  ne'er  was  young  g'-n- 
tleman  yet 

So  much  lack'd  an  old  spinster  to  rid  him  froiC 
debt, 

Or  had  cogentcr  reasons  than  mine  to  assail  bet 

With  tender  love  suit  —  at  the  suit  of  his  tailor. 

But  thereby  there  hangs  a  soft  secret,  my  friend, 
"Which  thus  to  your  reverend  breast  I  commend  : 
Miss  Fudge  hath  a  niece  —  such  a  creature !  ~ 

with  eyes 
Like  those  sparklers  that  peep  outfomaum 

mer-night  skica 


5S« 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


Ai  astronomers  royal,  and  laugh  -with  delight 
To  see  elderly  gentlemen  spying  all  night. 

While  her  figure  —  O,  bring  all  the  gracefuUest 

things 
Tha*  are  borne  through  the  light  air  by  feet  or 

by  wings, 
Not  a  single  new  grace  to  that  form  could  they 

teach. 
Which  combines  in  itself  the  perfection  of  each ; 
While,  rapid  or  slow,  as  her  fairy  feet  fall. 
The  mute  music  of  symmetry  modulates  all. 

Ne'er,  in  short,  was  there  creature  more  form'd 
to  bewilder 
A  gay  youth  like  me,  who  of  castles  aerial 
^And  onhj  of  such)  am,  God  help  me  !  a  builder  ; 
Still  peopling  each  mansion  with  lodgers  ethe- 
real. 
And  now,  to  this  nymph  of  the  seraph- like  eye, 
Letting  out,  as  you  see,  my  first  floor  next  the 
sky.' 

But,  alas !  nothing's  perfect  on  earth  —  even  she. 
This    divine    little    gipsy,   does  odd  things 
sometimes ; 

Talks  learning  —  looks  wise  (rather  painful  to 
eee). 
Prints    already  in  two   County  papers  her 
rhymes  j 

And  raves  —  the  sweet,  charming,  absurd  little 
dear ! 

About  Amulets,  Bijous,  and  Keepsakes,  next 
year. 

In  a  manner  which  plainly  bad  symptoms  por- 
tends 

Of  that  Annual  blv^  fit,  so  distressing  to  friends ; 

A  fit  which,  though  lasting  but  one  short  edition, 

Leaves  the  patient  long  after  in  sad  Inanition. 

However,  let's  hope  for  the  best  —  and,  mean- 
while, 

Be  it  mine  still  to  bask  in  the  niece's  warm 
smile ; 

While  you,  if  you're  wise,  Dick,  will  play  the 
gallant 

(Up-hill  work,  I  confess,)  to  her  Saint  of  an  Aunt. 


1  That  floor  which  a  facetious  garreteer  cilled  "le  pre- 
mier en  descendant  du  ciel." 

s  See  the  Dublin  Evening  Post,  of  the  9th  of  this  month 
(July),  for  an  account  of  a  scene  which  lately  took  place  at 
%  meeting  of  the  Synod  of  Ulster,  in  which  the  performance 
of  the  abcive-mentioned  part  by  the  personage  in  question 
appears  to  have  b«en  worthy  of  all  his  former  reputation  in 
tiat  line 


Think,  my  boy,  for  a  youngster  like  you,  who'r* 
a  lack. 
Not  indeed  of  rupees,  but  of  all  other  specie, 

What  luck  thus  to  find  a  kind  witch  at  yoiu 
back, 
An  old  goose  with  gold  eggs,  from  all  debte 
to  release  ye  ! 

Never  mind,  though  the  spinster  be  reverend 
and  thin, 
What  are  aU  the  Three  Graces  to  her  Three 
per  Cents.  ? 

While  her  acres !  —  O  Dick,  it  don't  matter  one 
pin 
How  she  touches  the  affections,  so  you  touch 
the  rents ; 

And  Love  never  looks  half  so  pleas'd  as  when, 
bless  him,  he 

Sings  to  an  old  lady's  purse  "  Open,  Sesam6." 

By  the  way,  I've  just  heard,  in  my  walks,  a  re- 
port, 

Which,  if  true,  will  insure  for  your  visit  some 
sport. 

'Tis  rumor'd  our  manager  means  to  bespeak 

The  Church  tiftnblers  from  Exeter  Hall  for  next 
week ; 

And  certainly  ne'er  did  a  queerer  or  rummer 
set 

Throw,  for  th'  amusement  of  Christians,  a  som- 
erset. 

'Tis  fear'd  their  chief  "  Merriman,"  C — ^ke,  can- 
not come. 

Being  called  off,  at  present,  to  play  Punch  at 
home ;  • 

And  the  loss  of  so  practis'd  a  wag  in  divinity 

Will  grieve  much  all  lovers  of  jokes  on  the 
Trinity ;  — 

His  pun  on  the  name  Unigenitus,  lately 

Having  pleas'd  Robert  Taylor,  the  Revermdx 
greatly.' 

'Twill  prove  a  sad  drawback,  if  absent  he  be, 
As  a  wag  Presbyterian's  a  thing  quite  to  see ; 
And,  'mong  the  Five  Points  of  the  Calvipis».8 

none  of  'em 
Ever  yet  reckon'd  a  point  of  wit  one  of  'em. 
But  ev'n  though  depriv'd  of  this  comical  elf. 
We've  a  host  of  buffoni  in  Murtagh  himself^ 


8  "  All  are  punsters  if  they  have  wit  to  be  so ;  and  there- 
fore when  an  Irishman  hap  tn  commence  with  a  Bull,  yon 
will  naturally  pron.unue  .(  a  jvd.  (A  laugh.)  Allow  me 
to  bring  before  you  the  famous  Bull  that  is  called  Unigeni- 
tus, referring  to  the  only-begotten  Son  ot  God."  —  Repof. 
of  the  Rev.  Doctor's  Spiech  June  20,  m  tht  Reco'd  .Veui» 
paper. 


THE   FUDGES   IN  ENGL.\ND. 


661 


Who  of  all  the  whole  troop  is  chief  mummer 

and  mime, 
A.8  C— ke  takes  the  Ground  Tumbling,  he  the 

Sublime;  ' 
And  of  him  we're  quite  certain,  so,  pray,  come 

in  time. 


LETTER  n. 

FBOM   MISS   BIDDT    FUDOB   TO   HBS.    ELIZA- 
BETH    . 

4vn  in  time  for  the  post,  dear,  and  monstrously 
busy, 
With    godly   concernments  —  and    worldly 
ones,  too  ; 
I'hingB   carnal   and  spiritual  miz'd,  my  dear 

Lizzy, 
In  this  little  brain  till,  bewilder'd  and  dizzy, 
'Twixt  heaven  and  earth,  I  scarce  know  what 
I  do. 

First,  I've  been  to  see  all  the  gay  fashions  from 

Town, 
"Which  our  favorite  Miss  Gimp  for  the  spring 

has  had  down. 
CSleeves  still  worn  (which  I  think  is  wise),  d  la 

fol/e. 
Charming  hats,  pou  de  #o»c  — though  the  shape 

rather  droll. 
But  you  can't  think  how  nicely  the  caps  of  tulle 

lace. 
With  the  mentonniireM,  look  on  this  poor  sinful 

face; 
And  I  mean,  if  the  Lord  in  his  mercy  thinks 

right, 
To  wear  one  at  Mrs.  Fitz-wigram's  to-night. 
Tlic  silks  are  quite  heav'nly :  —  I'm  glad,  too, 

to  say. 
Gimp  herself  groM'S  more  godly  and  good  every 

day ; 
Hath  had  sweet  experience  ;  yea,  ev'n  doth  begin 
To  turn  from  the  Gentiles,  and  put  away  sin  — 
And  all  since  her  last  stock  of  goods  was  laid  in. 
What  a  blessmg  one's  milliner,  careless  of  pelf. 
Should  thus  ••  walk  in  newness  "  as  well  as  one's 

self! 

80  much  for  the  blessings,  the  comforts  of  Spirit 
I've  had  since  we  met,  and  they're  more  than  I 
merit !  — 


1  In  thv  language  of  tbt  play  bil\  *■  Ground  and  L^ 
Tumbling  " 

83 


Poor,  sinful,  weak  creature  m  every  respect, 
Though  ordain'd  (God  knows  why)  to  be  one 

of  th'  Elect. 
But  now  for  the  picture's  reverse.     You  remem^ 

ber 
That  foctman  and  cook  maid  I  hired  last  De^ 

cember ; 
He,  a  Baptist  Particular  —  »fie,  of  some  sect 
Not  particular,  I  fancy,  in  any  respect ; 
But  desirous,  poor  thing,  to  be  fed  with  the 

Word, 
And  "  to  wait,"  as  she  said,  "  on  Miss  Fudge 

and  the  Lord.'' 

Well,  my  dear,  of  all  men,  that  Particular  Bap- 
tist 
At  preaching  a  sermon,  offhand,  was  the  aptest ; 
And,  long  as  he  staid,  do  him  justice,  m-jre 

rich  in 
Sweet    savors   of   doctrine,   there    never   was 

kitchen. 
He  preach'd  in  the  parlor,  he  preach'd  in  the 

hall. 
He  preach'd  to  the  chambermaids,  scullions,  and 

all. 
All  heard  with  delight  his  reprovings  of  sin. 
But  above  all,  the  cook  maid  ;  —  O,  ne'er  would 

she  tire  — 
Though,  in  learning  to  save  sinful  souls  fo^m 

the  fire, 
She  would  oft  let  the  soles  she  was  firying 

fall  in. 
(God  forgive  me  for  punning  on  points  thus  of 

piety !  — 
A  sad  trick  I've  learn' d  in  Bob's  heathen  so- 
ciety.) 
But  ah!   there  remains  still  the  worst  of  my 

tale; 
Come,  Ast'risks,  and  help  me  the  sad  truth  to 

veil  — 
Conscious  stars,  that  at  ev'n  your  own  secret 

turn  pale ! 

«  •  •  •  • 

•  «  «  •  • 

In  short,  dear,  this  preaching  and  psalm^ring 

ing  pair. 
Chosen  "  vessels  of  mercy,"  as  I  thought  they 

were, 
Have  together  this  last  week  eloped ;  making 

bold 
To  whip  off  as  much  goods  as  both  veeaeli  conl«! 

hold  — 
Not  forgetting  some  scoree  of  sweet  Tracts  fro» 

my  shelves. 
Two  Family  Bibles  as  large  as  themsftlv«« 


u% 


THF  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


And  besides,  from  the  drawer  —  I  n3glecting  to 

lock  it  — 
My  neat   "  Morning  Manna,  done  up  for  the 

pocket."  ' 
Was  there  e'er  known  a  case  so  distressing,  dear 

Liz? 
It  has  made  me  quite  ill :  —  and  the  worst  of  it  is. 
When  rogues  are  aU  pious,  'tis  hard  tc  detect 
Which    rogues    are  the  reprobate,    which  the 

elect. 
This  man   "had  a  call,"  he  said  —  impudent 

mockery ! 
What  call  had  he  to  my  linen  and  crockery  ? 

I'm  now,  and  have  been  for  this  week  past,  in 
chase 

Of  some  godly  young  couple  this  pair  to  re- 
place. 

The  enclos'd  two  announcements  have  just  met 
my  eyes. 

In  that  von'rable  Monthly  where  Saints  adver- 
tise 

For  such  temporal  comforts  as  this  world  sup- 
plies ; '  — 

And  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit  are  properly  made 

An  essential  in  every  craft,  calling,  and  trade. 

Where  th'  attorney  requires  for  his  'prentice 
some  youth 

Who  has  "  learn'd  to  fear  God  and  to  walk  in 
the  truth  ; " 

Where  the  seamstress,  in  search  of  employment, 
declares. 

That  pay  is  no  object,  so  she  can  have  prayers  ; 

And  th'  Establish'd  Wine  Company  proudly 
gives  out 

That  the  whole  of  the  firm,  Co.  and  all,  are  de- 
vout. 

1  "Morning  Manna,  or  British  Verse  book,  neatly  done 
up  for  the  |x)ckct,"  and  chiefly  intended  to  assist  the  mem- 
bers of  the  British  Verse  Association,  whose  design  is,  we 
«re  told. "  to  induce  the  inhabitants  of  Great  Britain  and  Ire- 
land to  Gcmniit  one  and  the  same  verse  of  Scripture  to  mem- 
ory every  morning.  Already,  it  is  known,  several  thousand 
persons  in  Scotland,  besides  tens  of  tliousands  in  America 
and  Africa,  are  evrry  rmrving  learning  the  same  vrse," 

s  The  Evangelical  Magazine. —  A  few  specimens  taken 
M  random  from  the  wrapper  of  this  highl)  esteemed  period- 
ical will  fully  justify  the  character  which  Miss  Fudge  has 
aere  given  of  it.  "Wanted,  in  a  pious  pawnbroker's  fauM- 
ly,  an  active  lad  as  an  apprentice."  "  Wanted,  as  house- 
maid, a  young  lema'e  who  has  been  brought  to  a  saving 
Knowledge  of  the  trith."  "  Wanted  immediately,  a  man 
of  decided  piety,  t<  assist  in  the  baking  business."  "  A 
gentleman  who  understands  the  Wine  Trade  is  desirous  of 
entering  into  partnership,  &c.  &c.  He  is  not  desirous  of  be- 
ing connected  with  any  one  whose  system  of  business  is  not 
•f  the  Btr'Rte«t  integrity  as  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  seeks 


Happy  London,  one  feels,  as  one  reads  o'er  thi 

pages. 
Where  Saints  are  so  much  more  abundant  than 

sages ; 
Where  Parsons  may  so  m  be  all  laid  on  the  shelf; 
As  each  Cit  can  cite  chapter  and  verse  for  him- 
self. 
And  the  serious  frequenters  of  market  and  docV 
All  lay  in  religion  as  part  of  their  stock. ^ 
Who  can  tell  to  what  lengths  we  may  go  on  \xa 

proving. 
When  thus  through  all  London  the  Spmt  keeoi 

moving 
And  heaven's  so  in  vogue,  that  each  shop  ad- 

veritsement 
Is  now  not  so  much  for  the  earth  as  the  skies 

meant. 

P.  S, 

Have  mislaid  the  two  paragraphs  —  can't  stop 
to  look, 

But  both  describe  charming  —  both  Footman 
and  Cook. 

She,  "  decidedly  pious  "  —  with  pathos  deplores 

Th'  increase  of  French  cook'ry,  and  sin  on  our 
shores ; 

And  adds  —  (while  for  further  accounts  she  re 
fers 

To  a  great  Gospel  preacher,  a  cousin  of  hers,) 

That  "  though  some  make  their  Sabbaths  mere 
matter-of-fun  days, 

She  asks  but  for  tea  and  the  Gospel,  on  Sun- 
days." 

The  footman,  too,  full  of  the  true  saving  knowl« 
edge ;  — 

Has  late  been  to  Cambridge  —  to  Trinity  Col- 
lege; 

connection  only  with  a  truly  pious  man,  either  Churchman 
or  Dissenter." 

»  According  to  the  late  Mr.  Irving,  there  is  eveh  a  pecu. 
liar  form  of  theology  got  up  expressly  for  the  money  market. 
"  I  know  how  far  wide,"  he  says,  "  of  the  mark  my  viewi 
of  Christ's  work  in  the  flesh  will  be  viewed  by  tliose  who 
are  working  with  the  stock-jobbing  theology  of  the  religioui 
world."  "  Let  these  pieachers,"  he  adds,  "  (for  I  will  wf 
call  them  theologians),  cry  up,  broker-like,  their  article." 
Morning  Watch.  —  No.  iii.  442,  44 

From  the  statement  of  another  writer,  in  the  same  publi- 
cation, it  would  appear  that  the  stock  brokers  have  even  set 
up  a  new  Divinity  of  their  own.  "  This  shows,"  says  the 
writer  in  question,  "  that  the  doctrine  of  the  union  between 
Christ  and  his  members  is  quite  as  essential  as  that  of  sub- 
stitution, by  taking  which  hitter  alone  the  Stcdi-Exchangt 
Divinity  has  been  produced."  —  No.  x.  p.  375. 

Among  the  ancients,  we  know  the  money  market  wa» 
provided  with  more  than  one  presiding  Deity  — "  Dee  Pe- 
cuniffi  (says  an  ancient  author)  con>mendabaut\r  ut  peciuii 
uei  esseat." 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


U 


Sery'd  last  s  yoking  gentleman,  studying  divinity, 
But  left  —  not  hpproving  the  morals  of  Trinity. 

P.  S. 

enclose,  too,  according  to  promise,  some  scraps 

Of  my  Journal  —  that  Day  book  I  keep  of  my 

heart ; 

Where,  at  some  little  items,  (partaking,  perhaps. 

More  of  earth  than  of  heaven,)  thv  prud'ry 

may  start, 
krd  Busptict  something  tender,  sly  girl  as  thou 
art. 
For  the  present,  I'm  mute  —  but,  whate'er  may 

befaU, 
Recollo^-,  dear,  (in  Hebrews,  xiii.  4,)  St.  Paul 
Hath  himself  dcclar'd,  "  marriage  is  honorable 
in  all." 

EXTRACTS  FROM   MY  DIARY. 

MoiuUtf. 
Tried  a  new  ch&16  gown  on  —  pretty. 
No  one  to  see  me  in  it  —  pity  ! 
Flew  in  a  passion  with  Friz,  my  maid ;  — 
ITie  Lord  forgive  ©le  !  —  she  look'd  dismay'd ; 
But  got  her  to  sing  the  100th  Psalm, 
While  she  curl'd  my  hair,  which  made  me  calm. 
Nothing  so  soothes  a  Christian  heart 
As  sacred  music  —  heavenly  art ! 

At  two,  a  visit  firom  Mr.  Magan  — 

A  remarkably  handsome,  nice  young  man  ; 

And,  all  Hibernian  though  he  be. 

As  civiliz'd,  strange  to  say,  as  we ! 

I  own  this  young  man's  spiritual  state 
Hath  much  engross'd  my  thoughts  of  late ; 
And  I  mean,  as  soon  ns  my  niece  is  gone, 
To  have  some  talk  with  him  thereupon. 
At  present,  I  nought  can  do  or  say, 
But  that  troublesome  chUd  is  in  the  way  : 
Nor  is  there,  I  think,  a  doubt  that  he 

Would  also  her  absence  much  prefer, 
As  oft,  while  listening  intent  to  me. 

He's  forc'd,  from  politeness,  to  look  at  her. 

Haigho  :  —  what  a  blessing  should  Mr.  Mogan 
Turn  out,  after  all,  »  '•  renewed  "  young  man  ; 
And  to  me  should  fall  the  task,  on  earth, 
Tc  assist  at  tlu  dear  youth's  second  birth. 
BlbJt  thought     and,  ah,  more  blest  the  tie, 
Were  it  heaven's  high  will,  that  he  and  I  — 
Bat  I  blufrli  to  write  the  nuptial  word  — 
Should  wed,  a«  St.  Paul  says,  "  in  the  Lord  ;  " 
Not  Ihu  world  s  wedlock  —  gross,  gallant, 
Bu   pure  —  u  when  Amram  married  his  aunt. 


Our  ages  differ  —  but  who  would  count 
One's  natural  sinful  life's  amount, 
Or  look  in  the  Register's  vulgar  page 
For  a  regular  twice-born  Christian's  age, 
Who.  blessed  privilege  !  only  then 
Begins  to  live  when  he's  bcrn  again. 
And,  counting  in  this  way  —  let  me  Me  — 
I  myself  but  five  years  old  shall  be. 
And  dear  Magan,  when  th'  event  take*  plaee, 
An  actual  new-bom  child  of  grace  — 
Should  Heav'n  in  mercy  so  dispose  — 
A  six-foot  baby,  in  swaddling  clothes. 


Finding  myself,  by  some  good  fate, 

With  Mr.  Magan  left  tite-i-tite. 

Had  just  begun  —  having  stirr'd  the  fire. 

And  drawn  my  chair  near  his  —  to  inquire 

What  his  notions  were  of  Original  Sin, 

When  that  naughty  Fanny  again  bounc'd  in  ; 

And  all  the  sweet  things  I  had  got  to  say 

Of  the  Flesh  and  the  DevU  were  whisk'd  away 

Much  grieved  to  observe  that  Mr.  Magan 

Is  actually  pleased  and  amused  with  Fan  ! 

What  charms  any  sensible  man  can  see 

In  a  child  so  foolishly  young  as  she  — 

But  just  eighteen,  come  next  May  day. 

With  eyes,  like  herself,  full  of  nought  but  play  — 

Is,  I  own,  an  exceeding  puzzle  to  me. 


LETTER  m. 
raou  MISS  fannt  fudob,  to  heb  oovaix,  Mua 

KITTY  . 

STANZAS  (ENCLOSED) 
TO   MT   SHADOW  ;    OB,  WHY  ?  —  WHAT  ?  —  HOW  ? 

Dabk  comrade  of  my  path !  while  earth  and 

sky 

Thus  wed  their  charms,  in  bridal  light  array'd, 

Why  in  this  bright  hour,  walk'st  thou  ever  nigh. 

Blackening  my  footsteps  with  thy  length  of 

shade  — 

JDark  comrade.  Why  ? 

Thou  mimic   Shape  that,  'mid  these   floweir 
scenes, 
Olidest  beside  me  o'er  each  sunny  spot, 
Sadd'ning  them  as  thou  gocst —  say,  what  i  jtaiu 
So  dark  an  adjunct  to  so  bright  a  lot  — 
Qrim  goblin,  What  i 


••eo 


THE  FUDGES   IN  ENGLAND. 


Still,  as  to  pluck  sweet  flowers  I  bend  my  brow, 

Thou  bendcst,  too —  then  risest  when  I  rise ;  — 

Bay,  mute  mysterious  Thing !  how  is't  that  thou 

Thus  com'st  between  me  and  those  blessed 

skies  — 

Dim  shadow,  How  i 

(additional  stanza,  by  another  hand.) 

Thus  said  I  to  that  Shape,  far  less  in  grudge 
Than    gloom   of   soul ;    while,    as    I    eager 
cried, 
0  Why  ?   What  ?   How  ?  —  a  Voice,  that  one 
might  judge 
To  be  some  Irish  echo's,  faint  replied, 
0  fudge,  fudge,  fudge  ! 

You  have  here,  dearest  Coz,  my  last  lyric  effu- 
sion ; 
And,  with  it,  that  odious  ••  additional  stanza," 
Which  Aunt  will  insist  I  must  keep,  as  conclu- 
sion, 
And  which,  you'll  at  once  see,  is  Mr.  Ma- 

gan's ;  —  a 
Most  cruel  and  dark-design'd  extravaganza. 
And  part  of  that  plot  in  which  he  and  my  Aunt 

are 
To  stifle  the  flights  of  my  genius  by  banter. 

Just  so  'twas  with  BjTon's  young  eagle-ey'd 

strain. 
Just  so  did  they  taunt  him  ;  —  but  vain,  critics, 

vain 
All  your   efforts   to  saddle  Wit's  fire  with   a 

chain ! 
To   blot   out   the   splendor   of  Fancy's   young 

stream. 
Or  crop,  in  its  cradle,  her  newly-fledg'd  beam  !  ! ! 
Thou  perceiv'st,  dear,  that,  ev'n  while  these  lines 

I  indite, 
Thoughts    burn,    brilliant   fancies    break    out, 

wrong  or  right, 
And  I'm  all  over  poet,  in  Criticism's  spite  ! 

That  my  Aunt,  who  deals  only  in  Psalms,  and 

regards 
Mef>ST8.  Sternhold  and  Co,  as  the  first  of  all 

bards  — 
That  she  should  make  light  of  my  works  I  can't 

blame ; 
But  that  nice,  handsome,  odious  Magan  —  what 

a  shame ! 
Do  you  know,  dear,  that,  high  as  on  most  points 

I  rate  him, 
I'm  ^ally  afraid  —  after  all,  I  —  m  tst  hate  him. 


He  is  so  provoking  —  nought's  safe  from  hii 

tongue ; 
He  spares  no  one  authoress,  ancient  or  young. 
Were  you  Sappho  herself,  and  in  Keepsake  oi 

Bijou 
Once  shone  as  contributor.  Lord  how  he'd  quia 

you! 
He  laughs  at  all  Monthlies —  I've  actually  seen 
A  sneer  on  his  brow  at  the  Court  Magazine  !  — 
While  of  Weeklies,  poor  things,  there's  but  one 

he  peruses, 
And  buys  every  book  which  that  Weekly  abuses. 
But  I  care  not  how  others  such  sarcasm  may 

fear, 
Otie  spirit,  at  least,  will  not  bend  to  his  sneer  ; 
And  though  tried  by  the  fire,  my  young  genius 

shall  burn  as 
Uninjured  as  crucified  gold  in  the.  Turn  ace  ! 
(I  suspect  the  word  •'  crucified  "  must  be  made 

"  crucible," 
Before  this  fine  image  of  mine  is  producible.) 

And  now,  dear  —  to  tell  you  a  secret  which. 

pray 
Only  trust  to  such  friends  as  with  safety  you 

may  — 
You  know,  and,  indeed  the  whole  county  sus 

pects 
(Though  the  Editor  often  my  best  things  rejects) 
That  the  verses  sign'd  so,  E^,  which  you  no\^ 

and  then  see 
In  our  County  Gazette  (vide  last)  are  by  me. 
But  'tis  dreadful  to  think  what  provoking  mis- 
takes 
The  vile  country  Press  in  one's  prosody  makes. 
For  you  know,  dear  —  I  may,  without  vanity, 

hint  — 
Though  an  angel  should  write,  still  'tis  devil* 

must  print ; 
And  you  can't  think  what  havoc  these  demons 

sometim-;s 
Choose  to  make  of  one's  sense,  and  what's  worse, 

of  one's  rhymes. 
But  a  week  or   two  since,    in   my  Ode    upon 

Spring, 
WTiich  I  meant  to  have  made  a  most  beautiful 

thing. 
Where  I  talk'd  oi    he  "  dewdrops  from  freshly- 
blown  roses," 
The  nasty  things  made  it  "  from  freshly-blown 

noses  ! " 
And  once  when,  to  please  my  cross  Aunt,  I  had 

tried 
To  commem'rate  some  sunt  of  her  cliqut,  who'd 

just  died. 


THE   FUDGES   IN  ENGLAND. 


Ml 


ttaviiig  said  he  "  had  tak'u  up  in  heav'n  his 

position," 
rhey  made  it,  he'd  "tak'n  up  to  heav'n  hia 

xibysician  !  " 

This  is  Tery  disheartening ;  —  but  brighter  days 

shine, 
I  rejoice,   love,   to   say,  both  for  me  and  the 

Nine ; 
I       Pci.  whet  do  you  think  ? —  so  delightful !  next 

year, 
O,  prepare,  dearest  girl,  for  the  grand  news 

prepare  — 
Cm  to  write  in  the  Keepsake  —  yes,  Kitty,  my 

dear. 
To  write  in  the  Keepsake,  as  sure  as  you're 

there  !  ! 
Tother  night,  at  a  Ball,  'twas  my  fortunate 

chance 
With  a  very  nice  elderly  Dandy  to  dance, 
NVho,  'twas  plain,  from  some  hints  which  I  now 

and  then  caught, 
Was  the  author  of  something  —  one  couldn't  tell 

what ;  • 

But  his    satisfied    manner    left    no    room    to 

doubt 
It  was  something  that  Colbum  had  lately  brought 

out. 

We  convcrs'd  of  belles-lettrea  through  all  .the 

quadrille,  — 
Of  poetry,  dancing,  of  prose,  standing  still ; 
Talk'd  of  Intellect's  march  —  whether  right  'twas 

or  wrong  — 
And  then  settled  the  point  in  a  bold  e/t  avatit. 
In  the  course  of  this  talk  'twas  that,  having  just 

hinted 
That  /  too  had  Poems  which — long'd  to  be 

printed. 
He  protested,  kind  man  !  he  had  seen,  at  first 

sight, 
I  was  actually  born  in  the  Keepsake  to  write. 
"  In  the  Annals  of  England  lot  some,"  he  said, 

"  shine. 
But  a  place  in  her  Annuals,  Lady,  be  thine  ! 
••  Even  now  future  Keepsakes  seem  brightly  to 

rise, 
"  Through  the  vista  of  years,  as  I  gaze  on  those 

eyes,  — 
*'  All  letter'd  and  press' d,  and  of  large-paper 

size ! " 
How  unlike  thai  Magan,  who  my  genius  would 

smother, 
&nd  how   wc,     rue    geniuses,   find   out  each 

other ! 


This,  and  much  more  he  said,  with  that  fin« 

frenzied  glance 
One  so  rarely  now  sees,  as  we  slid  through  tha 

dance ; 
Till  between  us  'twas  finally  fix'd  th«4,  next  year, 
In  this  exquisite  task  I  my  pea  should  en- 
gage ; 
And,  at  parting,  he  stoop'd  dowL  u^d  lisp'i  ia 

my  ear 
These  mystical  words,  which  I  could  but  jvti 

hear, 
"Terms  for  rhyme  —  if  it's  vrime  —  ten  and 

sixpence  per  page." 
Think,  Kitty,  my  dear,  if  I   ueAid  lia    words 

right. 
What  a  mint  of  half  guineas  this  small  head 

contains ; 
If  for  nothing  to  write  is  itself  a  delight. 
Ye  Gods,  what  a  bliss  to  be  paid  for  one'i 

strains ! 

Having  dropp'd  the  dear  fellow  a  court'sy  pro  ■ 

found. 
Off  at  once,  to  inquire  all  about  him,  I  ran  ; 
And  from  what  I  could  learn,  do  you  know, 

dear,  I've  found 
That  he's  quite  a  new  species  of  lit'rary  man  ; 
One,  whose  task  is  —  to  what  will  not  fashion 

accustom  us  ?  — 
To  edUe  live  authors,  as  if  they  were  posthumous. 
For  instance  —  the  plan,  to  be  sure,  ia  the  odd- 
est!  — 
If  any  young  he  or  she  author  feels  mddest 
In  venturing  abroad,  this  kind  gentleman  ushei 
Lends  promptly  a  hand  to  the  int'resting  blusher ; 
Indites    a    smooth    Preface,    brings    merit    to 

Ught, 
Which  else  might,  ty  accident,  shrink  out  ol 

sight, 
And,  in  short,  renders  readers  and  critics  polite. 
My  Aunt  says  —  though  scarce  on  such  pointi 

one  can  credit  her  — 
He  was  Lady  Jane  Thingumbob's  last  novel's 

editor. 
'Tis  certain  the  fashion's  but  newly  invented  • 
And,  quick  {is  the  change  of  all  tilings  and 

all  names  is. 
Who  knows  but,  as  authors,  like  girls,  are  pre^ 

tented, 
We,  girls,  may  be  edited  soon  at  St.  James's » 

I  must  now  close  my  letter  —  there's  Aunt,  is 

full  screech. 
Wants  to  take  me  to  hear  some  jreat  Ifingit» 

preach. 


M3 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


Gk>d  forgive  me,  I'm  not  much  inclined,  I  must 
say, 

To  go  and  sit  still  to  be  preach'd  at,  to-day. 

^d,  besides — 'twill  be  all  against  dancing,  no 
doubt, 

Which  my  poor  Aunt  abhors,  with  such  hatred 
devout, 

rhat,  80  far  from  presenting  young  nymphs 
with  a  head, 

For  their  skill  in  the  dance,  as  of  Herod  is  said, 

She'd  wish  their  own  heads  in  the  platter,  in- 
stead. 

There,  again  —  coming.  Ma'am  !  —  I'll  write 
more,  if  I  can. 

Before  the  post  goes. 

Your  affectionate  Fan. 

Four  o'clock. 

Such  a  sermon  !  —  though  not  about  dancing, 
my  dear  ; 

'Twas  only  on  th'  end  of  the  world  being  near. 

Eighteen  Hundred  and  Forty's  the  year  that 
some  state 

As  the  time  for  that  accident  —  some  Forty- 
Eight  :  > 

And  I  own,  of  the  two,  I'd  prefer  much  the  latter, 

As  then  I  shall  be  an  old  maid,  and  'twon't 
matter. 

Once  more,  love,  good  by  —  I've  to  make  a  new 
cap; 

But  am  now  so  dead  tired  with  this  horrid 
mishap 

Uf  the  end  of  the  world,  that  I  must  take  a  nap. 


LETTER  IV. 

FBOM    PATRICK   HAOAX,    ESQ.    TO  THE    BET. 
BICHARD   . 

He  comes  from  Erin's  speechful  shore 
Like  fervid  kettle,  bubbling  o'er 

With  hot  effusions  —  hot  and  weak  j 
Bcund,  Humbug,  all  your  hoUowest  drums. 
He  comes,  of  Erin's  martyrdoms 

To  Britain's  well-fed  Church  to  speak. 

Puff  him,  ye  Journals  of  the  Lord,' 
Twin  prosers.  Watchman  and  Record  I 


1  With  regard  to  the  exact  time  of  this  event,  there  ap- 
pears to  be  a  difference  only  of  about  two  or  three  years 
imong  the  respective  calculators.  M.  Alplionse  Nicole,  Doc- 
teiir  en  Droit,  et  Avocat,  merely  doubts  whether  it  is  to  be 
«)  1846  or  lb47     "  A  cette  6pt;qiie,"  he  says,  "  les  fiddles 


Journals  reserv'd  for  realms  of  bliss, 
Being  much  too  good  to  sell  in  this. 
Prepare,  ye  wealthier  Saints,  your  din-^ns. 

Ye  Spinsters,  spread  your  tea  &nd  crumpets , 
And  you,  ye  countless  Tracts  for  Sinnwrs, 

Blow  all  your  little  penny  trumpets. 
He  comes,  the  reverend  man,  to  tell 

To  all  who  still  the  Church's  part  takr, 
Tales  of  parsonic  woe,  that  well 

Might  make  cv'n  grim  Dissenter's  heart  ik'b* 
Of  ten  whole  Bishops  snatch'd  away 
Forever  from  the  light  of  day  ; 
(With  God  knows,  too,  how  many  more, 
For  whom  that  doom  is  yet  in  store)  — 
Of  Rectors  cruelly  compell'd 

From  Bath  and  Cheltenham  to  haste  homSt 
Because  the  tithes,  by  Pat  withheld. 

Will  not  to  Bath  or  Cheltenham  come ; 
Nor  will  the  flocks  consent  to  pay 
Their  parsons  thus  to  stay  away  ;  — 
Though,  with  such  parsons,  one  may  doubt 
If  'tisn't  money  well  laid  out ;  — 
Of  all,  in  short,  and  each  degree 
Of  that  once  happy  Hierarchy, 

Which  us'd  to  roll  in  wealth  so  pleasantly^ 
But  now,  alas,  is  doom'd  to  see 

Its  surplus  brought  to  nonplus  presently  ! 

Such  are  the  themes  this  man  of  pathos. 
Priest  of  prose  and  Lord  of  bathos. 

Will  preach  and  preach  t'ye,  till  you're  dul 
again. 
Then,  hail  him.  Saints,  with  joint  acclaim. 
Shout  to  the  stars  his  tuneful  name, 
Which  Murtagh  was,  ere  known  to  fame, 

But  now  is  Mortimer  O'Mulligan  ! 

All  true,  Dick,  true  as  you're  alive  — 
I've  seen  him,  some  hours  since,  arrive. 
Mtutagh  is  come,  the  great  Itinerant  — 

And  Tuesday,  in  the  market-place. 
Intends,  to  every  saint  and  sinner  in't, 

To  state  what  he  calls  Ireland's  Case ; 
Meaning  thereby  the  case  of  his  shop,  — 
Of  curate,  vicar,  rector,  bishop. 
And  all  those  other  grades  seraphic^ 
That  make  men's  souls  their  special  traffic, 
Though  caring  not  a  pin  which  way 
Th'  erratic  souls  go,  so  they  pay.  — 


peuvent  esp^rer  de  voir  a'effectuer  la  purifleatioii  do  Btaut 

tuaire." 

*  "  Our  anxious  desire  is  to  be  found  on  the  side  of  tiM 
Lord  "  —  Record  M'cxBspaper; 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


6«li 


fust  as  some  roguish  country  nurse, 

Who  takes  a  foundling  babe  to  suckle. 
First  pops  the  payment  in  her  purse, 

Then  leaves  poor  dear  to  —  suck  its  knuckle : 
Ey'n  so  tl.ese  reverend  rigmaroles 
Pocket  th?  money  —  stars-e  the  souls. 
Murtagli,  however,  in  his  glory, 
Will  tell,  next  week,  a  different  story ; 
Will  make  0T.t  all  these  men  of  barter, 
A.8  each  a  saint,  a  downright  martyr, 
Brought  to  the  stake  —  i.  e.  a  beef  one, 
Of  all  their  martjnrdoms  the  chief  one ; 
Though  try  them  ev'n  at  this,  they'll  bear  it, 
If  tender  and  wash'd  down  with  claret. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Fudge,  who  loves  all  lions. 
Your  saintly,  next  to  great  and  high  'una  — 
(A  viscount,  be  he  what  ho  may. 
Would  cut  a  Saint  out,  an)-  day,) 
Has  just  announc'd  a  godly  rout, 
\\Tiere  Murtagh's  to  be  first  brought  out. 
And  shown  in  his  tame,  week-day  state  :  — 
•*  Pray'rs,  half  past  seven,  tea  at  eight" 
Ev'n  so  the  circular  missive  orders  — 
Pink  cards,  with  cherubs  round  the  borders. 

Haste,  Dick  —  you're  lost,  if  you  lose  time  ;  — 

Spinsters  at  forty-five  grow  giddy. 
And  Murtagh,  with  his  tropes  sublime. 

Will  surely  carry  off  old  Biddy, 
Unless  some  spark  at  once  propose, 
And  distance  him  by  downright  prose, 
That  sick,  rich  squire,  whose  wealth  and  lands 
All  pass,  they  say,  to  Biddy's  hands, 
(The  patron,  Dick,  of  three  fat  rectories  !) 
Is  dying  of  angina  pectoris  ;  — 
Bo  that,  unless  you're  stirring  soon, 

Murtagh,  that  priest  of  puff  and  pelfi 
May  come  in  for  a  honey-moon. 

And  be  the  man  of  it,  himself  I 

As  for  me,  Dick  —  'tis  whim,  'tis  folly. 
But  this  young  niece  absorbs  me  wholly. 
'1  is  true,  the  girl's  a  vile  verse  maker  — 

WouW    ihyme    all    nature,    if    you'd    let 
he/   — 
But  ev'n  her  oddities  plague  take  her, 

But  make  me  love  Tier  all  the  better, 
jfoo  true  it  is,  she's  bitten  sadly 
With  this  new  rage  for  rhyming  badly. 
Which  late  hath  sciz'd  all  ranks  and  classes, 
Down  to  that  new  Estate,  '•  the  masses  ;  " 

1  The  Irt>h  peasantry  ars  very  fond  or  giving  fine  names 
^  rlieir  pi(a     1  ^ave  taeaj  1  of  itne  initaoce  in  which  a  ecu- 


Till  one  purse  it  all  tastes  combines  — 
One  common  n.ilroad  o'er  Parnassus, 
Where,  sliding  in  those  tuneful  groores, 
Call'd  couplets,  all  creation  moves, 

And  the  whole  world  runs  mad  in  lines. 
Add  io  all  this — what's  ev'n  still  worse 
As  rhyme  itself,  though  still  a  curse. 
Sounds  better  to  a  chinking  purse  — 
Scarce  sixpence  hath  my  charmer  got, 
While  I  can  muster  just  a  groat ; 
So  that,  computing  self  and  Venus, 
Tenpence  would  clear  th'  amount  between  oil 

However,  things  may  yet  prove  better :  — 

Meantime,  what  awful  length  of  letter  ! 

And  how,  while  heaping  thus  with  gibes 

The  Pegasus  of  modem  scribes. 

My  own  small  hobby  of  farrago 

Hath  beat  the  pace  at  which  er'n  they  go  ! 


LETTER  V. 

FBOM    IJIKRT    o'bRANIOAN,    IW    BWOLAKD,   TO    UU 
WIFE    JCDY,    AT  MITLLINAVAD. 

Dear  Judy,  I  sind  you  this  bit  of  a  letthcr, 
By  mail-coach  conveyance  —  for  want  of  a  bet- 

ther  — 
To  tell  you  what  luck  in  this  world  I  have  had 
Since  I  left  the  sweet  cabin,  at  MuUinafad. 
Och,  Judy,  that  night !  —  when  the  pig  which 

we  meant 
To  dry-nurse  in  the  parlor,  to  pay  off  the  rent, 
Julianna,  the  craythur  —  that  name  was  the 

death  of  her '  — 
Gave  us  the  shlip  and  we  saw  the  last  breath  of 

her! 
And  there  were  the  childher,  six  innocent  sowls^ 
For  their  natc  little  playfellow  tuning  up  howls ; 
While  yourself,  my  dear  Judy  (though  gricvin  • 

a  foUy), 
Stud  over  Julianna's  remains,  melancholy  — 
Cryin',  half  for  the  crathur,  and  half  for  ti.* 

money, 
»•  Arrah,  why  did  ye  die  till  we'd  sowl'd  you,  mj 

honey  ? " 

But  God's  will  be  done  !  —  and  then,  faith,  surt 

enough. 
As  the  pig  was  desaiced,  'twas  high  time  to  bs 

off. 


pie  of  young  pigs  wera  named,  at  their  binh,  AbeUirf  aM 
Eloisa. 


£64 


THE  FUDGES   IN  ENGLAND. 


So  we  gother'd  up  all  the  poor  duds  we  covild 

'  catch, 
Lock'd  the  owld  cabin  door,  put  the  kay  in  the 

thatch, 
TLet  tuk  laave  of  each  other's  sweet  lips  in  the 

dark, 
A.nc  set  off,  like  the  Chrishtians  turn'd  out  of 

the  Ark ; 
The  six    childher  with  you,  my  dear  Judy, 

ochone  ! 
An::  poor  I  wid  myself,  ^eft  condolin'  alone. 

How  I  came  to  this  England,  o'er  say  and  o'er 

lands. 
And  what  cruel  hard  walkin'  I've  had  on  my 

hands, 
Is,  at  this  present  writin',  too  tadious  to  speak. 
Bo  I'll  mintion  it  all  in  a  postscript,  next  week  : 
Only  starv'd  I  was,  surely,  as  thin  as  a  lath, 
Till  I  came  to  an  up-and-down  place  they  call 

Bath, 
Where,  as  luck  was,  I  manag'd  to  make  a  meal's 

meat, 
By  dhraggin'   owld  ladies  all  day  through  the 

street  — 
Which  their  docthors  (who  pocket,  like  fun,  the 

pound  starlins,) 
Have  brought  into  fashion  to  plase  the  owld 

darlins. 
Div'l  a  boy  in  all  Bath,  though  /  say  it,  could 

carry 
The  grannies  up  hill  half  so  handy  as  Larry ; 
And  the  higher  they  liv'd,  like  owld  crows,  in 

the  air, 
I'he  more  /  was  wanted  to  lug  them  up  there. 

But  luck  has  two  handles,  dear  Judy,  they  say, 
And  mine  has  both  handles  put  on  the  wrong 

way, 
F'r,  pondherin',  one  morn,  on  a  drame  I'd  just 

had 
Of  yourself  and  the  babbies,  at  MuUinafad, 
Och,  there  came  o'er  my  sinses  so  plasin'  a  flut- 

ther, 
That  I  spilt  an  owld  Countess  right  clane  in  the 

gutther, 
Mxiff.  feathers  and  all !  —  the  descint  was  most 

awful. 
And  —  what  was   still  worse,  faith  —  I  knew 

'twas  unlawful : 
For,  though,  with  mere  women,  no  very  great 

evil, 
V  upset  an  owld  Countess  in  Bath  is  the  divil ! 
So,  liflin'  the  chair  with  herself  safe  upon  it, 
^Foi  n  ithin'  about   ler  was  kilt,  but  her  bonnet), 


Without    even    mentionin'     "By    your    laye, 

ma'am," 
I  tuk  to  my  heels  and  —  here,  Judy,  I  am .' 

What's  the  name  of  this  town  I  can't  say  very 

well. 
But  your  heart  sure  will  jump  when  you  Keaj 

what  befell 
Your  own  beautiful  Larry,  the  very  first  lay, 
(And  a  Sunday  it  was,  shinin'  out  mighty  gay, ) 
When  his  brogues  to  this  city  of  luck  foui.d 

their  way. 
Bein'   hungry,  God  help  me,  and  happenin'  to 

stop. 
Just  to  dine  on  the  shmell  of  a  pasthry- cook's 

shop, 
I  saw,  in  the  window,  a  large  printed  paper. 
And  read  there  a  name,  och  !  that  made  my 

heart  caper  — 
Though  printed  it  was  in  some  quare  ABC, 
That  imight  bother  a  schoolmasther,  let  alonn 

me. 
By  gor,  you'd  have  laughed,  Judy,  could  you've 

but  listen'd. 
As,  doubtin',    I   cried,    "  why  it  is  !  —  no,    it 

isn't : " 
But  if  was,  after  all  — for,  by  speUin'  quite  slow. 
First  I  made  out   "Rev.  Mortimer"  —  then  a 

great  "  O  ;  " 
And,  at   last,  by  hard  readin'  and  rackin'  my 

skull  again. 
Out  it  came,  nate  as  imported,  "  O'Mulligan !' 

Up  I  jump'd,  like  a  skylark,  my  jew'l,  at  that 

name,  — 
Div'l  a  doubt  on  my  mind,  but  it  must  be  the 

same. 
"  Masthcr  Murthagh,  himself,"  says  I,  "  all  the 

■world  over  ! 
My  own  fosther    brother  —  by  jinks,   I'm  in 

clover, 
Though  there,   in  the  playbill,   he  figures  so 

grand, 
Owe  wet  nurse  it  was  brought  us  both  up  by 

hand. 
And  he'll  not  let  me  shtarvo  m  the  inemy  8 

land  !  " 

Well,  to  make  a  long  hishtory  short,  niver  douV 
But  I  manag'd,    in  no   time,  to   find   the   lad 

out; 
And  the  joy  of  the  meetin'  bethuxt  him  and 

roe. 
Such  d  pair  of  owld  ciunrogues  —  was  charmii} 

to  see. 


I 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


AM 


Nor  is  Itlurthaga  less  plas'd  with  th'  evint  than 

/  am, 
AS  he  just  then  was  %vanting  a  A  alley-de-sham  ; 
And,  for  dretsM  a  gintleraan,  one  way  or  t'other. 
Your  nate  Irish  lad  is  beyant  every  other. 

But  \.ow    Judy,  comes  the  quare  part  of  the 

case  ; 
knd    in  throth,  it's  the  only  drawback  on  my 

place. 
Twos  Murthagh's  ill  luck  to  be  cross' d,  as  you 

know. 
With  on  awkward  mishfortune  some  short  time 

ago; 
That's  to  say,  ho  turn'd  Protestant  —  why,  I 

can't  lam ; 
But,  of  coorse,  he  knew  best,  an'  it's  not  my 

consam. 
All  I  know  is,  we  both  were  good  Cath'lics,  at 

nurse, 
Vnd  myself  am  so  still  —  nayther  betther  nor 

worse. 
Well,  our  bargain  was  all  right  and  tight  in  a 

jiffy. 

And  ikds  more  contint  never  yet  left  the  Liffey, 
When  Murthagh  —  or  Morthimer,  as  he's  now 

chrishcn'd, 
Ilis  name  being  convarted,  atlaist,  iihe  isn't  — 
Lookin'  sly  at  me  (faith,  'twas  divartin'  to  see) 
"  Of  coorse,  you're  a  Protestant,  Larry,"  says  he. 
Upon  which  says  myself,  wid  a  wink  just  as 

Billy, 
••  Is't  a  Protestant  ?  —  O  yes,  /  am,  sir,"  says  I ; 
And  there  the  chat  ended,  and  div'l  a  more 

word 
Ccntrovarslal  between  us  has   since  then  oc- 

curr'd. 

What  Murthagh  could  mane,  and,  in  troth,  Judy 

dear, 
\M,at  /my*e//" meant,  doesn't  seem  mighty  clear ; 
Bu*.  the  thruth  is,  though  still  for  the  Owld 

Light  a  stickler, 
I  •was  just  then  too  shtarv'd  to  be  over  par- 

tic'Iar  :  — 
And,  God  knows,  between  us,  a  comic'ler  pair 
Of  twin  Protestants  couldn't  be  seen  any  where. 

Next  Tuesday  (as  towid  in  the  playbills  I  min- 

tion  (U 
\.ddres8'd  to  the  loyai  and  godly  intintion'd,) 
His  rivcrcncc,   my   master,  comes  forward  to 

preach,  —  - 
Myself  doesn't  know  whether  sarmon  or  speech. 
But  it  f  all  on  s  to  him,  he's  a  dead  hand  at  each ; 
84 


Like  us,  Paddies,   in    gin'ral,   whose    skill  io 

orations 
Quite  bothers  the  blarney  "A  all  other  nations. 

But,  whisht !  —  there's  his  Kivirence  shoutin 

out  "  Larry," 
And  sorra  a  word  more  will  this  shmall  f  ipei 

carry ; 
So,  here,  Judy,  ends  my  short  bit  of  a  letther, 
AVhich,  faix,.I'd  have  made  a  much  bigger  anJ 

betther. 
But  div'l  a  one  Post-office  hole  in  this  town 
Fit  to  swallow  a  dacent  siz'd  billy-dux  down. 
So  good  luck  to   the   childer  !  —  tell  Molly,  ] 

love  her ; 
Kiss  Oonagh's  sweet  mouth,  and  kiss  Katty  al] 

over  — 
Not  forgettin'  the    mark  of    the  red-curra»it 

whiskey 
She  got  at  the  fair  when  yourself  was  so  frisky, 
T'he  heav'ns  be  your  bed  !  —  I  will  write,  when 

I  can  again. 
Yours  to  the  world's  end, 

La&RT  CBaAMIOAH 


LETTER  VI. 

FBOH    MISS     BIDDY    FUDOE,    TO   KHS. 
ELUABETH   . 

How  I  grieve  you're  not  with  us  1  —  pray,  conu^ 

if  you  can. 
Ere  we're  robb'd  of  this  dear,  oratorical  man. 
Who  combines  in  himself  all  the  multiple  glory 
Of    Orangeman,   Saint,    qxwndam    Papist    and 

Tory ;  - 
(Choice  mixture  !  like  that  from  which,  duly 

confounded. 
The  best  sort  of  brass  was,  in  old  times,  com 

pounded) — 
The  sly  and  the  saintly,  the  worldly  And  god  ly. 
All  fused  do^vn  in  brogue  so  deliciouiiiy  oddly  1 
In  short,  he's  a  dear  —  and  such  audiences  drf.w% 
Such  loud  peals  of  laughter  and  cJicuts  of  api 

plause, 
As  can't  but  do  good  to  the  Protestant  cause. 
Poor  dear  Irish  Church!  —  he  to- day  sketch'd 

a  view 
Of  her  hist'ry  and  prospects,  to  m«  At  least 

new. 
And  which  (if  it  takes  as  it  ought)  must  arouM 
The  whole  Christian  world  her  just  rights  to 

espouse. 


S66 


THE   FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


A.S  to  reasoning  —  you  know,  Jear,  that's  now 

of  no  use, 
People  still  will  their  facta  and  dry  figures  pro- 
duce, 
A.8  if  sanng  the  souls  of  a  Protestant  flock  were 
A  thing  to  be  managed  "  according  to  Cocker! " 
In  vain  dc  we  say,  (when  rude  radicals  hector 
A^  paying  some  thousands  a  year  to  a  Rector, 
E"  places  where  Protestants  never  yet  were,) 
'*  iVho  knows  but  young  Protestants  may  be 

born  there  ? 
And  granting  such  accident,  think,  what  a  shame. 
If  they  didn't  find  Rector  and  Clerk  when  they 

came ! 
It  is  clear  that,  without  such  a  staff"  on  full  pay, 
These  little  Church  embryos  must  go  astray ; 
And,  while  fools  are  computing  what  Parsons 

would  cost, 
Precious  souls  are  meanwhile  to  th'  Establish- 
ment lost ! 
In  vain  do  we  put  the  case  sensibly  thus  ;  — 
They'll  still  with  their  figures  and  facta  make  a 

fuss, 
And  ask  ''if,  while  all,  choosing  each  his  own 

road. 
Journey  on,  as  we  can,  towards  the  Heav'nly 

Abode, 
It  is  right  that  seven  eighths  of  the  trav'llers 

should  pay 
For  one  eighth  '.hat  goes  quite  a  diff'erent  way  ? " 
Just  as  if,  foo!ish  people,  this  wasn't,  in  reality, 
A  proof  of  the  Church's  extreme  liberality. 
That,  though  hating  Pop'ry  in  other  respects. 
She  to  Catholic  money  in  no  way  objects  ; 
And  so   lib'ral  her  very  best   Saints,  in  this 

sense, 
That  they  ev'n  go  to  heav'n  at  the  Cath'lic's 
expense. 

But,  though  clear  to  our  minds  all  these  argu- 
ments be, 

People  cannot  or  will  not  their  cogency  see  ; 

And,  I  grieve  to  confess,  did  the  poor  Irish 
Church 

Stand  on  reasoning  alone,  she'd  be  left  in  the 
lurch. 

It  was  therefore,  dear  Lizzy,  with  joy  most  sin- 
cere, 

ITia .  I  heard  this  nice  Rev'rend  O'  something 
we've  liere. 

Produce,  from  the  depths  of  his  knowledge  and 
reading, 

A  view  of  that  marvellous  Church,  far  exceeding, 

[n  novelty,  force,  and  profoundness  of  thought, 

All  that  Irving  himself,  in  his  glory,  e'er  taught. 


Looking  through  the  whole  history,  present  ana 
past. 

Of  the  Irish  Law  Church,  from  the  first  to  the 
last ; 

Considering  how  strange  its  original  birth  — 

Such  a  thing  having  never  before  been  on  earth  — 

How  oppos'd  to  the  instinct,  the  law,  and  the 
force 

Of  nature  and  reason  has  been  its  whole 
course ; 

Through  centuries  encount'ring  repugnance,  re- 
sistance, 

Scorn,  hate,  execration  —  yet  still  in  existence  ! 

Considering  all  this,  the  conclusion  he  draws 

Is  that  Nature  exempts  this  one  Church  from 
her  laws  — 

That  Reason,  dumbfounder'd,  gives  up  the  dis- 
pute. 

And  before  the  portentous  anom'ly  stai.da 
mute ;  — 

That,  in  short,  'tis  a  Miracle  !  —  and,  ones  be- 
gun. 

And  transmitted  through  ages,  from  father  to 
son, 

For  the  honor  of  miracles,  ought  to  go  on. 

Never  yet  was  conclusion  so  cogent  and  sound, 
Or  so  fitted  the  Church's  weak  foes  to  con- 
found. 
For,  observe,  the  more  low  aU  her  merits  they 

place. 
The  more  they  make  out  the  miraculous  case. 
And  the  more  all  good  Christians  must  deem  it 

profane 
To  disturb  such  a  prodigy's  marvellous  reign. 

As  for  scriptural  proofs,  he  quite  plac'd  beyond 

doubt 
That  the  whole   in  the  Apocalypse  may  bo 

found  out. 
As  clear  and  well  prov'd,  he  would  venture  to 

swear, 
As  any  thing  else  has  been  ever  found  there :  — 
While  the  mode  in  which,  bless  the  dear  felloWi 

he  deals 
With  that  whole  lOt  of  vials  and  truzxixetfl  end 

seals, 
And  the   ease  with   which   vial    en    rial    ha 

strings. 
Shows  him  quite  a  first  rate  at  all  these  sort  of 

things. 

So  much  for  theology  :  —  as  for  th'  affairs 
Of  this  temporal  world  —  the  light,  drawing' 
room  cares 


THE  PUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


tti 


Ajsd  gay  toils  of  the  toilet,  whijh,  God  knows, 

I  Beck, 
From  no  love  of  such  things,  but  in  humbleness 

meek, 
A.m  tJ  be,  as  th'  Apostle  was,  '•  weak  with  the 

weak," 
?>iou  wilt  find  quite  enough  (till  I'm  somewhat 

less  busy) 
[a  th'  extracts  enclosed,  mj  dear  news-loving 

Lizzy. 

EXTBACra  FROM  MY  DIARY. 

TAur.«iay. 

Last  night,  having  nought  more  holy  to  do, 
Wrote  a  letter  to  dear  Sir  Andrew  Agnew, 
About  the  "  Do-nothing-on-Sunday-Club," 
Which  we  wish  by  some  shorter  name  to  dub : — 
As  the  use  of  more  vowels  and  consonants 
Than  a  Christian,  on  Sunday,  realli/  wants, 
Is  a  grievance  that  ought  to  be  done  away, 
And  the  Alphabet  left  to  rest,  that  day. 

Sundttf. 

Sir  Andiew  s  answer  !  —  but  shocking  to  say, 

Being  franked  unthinkingly  yesterday. 

To  the  horror  of  Agnews  yet  unborn, 

It  arriv'd  on  this  blessed  Sunday  morn  !  !  — 

IIow    shocking  !  —  the    postman's    self    cried 

«'  shame  on't," 
Seeing  th'  immaculate  Andrew's  name  on't !  ! 
What  will  the  Club  do  ?  —  meet,  no  doubt, 
'lis  a  matter  that  touches  the  Class  Devout, 
And  the   friends   of  the   Sabbath  must  speak 

out. 

T\eiday. 

Baw  to-day,  at  the  raffle  —  and  saw  it  with 
pain  — 

That  those  sty'ish  Fitzwigrams  begin  to  dress 
plain. 

Even  gay  little  Sophy  smart  trimmings  re- 
nounces— 

Bhe,  who  long  has  stood  by  me  through  all  sorts 
of  tiounces, 

Ajid  showed,  by  upholding  the  toilet's  sweet 
rites, 

ITiat  we,  girls,  may  be  Christians,  without  being 
fi-ighu. 

I  The  title  given  by  the  naiives  to  such  of  tlieir  country- 
iien  w  become  cunvcrts. 

I  Of  such  relapses  we  and  innumerable  instances  in  the 
Iccouiiu  uf  tlie  .Misiii'niaries. 

T!io  gi>d  Krishna,  on<)  uf  the  incarnations  of  the  god 
I'Uinu.    "  One  day  (%ays  the  Bba|{avau)  Krisiina'a  plajr- 


This,  I  own,  much  alarms  me ;  for  though  one'« 

religioios. 
And  strict  and  —  all  that,  there's  no  need  to  b« 

hideous  ; 
And  why  a  nice  bonnet  should  stand  in  tlie  waj 
Of  one's  going  to  heav'n,   tisn't  easy  to  say. 

Then,  there's   Gimp,  the  poor  thing  —  if  hn 

custom  we  drop. 
Pray,  what's  to  become  of  her  soul  and  her  shop  I 
If  by  saints  like  ourselves  no  more  orders  an 

given. 
She'll  lose   all  the  interest  she  now  takes  in 

heaven  ; 
And  this  nice  little  "firebrand,  pluck'd  frot« 

the  burning," 
May  fall  in  again  at  the  very  next  turning. 

JTednttdof. 
Mem.  — To  write  to  the  India  Mission  Society ; 
And  send  £20  —  heavy  tax  upon  piety  ! 

Of  all  Indian  lux'ries  we  nowadays  boost. 
Making  "  Company's  Christians  "  '  perhaps  costs 

the  most. 
And  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  these  converts  full 

grown. 
Having  lived  in  our  £Euth  mostly  die  in  the<* 

oum,* 
Praying  hard,  at  the  last,  to  some  god  who,  the> 

say, 
When  incarnate  on  earth,  used  to  steal  curda 

and  whey.' 
Think,   how  horrid,  my  dear !  —  so  that  all's 

thrown  away ; 
And  (what  is  still  worse)  for  the  rum  and  the  rice 
They  consum'd,  while  believers,  we  saints  pay 

the  price. 

Still  'tis  cheering  to  find  that  we  do  save  a  few    - 

The  Report  gives  six  Christians  for  Cunnang- 
cadoo ; 

Doorkotchum  reckons  seven,  and  four  Troran- 
drum. 

While  but  one  and  a  halTs  left  at  Cooroopa'Jum. 

In  this  last-men tion'd  place  'tis  the  barbofs  en- 
slave 'em, 

Por,  once  they  turn  Christians,  rjo  barber  will 
shave  'em.* 


fellows  complained  to  Tasuda  that  he  bad  pi  ft  led  and  lU 
their  curds." 

*  "  Roteen  wants  shaving  ;  but  the  barber  here  will  not 
do  it.  He  is  run  away  lest  be  should  be  compelled.  Ht 
■ays  he  will  not  shave  Yeuo  KieMl's  pm)gl»."  —  B*ft.  JKi* 
nen  Socutf,  voL  it  p.  49. 


168 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


To  atone  for  this  rather  small  Heathen  amount, 
Some  Papists,  tum'd  Christians,*  are  tack'd  to 

th'  account. 
Ajid  though,  to  catch  Papists,  one  needn't  go 

so  far. 
Such  fish  are  worth  hooking,  wherever  they  are ; 
Ajad  noro,  when  so  great  of  such  converts  the 

lack  is. 
One  Papist  well  caught  is  worth  millions  of 

Blackies. 

Friday. 
Last  night  had  a  dream  so  odd  and  funny, 

I  cannot  resist  recording  it  here.  — 
kfethought  that  the  Genius  of  Matrimony 

Before  me  stood,  with  a  joj'ous  leer. 
Leading  a  husband  in  each  hand, 

And  both  for  me,  which  look'd  rather  queer ; 
One  I  could  perfectly  understand, 

But  why  there  were  two  wasn't    quite  so 
clear. 
'Twas  meant,  however,  I  soon  could  see. 

To    afford   me   a    choice  —  a  most  excellent 
plan ; 
And  —  who  should  this  brace  of  candidates  be. 

But  Messrs.  O'Mulligan  and  Magan  :  — 
A  thing,  I  suppose,  unheard  of  till  then, 
To  dream,  at  once,  of  two  Lrishmen  !  — 
That  handsome  Magan,  too,  with  wings  on  his 
shoulders 

(For  all  this  pass'd  in  the  realms  of  the  Blest,) 
And  quite  a  creature  to  dazzle  beholders  ; 

While  even  O'Mulligan,  feather'd  and  dress'd 

As  an  elderly  cherub,  was  looking  his  best. 
Ah  Liz,  you,  who  know  me,  scarce  can  doubt 
As  to  which  of  the  two  I  singled  out. 


1  In  the  Reports  of  the  Missionaries,  the  Roman  Catholics 
Ere  alTiost  always  classed  along  with  the  Heatlien.  "  I 
have  extended  my  labors,  (says  James  Venning,  in  a  Re- 
port for  1831,)  to  the  Heathen,  Mahomedans,  and  Roman 
Catholics."  "  The  Heathen  and  Roman  Catholics  in  this 
neighborhood  (says  another  missionary  for  the  year  1832) 
are  not  indiflerent,  but  withstand,  rather  than  yield  to,  the 
to:e  of  truth." 

*  An  account  of  these  Powerscourt  Conversaziones  (un- 
itl  the  direct  presidency  of  Lord  Roden),  ks  well  as  a  list 
of  the  subjects  discussed  at  the  different  meetings,  may  be 
(iund  in  the  Christian  Herald  for  the  month  of  December, 
1832.  The  following  is  a  specimen  of  tlie  nature  of  the 
questions  submitted  to  the  company:  —  "Monday  Evening, 
Sii  o'cloUt,  September  24,  1832.  — '  An  examination  into  the 
quotations  given  in  the  New  Testament  from  the  Old,  with 
their  connection  and  explanation,  viz.'  &.c.  &c.  —  Wedncs- 
iay. — '  Slinuld  we  expect  a  ixjrsonal  Antichrist?  and  to 
vohom.  will  he  be  revealed  ?  '  &c.  tc.  —  Friday.  — '  What  light 
<oes  Scripture  throw  on  present  events,  and  their  moral 
t^aracter  ?    What  is  next  to  he  looked  for  or  expected  ?  '  "  &c. 

"Kii  rapid  progress  made  at  thc»)  tea  parties  in  settlinf 


But  —  awful  to  tell  —  when,  all  in  dread 

Of  losing  so  bright  a  vision's  charms, 
I  grasp'd  at  Magan,  his  image  fled, 
Like  a  mist,  away,  and  I  found  but  the  head 
Of  O'Mulligan,  wings  and  all,  in  my  arms ! 
The  Angel  had  flown  to  some  nest  divine, 
Ana  the  elderly  Cherub  alone  was  mine 
Heighho  !  —  it  is  certain  that  foohsh  Magan 
Either  can't  or  won't  see   that  he  might  be  tin 

man  ; 
And,  perhaps,  dear —  who  knows  ?  —  if  nought 

better  befall 
But  —  O'Mulligan  matj  be  the  man,  after  aU. 


N.  B. 

Next  week  mean  to  have  my  first  scriptural 

rout. 
For  the  special  discussion  of  matters  devout ;  — 
Like  those  soiries,  at  Pow'rscourt,'  so  justly  re- 
nown'd. 
For  the  zeal  with  which  doctrine  and  negtia 

went  round ; 
Those  theology  routs  which  the  pious   Lord 

E^-d— n. 
That  pink   of  Christianity,  first  set  the  mode 

in; 
Where,  blessed  down-pouring  !  '  from  tea  unti] 

nine. 
The  subjects  lay  all  in  the  Prophecy  line ;  — 
Then,  supper  —  and   then,  if  for  topics  hard 

driven. 
From  thence  until  bedtime  to  Satan  was  given  ; 
While  E. — d — n,  deep  read  in  each  topic  and 

tome. 
On  all  subjects  (especially  the  last)  was  at  home. 


points  of  Scripture,  may  be  judged  from  a  paragraph  in  the 
account  given  of  one  of  their  evenings,  by  the  Christian 
Herald :  — 

"  On  Daniel  a  good  deal  of  light  was  thrown,  and  then 
was  some,  I  think  not  so  much,  perhaps,  upon  the  Revela- 
tions ;  though  particular  parts  of  it  were  discussed  with  con. 
siderable  accession  of  knowledge.  There  was  some  verj 
interesting  inquiry  as  to  the  quotation  of  the  Old  Testament 
in  the  New  ;  particularly  on  the  point,  whethf  r  there  wsjl 
any  '  accommodation,'  or  whether  they  were  quoted  accord- 
ing to  the  mind  of  the  Spirit  in  the  Old  ;  this  gave  occasion 
to  some  very  interesting  development  of  Scripture.  The 
progress  of  the  anti- Christian  powers  was  very  fully  dis- 
cussed." 

8  "  About  eight  o'clock  the  Lord  began  to  pour  down  nia 
spirit  copiously  upon  us  —  for  they  had  all  by  this  time  as- 
sembled in  my  room  for  the  purpose  of  prayer.  This  dowik 
pouring  continued  till  about  ten  o'clock."  —  Letter  from 
Mary  Campbell  to  the  Rev.  John  Campbell,  of  Row,  (iated 
Fernicary,  April  4, 1830,)  giving  an  account  of  her  "  niir»' 
ulous  cure." 


THE  FUDGES  IN  EXGLAXD. 


«6fl 


LETTER  Vn. 

Wiou  uwi  vjunirt  fudoe,  to  heb  coraiN,  kiss 
Kim . 

IRREGULAR  ODE. 

Banf  o  me  the  slumbering  souls  of  flowers, 

While  yet,  beneath  some  northern  sky, 
TTngilt  by  beams,  ungemra'd  by  showers. 
They  wait  the  breath  of  summer  hours. 
To  wake  to  light  each  diamond  eye, 
And  let  loose  every  florid  sigh  ! 

Bring  me  the  first-born  ocean  waves, 
From  out  those  deep  primeval  caves. 
Where  from  the  dawn  of  Time  they've  lain — 
The  Embryos  or  a  futube  Main  !  — 
Untaught  as  yet,  young  things,  to  speak 

The  language  of  their  Pabent  Sea 
(Polyphlysbajan  '  nam'd,  in  Greek), 
Though  soon,  too  soon,  in  bay  and  creek. 
Round  startled  isle  and  wondering  peak, 

They'll  thunder  long  and  loud  as  He  ! 

Bring  me,  from  Hecla's  iced  abode, 
Young  tires 

I  had  got,  dear,  thus  far  in  my  Ode, 

Intending  to  fill  the  whole  page  to  the  bottom, 

But,  having  invok'd  such  a  lot  of  fine  things, 

Flowers,  billows  and  thunderbolts,  rainbows 

and  wings, 

Didn't  know  tchat  to  do  with  'em,  when  I  had 

got  'em. 
The  truth  is,  my  thoughts  are  too  full,  at  this 
minute. 
Of  past  MSS.  any  new  ones  to  try. 
This  very  night's  coach  brings  my  destiny  in  it, 

Decides  the  great  question,  to  live  or  to  die  ! 
And,  whether  I'm  henceforth  immortal  or  no. 
All  depends  on  the  answer  of  Simkins  and  Co. ! 
You'll  think,  lore,  I  rave,  so  'tis  best  to  let  out 
The  whole  socret,  at  once  —  I  have  publish'd 
a  Book  ! ! ! 
Yes,  an  actual  Book :  —  if  the  marvel  you  doubt, 
You  have  only  in  last  Monday's  Courier  to 
look. 
And  you'll  find  "This  day  publish'd  by  Simp- 
kins  and  Co. 
^  Romaunt,  in  twelve  Cantos,  entitled  ♦  Woe, 
Woe!' 

>  XI  you  guess  what  thi«  word  roeana,  'tis  more  than  / 
can  :  — 
I  but  give'l  as  I  got  it  from  Mr.  Ma^an.  F.  F. 

t  Ur  ".t^arh  of  that  name. 


By  Miss  Fanny  F ,  known  more  commonly 

soCP." 
This  I  put  that  my  friends  mayn't  be  left  in  thf 

dark, 
But  may  guess  at  my  writing  by  knowing  my 

mark. 

How  I  manag'd,  at  last,  this  great  deed  to 

achieve, 
Is  itself  a  •'  Romaunt "  which  you'd  scarce,  dear, 

believe ; 
Nor  can  I  just  now,  being  all  in  a  whirl. 
Looking  out  for  the  ilagnet,*  explain  it,  dew 

girl. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  one  half  the  expense 
Of  this  leasehold  of  fame  for  long  centuriek 

hence  — 
(Though  "  God  knows,"  as  aunt  says,  my  hun  » 

ble  ambition 
Aspires  not  beyond  a  small  Second  Edition,)  — 
One  half  the  whole  cost  of  the  paper  and  print- 
ing, 
I've  manag'd,  to  scrape  up,  this  year  past,  by 

stinting 
My  own  little  wants  in  gloves,  ribbons,  and  shoes, 
Thus  defrauding  the  toilet  to  fit  out  the  Muse  ! 

And  who,  my  dear  Kitty,  would  not  do  the 

same? 
What's  eau  de  Cologne  to  the  sweet  breath  of 

fame  ? 
Yards  of  ribbon  soon  end  —  but  the  measure* 

of  rhyme, 
Dipp'd  in  hues  of   the  rainbow,  stretch  out 

through  all  time. 
Gloves  languish  and  fade  away,  pair  after  pair, 
While  couplets  shine  out,  but  the  brighter  fof 

wear. 
And  the  dancing  shoe's  gloss  in  an  evening  ia 

gone, 
^^^^ile  light-footed  lyrics  through  ages  trip  on. 

The    remaining    expense,   trouble,  risk  —  and, 

alas ! 
My  poor  copyright  too  —  into  other  hands  pass 
And  my  friend,  the  Head  D»>v'?  :i  the  "  Countj 

Gazette  " 
(The  only  Mecsenas  I've  ever  had  yet), 
He  who  set  up  in  type  my  first  juvenile   kj*. 
Is  now  set  up  by  them  for  the  rest  of  his  days , 
And  while  Gods  (as  my  "  Heathen  Mythology  " 

says) 
Live  on  nought  but  ambrosia,  Aw  lot  how  iiiucl 

sweeter 
To  live,  lucky  dev*!,  on  a  young  lady's  metre  • 


S70 


THE  FUDGEa  IN  ENGLAND 


As  for  puffing  —  that  first  of  all  lit'rary  boons, 
And  essential  alike  both  to  bards  and  balloons, 
As,  unless  well  supplied  with  inflation,  'tis  found 
Neither  bards  nor  balloons  budge  an  uich  from 

the  ground ;  — 
[n  this  respect,  nought  could  more  prosp'rous 

befall ; 
As  my  friend  (for  no  less  this  kind  imp  can  I 

call) 
Knows  th3  whole  world  of  critics  —  the  hypers 

and  all. 
I  suspect  \.c  himself,  indeed,  dabbles  in  rhyme, 
Which,  foi  imps  diabolic,  is  not  the  first  time ; 
As  I've   heard  uncle  Bob  say,  'twas  known 

among  Gnostics, 
That  the  De\  1  on  Two  Sticks  was  a  dev'l  at 

Acrostics. 

But  hark !  there's  the  Magnet  just  dash'd   in 

from  Town  — 
How  ray  heart,  Kitty,  beats  !  I  shall  surely  drop 

down, 
fhat  awful  Court  Journal,  Gazette,  Athenaeum, 
All  full  of  my  book  —  I  shall  sink  when  I  see 

'em. 
And  then  the  great  point  —  whether  Simpkins 

and  Co. 
Are  actually  pleas'd  with  their  bargain  or  no !  — 

Five  o'clock. 
All's  delightful  —  such  praises !  —  I  really  fear 
That  this  poor  little  head  will  turn  giddy,  my 

dear, 
I've  but  time  now  to  send  you  two  exquisite 

scraps  — 
AH  the  rest  by  the  Magnet,  on  Monday,  perhaps, 


FKOM   THE    "  MORNING   POST." 

Tis  known  that  a  certain  distinguish'd  physician 
Prescribes,   for   dyspepsia,   a  course   of  light 
reading ; 

\nd  Rhymes  by  young  Ladies,  the  first,  fresh 
edition 

1  Ere  critics  have  injur'd  their  powers  of  nutri- 
tion), 
Ar«   he  thinks,  for  weak  stomachs,  the  best 
sort  of  feeding. 

Satires  irritate  —  love  songs  are  found  calorific  ; 

But  smooth,  female  sonnets  he  deems  a  specific. 

And,  if  taken  at  bedtime,  a  •'ire  soporific. 

A.mong  works  of  this  kind,  the  most  pleasing 
^\  e  know. 

Is  f  volume  just  publish'd  by  Fimpkins  and  Co., 


"Where  all  such  ingredients  —  the  flovv  ery,  tht 

sweet. 
And  the  gently  narcotic  —  are  mix'd  per  receipt, 
With  a  hand  so  judicious,  we've  no  hesitation 
To  say  that  —  'bove  all,  for  the  young  genera- 
tion — 
'Tis  an  elegant,  soothing,  and  safe  preparation 

Nota  bene  —  for  readers,  whose  object's  to  sleep 
And  who  read,  in  their  nightcaps,  the  publish- 
ers keep 
Good    fire -proof   binding,   which    comes  very 
cheap. 

ANECDOTE FROM    THE    "COURT   JOURNAL.'' 

T'other  night,  at  the  Countess  of  *  *  *'s  rout, 
An  amusing  event  was  much  whisper'd  about. 
It  was  said  that  Lord ,  at  the  Council,  that 

day. 
Had,  more  than  once,  jump'd  from  his  seat, 

like  a  rocket, 
And  flown  to  a  comer,  where  —  heedless,  they 

say. 
How  the  country's  resources  were  squander'^ 

away  — 
He  kept  reading  some  papers  he'd  brought  is 

his  pocket. 
Some  thought  them  despatches  from  Spain  o 

the  Turk, 
Others  swore  they  brought  word  we  had  los. 

the  Mauritius ; 
But  it  turn'd  out  'twas  only  Miss  Fudge's  new 

work. 
Which  his  Lordship  devour'd  with  such  zeal 

expeditious  — 
Messrs.  Simpkins  and  Co.,  to  avoid  all  delay. 
Having  sent  it  in  sheets,  that  his  Lordship  might 

say, 
He  had  distanc'd  the  whole  reading  world  by  ■ 

day ! 


LETTER  Vin. 

from  bob  fudge,  esq.,  to  the  rev.  mortihei 
o'mulliqan. 

T\t»4ai  MMtHf 

I  MUCH  regret,  dear  Reverend  Sir,  . 

I  could  not  come  to  *  *  *  to  meet  you  ; 
But  this  curs'd  gout  won't  let  me  stir  — 

Ev'n  now  I  but  by  proxy  greet  you  , 
As  this  vile  scrawl,  whate'er  its  sense  is, 
Ow€^  all  to  an  amanuensis. 


I 


rHE   FUDGES   IN  ENGLAND. 


6.( 


Most  r*Jier  scourges  of  disease 

Reduce  men  to  extremities  — 

But  gout  won't  leave  one  even  t/iese. 

From  all  my  9»«ter  -wTites,  I  see 

That  you  and  I  will  quite  agree. 

I'm  a  plain  man,  who  speak  the  truth, 

And  trust  you'll  tliink  me  not  uncivil, 
When  I  declare  that,  from  my  youth, 

I've  wish'd  your  country  at  the  devil ; 
Nor  can  I  doubt,  indeed,  from  all 

I've  heard  of  your  high  patriot  fame  — 
From  every  word  your  lips  let  fall  — 

Tliat  you  most  truly  wish  the  same. 
It  p'.agucs  one's  life  out  —  thirty  years 
llavo  I  had  dinning  in  my  ears, 

•*  Ircliind  wants  this,  and  that,  and  t'other," 
And,  to  this  hour,  one  nothing  hears 

But  the  same  vile,  eternal  bother. 
While,  of  those  countless  things  she  wanted. 
Thank  God,  but  little  has  been  granted. 
And  fv'n  that  little,  if  we're  men 
And  Uritons,  we'll  have  back  again  I 

I  really  think  that  Catholic  question 
Was  what  brought  on  my  indigestion  ; 
And  still  each  year,  as  Popery's  curse 
Has  gather'd  round  us,  I've  got  worse  ; 
Till  ev'n  my  pint  of  port  a  day 
Can't  keep  the  Pope  and  bile  away. 
And  whereas,  till  the  Catholic  bill, 
I  never  wanted  draught  or  pill. 
The  settling  of  that  cursed  question 
Has  quite  unsettled  my  digestion. 

Look  what  has  happen'd  since  —  the  Elect 
Of  all  the  bores  of  every  sect, 
n»e  chosen  triers  of  men's  patience. 
From  all  the  Three  Denominations, 
Let  loose  upon  us  ;  —  even  Quakers 
Turn'd  into  specchers  and  law  makers. 
Who'll  move  no  que8ti)n.  stiff-rump'd  elves, 
Till  fii't  the  Spirit  moves  themselves ; 
And  whose  shrill  Yeas  and  Nays,  in  chorus, 
C*":  qucring  *ur  Ayes  and  Noes  sonorous, 
\V  il  soon  to  death's  own  slumber  snore  us. 
I'nen.  Vm,  those  Jews  !  —  I  really  sicken 

Tj  think  of  such  abomination  ; 
Fellows,  who  won't  cat  ham  with  chicken, 

lo  let(islatc  for  this  great  nation  !  — 


Tt...->  api>enn  to  have  l>een  the  upinion  also  of  an  clo- 
\ue:X  w  liter  in  tlie  Mnmini!  \V«irh.  "  One  great  object  of 
C7hri«t'8  rtt-:<iti(i  Advent,  ax  the  .Man  and  as  the  King  of  the 
mwf  i<  Cc  puTMth  the  Kings  tvho  do  nut  acknowledge  tluU 


Depend  upon't,  when  once  they're  sway, 
With  rich  old  Goldsmid  at  the  head  o'  them 

Th'  Excise  laws  will  be  done  away, 

And  Ctrcumcise  ones  pass'd  irstcod  o'  tham  ! 

In  short,  dear  sir,  look  where  one  will. 
Things  all  go  on  so  devilish  ill. 
That,  'pon  my  soul,  I  rather  fear 

Our  Reverend  Rector  may  be  right. 
Who  tells  me  the  Millennium's  near  ; 
Nay,  swears  he  knows  the  very  year. 

And  regulates  his  leases  by't ;  — 
Meaning  their  terms  should  end,  no  doubt, 
Before  the  world's  own  lease  is  out. 
lie  thinks,  too,  that  the  whole  thing's  ended 
So  much  more  soon  than  was  intended. 
Purely  to  scourge  those  men  of  sin 
Who  brought  th'  scours' d  Reform  Bill  in.* 

However,  let's  not  yet  despair  ; 

Though  Toryism's  eclips'd,  at  present, 
And  —  like  myself,  in  this  old  chair  — 

Sits  in  a  state  by  no  means  pleasant ; 
Feet  crippled  —  hands,  in  luckless  hour. 
Disabled  of  their  grasping  power  ; 
And  all  that  rampant  glee,  which  revell'd 
In  this  world's  sweets,  beduU'd,  bedevill'd  — 
Yet,  though  condemn'd  to  frisk  no  more, 

And  both  in  Chair  of  Penance  set, 
There's  something  tells  me,  all's  not  o'er. 

With  Toryism  or  Bobby  yet ; 
That  though,  between  us,  I  allow 
We've  not  a  leg  to  stand  on  now  ; 
Though  curs'd  Reform  and  colchicum 
Have  made  us  both  look  deused  glum. 
Yet  still,  in  spite  of  Grote  and  Gout, 
Again  we'll  shine  triumphant  out ! 

Yes  —  back  again  shall  come,  egad. 
Our  turn  for  sport,  my  reverend  lad. 
And  then,  O'Mulligan  —  O  then. 
When  mounted  on  our  nags  again. 
You,  on  your  high-flown  Rosinante, 
Bedizen'd  out,  like  Show  Gallantce 
(Glitter  great  frous  substance  scanty)  ;  — 
While  I,  Bob  Fudge,  Esquire,  sha"  :_> 
Yotir  faithful  Sancho,  by  your  side  ; 
Then  —  talk  of  tilts  and  tournaments  I 
Dam' me,  we'll 


their  autlionty  Is  derived  fmm  him,  and  vAo  nhwnt  t$  r» 
eeive  it  from  Uut  mmj/hcadrd  montter,  tkt  m«t."  Na  X  I 
373. 


<7a 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLANl; 


Squire  Fudge's  clerk  presents 
To  Reverend  Sir  his  compliments  ; 
Is  griev'd  to  say  an  accident 
Has  just  occurr'd  which  will  prevent 
The  Squire  —  though  now  a  little  better  — ~ 
From  finishing  this  present  letter. 

Just  when  he'd  got  to  "  Dam'me,  we'll " 

His  Honor,  full  of  martial  zeal, 
Grasp' d  at  his  crutch,  but  not  being  able 
To  keep  his  balance  or  his  hold. 
Tumbled,  both  self  and  crutch,  and  roll'd 
Like  ball  and  bat,  beneath  the  table. 

All's  safe  —  the  table,  chair,  and  crutch  ;  — 
Nothing,  thank  God,  is  broken  much, 
But  the  Squire's  head,  which,  in  the  fall, 
Got  bump'd  consid'rably  —  that's  all. 
At  this  no  great  alarm  we  feel. 
As  the  Squire's  head  can  bear  a  deaL 

Wednesday  morning. 
Squire  much  the  same  —  head  rather  light  — 
Rav'd  about  "Barbers'  Wigs"  all  night. 

Our  housekeeper,  old  Mrs.  Griggs, 
Suspects  that  he  meant  "  barbarous  Whigs." 


LETTER  IX. 

FROM    LAKUT   o'bRANIGAN,    TO    HIS    WIFE    JUDY. 

As  it  was  but  last  week  that  I  sint  you  a  letther. 
You'll  wondher,  dear  Judy,  what  this  is  about ; 

And,  throth,  it's  a  letther  myself  would  like 
betther. 
Could  1  manage  to  lave  the  contints  of  it  out ; 

For  sure,  if  it  makes  even  me  onaisy, 

Who  takes  things  quiet,  'twill  dhrive  you  crazy. 

O,  Judy,  that  riverind  Murthagh,  bad  scran  to 

him ! 
That  e'er  I  should  come  to've  been  sarvant  man 

to  him. 
Or  so  far  damane  the  O'Branigan  blood. 
And  my  Aunts,  the  Diluvians  (whom  not  ev'n 

the  Flood 
Was  able  to  wash  away  clane  from  the  earth)  ' 
As  to  sarve  one  whose  name,  of  mere  yesther- 

day's  birth, 
Dan  no  more  to  a  great  O,  before  it,  purtend. 
Than  mine  can  to  wear  a  great  Q  at  its  end. 

1  "  I  am  of  your  Patriarchs,  I,  a  branch  of  one  of  your 
fcntediluvian  families  — fellows  that  tlie  Flood  could  not 
wash  away."  —  CoNGHEVE,  Love  for  Love. 

»  To  bitirag  la  to  abuse  — Mr.  t«r«r  makes  it  ballyrag, 


But  that's  now  all  ovei  -  last  night  I  gev  vrah\ 

in'. 
And,  masth'r  as  he  is   will  discharge  him  this 

mo^rnin'. 
The  thief  of  the  world  I  —  but  it's  no  use  bal- 

raggin'  5 »  — 
All  I  know  is,  I'd  fifty  times  rather  be  draggin' 
Owld  ladies  up  hiU  to  the  ind  of  my  days. 
Than  with  Murthagh  to  rowl  in  a  chaise,  at  my 

aise. 
And  be  forc'd  to  discind  through  the  same  dirty 

ways. 
Arrah,  sure,  if  I'd  heerd  where  he  last  show'd 

his  phiz, 
I'd  have  known  what  a  quare  sort  of  monsther 

he  is ; 
For,  by  gor,  'twas  at  Exether  Change,  sure 

enough. 
That  himself  and  his  other  wild  Irish  show'd 

off; 
And  it's  pity,  so  'tis,  that  they  hadn't  got  no 

man 
Who  knew  the  wild  crathurs  to  act  as  their 

showman  — 
Sayin',  •'  Ladies  and  Gintlemen,  plaze  to  take 

notice, 
"  How  shlim  and  how  shleek  this  black  animal's 

coat  is ; 
"  All  by  raison,  we're  towld,  that  the  nathui  o' 

the  baste 
"  Is  to  change  its  coat  once  in  its  lifetime,  ai 

laste  ; 
"  And  such  objiks,  in  our  counthry,  not  beii»' 

common  ones, 
"  Are  bought  up,  as  this  was,  by  way  of  Fine 

Nomenons. 
"  In  regard  of  its  name  —  why,  in  throth,  I'm 

consarn'd 
"  To  differ  on  this  point  so  much  \\  ith  the  Larn'd, 
"  Who  call  it  a  '  Morthimer,'  whereas  the  cray- 

thur 
"  la  plainly  a  '  Murthagh,'  by  name  and  by  na« 

thur." 

This  is  how  I'd  have  towld  them  the  rights  ct 

it  all. 
Had  I  been  their  showman  at  Exether  Hall  — 
Not   forgettin'   that    other   great  wondher  of 

Airin 
(Of  th'  owld  bitther  breed  which  they  call  Proa 

betairin), 

and  he  is  high  authority :  but  if  I  remember  rightly,  Ourrafl 
in  his  national  stories  used  to  employ  the  word  as  above.  — 
See  Lover's  most  amusmg  and  genuinely  Irish  work,  tba 
"  Iiegends  and  Stories  of  Ireland  " 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


672 


He  fam'd  Daddy  C— ke  —  who,  by  gor,  I'd  have 

shown  'em 
As  proof  how  such  bastes  may  be  tam'd,  when 

you've  thrown  'em 
A  good  frindly  sop  of  the  rale  Raigin  Donem.^ 

But,  throth,  Ive  no  laisure  just  now,  Judy 
dear. 

Fir  *ny  thing,  barrin'  our  own  doings  here, 

A-id  the  cursin'  and  dammin'  and  thund'rin', 
like  mad. 

We  Papists,  God  help  us,  from  Murthagh  have 
had. 

He  siys  we're  all  murtherers  —  div'l  a  bit  less  — 

And  that  even  our  priests,  when  we  go  to  con- 
less. 

Give  us  lessons  in  murth'ring,  and  wish  us  suc- 
cess ! 

When  ax'd  how  he  daar'd,  by  tongue  or  by 

pen, 
To  belie,  in  this  way,  seven  millions  of  men. 
Faith,  he  said  'twas  all  towld  him  by  Docthor 

Den!« 
**  And  who  the  div'l's  hef"  was  the  question 

that  flew 
From  Chrishtian  to  Chrishtian  —  but  not  a  sowl 

knew. 
While  on  went  Murthagh,  in  iligant  style, 
Blasphaming  us  Cath'lics  all  the  while, 
As  a  pauk  of  desaivere,  perjurers,  villians, 
All  the  whole  kit  of  th'  aforesaid  millions,'  — 
Yourself,  dear  Judy,  as  well  as  the  rest, 
And  the  innocent  craythur  that's  at  your  breast, 
AH  rogues  together,  in  word  and  deed, 
Owld  Den  our  insthructor  and  Sin  our  creed ! 

When  ax'd  for  his  proofs  again  and  again, 
Div'l  an  answer  he'd  give  but  Docthor  Den. 
Couldn't  he  call  into  coort  some  livin'  men  ? 
••  No,    thank    you "  —  he'd    stick    to    Docthor 

Den  — 
An  owld  gintleman  dead  a  century  or  two, 
Who  all  about  us,  live  Cath'lics,  knew  ; 

1  Larry  evidently  means  the  Regium  Donumt  —  a  oum 
ContritHited  by  the  government  annually  to  the  support  of 
the  Presbyterian  churches  in  Ireland. 

*  Correctly,  Oena  —  Larry  not  being  v«ry  particular  in  hia 
nomenclature. 

*  "  The  deeds  of  darkneaa  which  are  reduced  to  horrid 
prnctire  over  the  drunken  debauch  of  the  midnight  aasassin 
are  debated,  in  principle,  in  the  sober  mommf;  religious  con- 
ferences of  the  priests."  —  Sptrzh  of  (A*  Rtv.  Mr.  JltOkes. 
—  "  The  character  of  the  Irish  people  genirally  is,  that  they 
■re  given  to  lying  and  to  acts  of  theft."  —  Speech  oflkt  Rev, 
Mobtrt  Dalf. 

8£ 


And  of  coorse  was  more  handy,  to  call  in  a  hurry. 
Than  Docthor  Mac  Ilale  or  Docthor  Murray  ! 

But,  throth,  it's  no  case  to  be  jokin'  npon, 
Though  myself^  from  bad  habits,  is  makin'  it  one 
Even  t/ou,  had  you  witness'd  his  grand  climac- 

therics, 
Which  actially  threw  one  owld  maid  in  hyitor- 

ics  — 
Or,  och  !  had  you  heerd  such  a  purty  remark  as 

his. 
That  Papists  are  only  •*  Humanity's  careastes, 
"  Ris'n"  —  but,  by  dad,  I'm  afcard  I  can't  giv* 

it  ye  — 
"  Ris'n/rom  the  tepulchre  of — inactivity ; 
♦•  And,  like  owld  corpses,  dug  up  from  antikity, 
"  Wandrin'  about  in  all  sorts  of  inikUy .'  J"  * 
Even  you,  Judy,  true  as  you  are  to  the  Owld 

Light, 
Would  have  laugh'd,  out  and  out,  at  this  iligant 

flight 
Of  that  figure  of  speech  call'd  the  Blatherum- 

skite. 
As  for  me,  though  a  funny  thought  now  and  then 

came  to  me. 
Rage  got  the  betther  at  last  —  and  small  blame 

to  me  ! 
So,  slapping  my  thigh,  "  by  the  Powers  of  Delf," 
Says  I  bowldly,  "  I'll  make  a  noration  myself." 
And  with  that  up  I  jumps  —  but,  my  dorlint, 

the  minit 
I  cock'd  up  my  head,  div'l  a  sinse  remain'd  m  it 
Though,  sailed,  I  could  have  got  beautiful  on. 
When   I  tuk  to  my  legs,  faith,  the  gab  was  all 

gone :  — 
Which  was  odd,  for  us,   Pats,  who,  whate'ei 

we've  a  hand  in, 
At  laste  in    our  legs  show  a  sthrong  under 

standin'. 

Howsumdever,  detarmin'd  the    chaps   should 

pursaive 
What  I  thought  of  their  doin's,  before  I  tuk 

lave, 

*  "  But  she  (Popery)  is  no  longer  the  tenant  of  the  *vut 
chre  of  inactivity.  She  has  come  from  the  burial-place,  walk- 
ing forth  a  monster,  as  if  the  spirit  of  evil  had  corrupted  thr 
carcass  of  her  departed  humanity  ;  noxious  and  noisome,  an 
object  of  abhorrence  and  dismay  to  all  who  are  not  leagutd 
leilh  her  in  ini^iity."  — Report  of  the  Rev.  Gentleroan'e 
Speech,  June  20,  in  the  Record  Newspaper. 

We  may  well  ask,  after  reading  this  and  other  such  rev- 
erend ravings,  "  Quia  dubitat  quin  omne  lit  hoc 
egestaa?" 


174 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


♦*  In  xegard  of  all  that,"  says  I  —  there  I  stopp'd 

short  — 
Not  a  word  more  would  come,  though  I  shtrug- 

gled  hard  for't. 
So,  »'hnapping  my  fingers  at  what's  called  the 

Chair, 
And  the  owld  Lord  (or  Lady,  I  b'lieve)  that  sat 

there  — 
"  It  regard  of  all  that,"  says  I  bowldly  again  — 
«'T:  owld  Nick  I  pitch  Mortimer  —  and  Doc- 

thor  Den  ;  "  — 
Upon  which  the    whole    company  cried    out 

"  Amen ; " 
And  myself  was  in  hopes  'twas  to  what  /  had 

said. 
But,  by  gor,  no  such  thing  —  they  were  not  so 

well  bred : 
For,  'twas  all  to  a  pray'r  Murthagh  just  had 

read  out. 
By  way  of  fit  finish  to  job  so  devout  j 
That  is  — qfther  well  damning  one  half  the  com- 
munity, 
To  fray  God  to  keep  all  in  pace  an'  in  unity  ! 

This  is  all  I  can  shtuff  in  this  Ictther,  though 

plinty 
Of  news,  faith,  I've  got  to  fill  more  —  if  'twas 

twinty. 
But  I'll  add,  on  the  outside,  a  line,  should  I 

need  it, 
(Writin'  "  Private  "  upon  it,  that  no  one  may 

read  it,) 
To  tell  you  how  Mortimer  (as  the  Saints  chrishten 

him) 
Bears  the  big  shame  of  his  sarvant's  dismisshin' 

him. 

(^Private  outside.) 
fxiat  come  from  his  riv'rence  —  the  job  is  all 

done  — 
By  the  powers,  I've  discharg'd  him  as  sure  as  a 

gun! 
An.d  now,   Judy  dear,  what  on  earth  I'm  to 

do 
With  myself  and  my  appetite  —  both  good  as 

new  — 
Without  ev'n  a  single  traneen  in  my  pocket, 
Let  alone  a  good,  dacent  pound  starlin'  to  stock 

it—     • 
[b  a  mysht'rj- 1  lave  to  the  One  that's  above, 
Wl^o  takes   care  of  us,  dissolute  sowls,  when 

hard  dhrove  I 


LETTER  X. 

FROM    THE    REV.    MORTIMER    o'MULLIQAM,   TO    TMM 
REV.    . 

These  few  brief  lines,  my  reverend  friend. 
By  a  safe,  private  hand  I  send 
(Fearing  lest  some  low  Catholic  wag 
Should  pry  into  the  Letter  bag) 
To  tell  you,  far  as  pen  can  dare, 
How  we,  poor  errant  martyrs,  fare  ;  — 
Martyrs,  not  quite  to  fire  and  rack, 
As  Saints  were,  some  few  ages  back. 
But  —  scarce  less  trying  in  its  way  — 
To  laughter,  whercsoe'er  we  stray ; 
To  jokes,  which  Providence  mysterious 
Permits  on  men  and  things  so  serious, 
Lowering  the  Church  still  more  each  minute, 
And —  injuring  our  preferment  in  it. 
Just  think,  how  worrying  'tis,  my  friend, 
To  find,  where'er  our  footsteps  bend. 

Small  jokes,  like  squibs,   around  UB  w'ii» 
zing; 
And  bear  the  eternal  torturing  play 
Of  that  great  engine  of  our  day. 

Unknown  to  th'  Inquisition  —  qmzzing  . 

Your  men  of  thumbscrews  and  of  racks 

Aim'd  at  the  body  their  attacks  ; 

But  modem  torturers,  more  refin'd. 

Work  (heir  machinery  on  the  mind.    .  « 

Had  St.  Sebastian  had  the  luck 

With  me  to  be  a  godly  rover. 
Instead  of  arrows,  he'd  be  stuck 

With  stings  of  ridicule  all  over ; 
And  poor  St.  Lawrence,  who  was  kill'd 
By  being  on  a  gridir'n  grill'd, 
Had  he  but  shar'd  my  errant  lot. 
Instead  of  grill  on  gridir'n  hot, 
A  moral  roasting  would  have  got. 
Nor  should  I  (trying  as  all  this  is) 

Much  heed  the  suff"ering  or  the  shame  — 
As,  like  an  actor,  tised  to  hisses, 

I  long  have  known  no  other  fame 
But  that  (as  I  may  own  to  you. 
Though  to  the  world  it  would  not  do,) 
No  hope  appears  of  fortune's  beams 
Shining  on  any  of  my  schemes  ; 
No  chance  of  something  more/>er  ann. 
As  supplement  to  K — llym — n  ; 
No  prospect  that,  by  fierce  abuse 
Of  Ireland,  I  shaU  e'er  induce 
The  rulers  of  this  thinking  nation 
To  rid  us  of  Emancipation ; 


THE  FUDGES   IN  ENGLAND. 


ft7l 


To  forgt  anew  the  sever' d  chain. 
And  bring  back  Penal  Laws  again. 
A.h  happy  time  !  when  wolves  and  priest* 
Aiiko  were  hunted,  as  wild  beasts ; 
And  five  pounds  was  the  price,  per  head, 
For  bagging  either,  live  or  dead  ; '  — 
Thougli  oft,  we're  tcld,  one  outlaw'd  brother 
Sav'd  cost,  by  eating  up  the  of  her. 

finding  thus  all  those  schemes  and  hopes 
I  built  upon  my  flowers  and  tropes 
All  scatter'd,  one  by  one,  away. 
As  flashy  and  unsound  as  they. 
The  question  comes  —  xhat's  to  bo  done  ? 
And  there's  but  one  course  left  me  —  one. 
Heroes,  when  tir'd  of  wa/  s  alarms, 
Seek  sweet  repose  in  Beauiv's  arms, 
The  weary  Day -God's  last  .^treat  Ls 
The  breast  of  silv'ry-footed  Oictis  ; 
And  mmc,  as  mighty  Love's  my  judge, 
Shall  be  the  arms  of  rich  Mi^  Fudge  ! 

Start  not,  my  friend,  —  the  tender  scheme. 

Wild  and  romantic  though  it  seem, 

Beyond'a  parson's  fondest  dream. 

Yet  shines,  too,  with  those  gold<*»i  lyo», 

So  pleasing  to  a  parson's  eyes  — 

That  only  gilding  which  the  Muse 

Cannot  around  her  sons  difl'use ;  — 

Which,  whencesoevcr  flows  its  bliss, 

From  wealthy  Miss  or  benefice. 

To  Mortimer  indifferent  is, 

So  ho  can  only  make  it  Am. 

There  is  but  one  slight  damp  I  see 

Upon  this  scheme's  felicity, 

And  that  is,  the  fair  heroine's  claim 

That  I  shall  take  her  family  name. 

To  this  (though  it  may  look  henpeck'd), 

I  can't  quite  decently  object. 

Having  myself  long  chos'n  to  shine 

Conspicuous  in  the  alias  *  line  ; 

So  that  henteforth,  by  wife's  decree, 

(For  Biddy  from  this  point  won't  budge) 
Vour  old  friend's  new  address  must  be 

T1.9  llcv.  Mortimer  O' Fudge  — 
The  "  O  "  being  kept,  that  all  may  see 
We're  both  of  ancient  family. 

I  "  A.nong  other  amiable  enactments  against  the  Catho- 
•c«  at  this  period  (1649),  the  price  of  five  puunds  was  set  on 
Jie  liead  of  a  Romish  priest  —  being  exactly  the  name  sum 
Tered  by  the  same  legislators  for  the  head  of  a  wolf." 

Mrmoirt  of  Captain  Rock,  book  L  chap.  10. 

*  In  the  first  edition  of  his  Dirtionary,  Dr.  Johnson  very 

Rgnificantly  exemplified  the  meaning  of  the  word  "alias" 

ky  the  iniitaiire  of  .Mallet,  the  poet,  who  had  exchanged  for 

h»  mo*  e  refis^  name  bis  original  Scotcii  patronyoUc,  Mal- 


Such,  friend,  nor  need  the  fact  amaze  yon. 

My  public  life's  calm  Euthanasia. 

Thus  bid  I  long  farewell  to  all 

The  freaks  of  Exeter's  old  Hall  — 

Freaks,  in  grimace,  its  apes  exceeding, 

And  rivalling  its  bears  in  breeding. 

Farewell,  the  platform  fill'd  with  preachers  — 

The  pray'r  giv'n  out,  as  grace,*  by  speecheis, 

Ere  they  cut  up  their  fellow-creatures  :  — 

Farewell  to  dead  old  Dens's  volumes. 

And,  scarce  less  dead,  old  Standard's  oolumiif 

From  each  and  all  I  now  retire, 

My  task,  henceforth,  as  spouse  and  sire. 

To  bring  up  little  filial  Fudges, 

To  be  M.  P.'s,  and  Peers,  and  Judges  — 

Pcrtoru  I'd  add  too,  if,  alas  ! 

There  yet  were  hope  the  Church  could  pass 

The  gulf  now  oped  for  hers  and  her. 

Or  long  survive  what  Exeter  — 

Both  Hall  and  Bishop,  of  that  name  — 

Have  done  to  sink  her  reverend  fame. 

Adieu,  dear  friend  —  you'll  oft  hear /rom  me, 

Now  I'm  no  more  a  travelling  drudge  ; 

Meanwhile  I  sign  (that  you  may  judge 
How  well  the  surname  will  become  me) 
yours  truly, 

MoBTiMEB  O'Fcoea 


LETTER  XI. 

T&OX    FATHICK    MAOAN,    ESQ.,   TO   TBtB   BET. 
JUCHAKD    . 

,ir»lamd. 

Deab  Dick — just  arriT'd  at  my  own  humbli 

ffite, 
I  enclose  you,  post  haste,  the  account,  all  coin* 

plete. 
Just  arriv'd,  per  express,  of  our  late  noble  feat 

[Extract  from  the  "  County  Gazette"] 
This  place  is  getting  gay  and  full  again. 

Last  week  was  married,  "  in  the  Lord," 
The  Ileverend  Mortimer  O'Mulligan, 
Preacher,  in  fruA,  of  the  Word, 

loch.  •'  What  otAer  prooft  he  gave  (says  Johnson)  of  Oisrs 
spect  to  hits  native  country,  I  know  not ;  but  il  wan  remarked 
of  him  that  he  was  the  only  Scot  whom  Scotchmen  did  not 
commend."  —  Life  of  Mallei. 

•  "  I  think  1  am  acting  in  unison  with  the  feelings  of  t 
.Meeting  assembled  for  this  tolemn  object,  when  1  call  oe 
the  Rev.  Doctor  Holloway  to  open  it  by  pi«f •»."  —  %•«• 
of  Lord  Ktnycn. 


»7fi 


THE  FUDGES  IN  ENGLAND. 


(He,  who  the  Lord's  force  lately  led  on  — 
Exeter  HaU  his  Armo^A-geddon,)' 
To  Miss  B.  Fudge  of  Pisgah  Place, 
One  of  the  chos'n,  as  "  heir  of  grace," 
And  likei)vise  heiress  of  Phil.  Fudge, 
Esquire,  defunct,  of  Orange  Lodge. 

Baine  evening,  Miss  F.  Fudge,  'tis  hinted  — 

Niece  of  the  above,  (whose  "  Sylvan  Lyre," 
In  our  Gazette,  last  week,  we  printed,) 

Elop'd  with  Pat.  Magan,  Esquire. 
The  fugitives  were  track'd,  some  time. 

After  they'd  left  the  Aunt's  abode. 
By  scraps  of  paper,  scrawl'd  with  rhyme, 

Found  strew'd  along  the  Western  road :  — 
Some  of  them,  ci-devant  curl  papers. 
Others,  half  burnt  in  lighting  tapers. 
This  olew,  however,  to  their  flight. 

After  some  miles  was  seen  no  more  ; 
And,  from  inquiries  made  last  night. 

We  find  they've  reach'd  the  Irish  shore. 

Every  word  of  it  true,  Dick  —  th'  escape  from 

Aunt's  thrall  — 
Western  road — lyric  fragments  —  curl   paper* 

and  all. 
My  sole  stipulation,  ere  link'd  at  the  shrine 
(As  some  balance  between  Fanny's  numbers  and 

mine). 
Was  that,  ■«  hen  we  were  one,  she  must  give  up 

the  Nine ; 
Nay,  devote  to  the  Gods  her  whole  stock  of  MS. 
With  a  vow  never  more  against  prose  to  trans- 
gress. 
This  she  did,  like  a  heroine ;  —  smack  went  to 

bits 
The  whole  produce  sublime  of  her  dear  little 

wits  — 
Bonnets,  elegies,  epigrams,  odes,  canzonets  — 
Borne  twisted  up  neatly,  to  form  allumettes, 


1  The  rectory  which  the  Rev.  gentleman  holds  is  situated 
Ir  tb«  CHintf  ofJirmtgh! — a  most  remarkable  coincidence 


Some  turn'd  into  papillotes,  worthy  to  rise 
And  inwreathe  Berenice's  bright  locks  in  th« 

skies ! 
While  the  rest,  honest  Larry  (who's  naw  in  M| 

pay), 

Begg'd  as  "  lover  ofpo'thry,"  to  read  on  the  way. 

Having  thus  of  liie's  poetry  dar'd  to  disjcse, 
How  we  now,  Dick,  shall  manage  to  get  through 

its  prose, 
With  such  slender  materials  for  style.  Heaven 

knows  ! 
But — I'm  call'd  off  abruptly  —  another  Express ! 
What  the  dense  can  it  mean  ?  —  I'm  alarm'd,  I 

confess. 

P.  S. 

Hurrah,  Dick,  hurrah,  Dick,  ten  thousand  hur- 
rahs ! 

I'm  a  happy,  rich  dog  to  the  end  of  my  days. 

There  —  read  the  good  news  —  and  while  glad, 
for  my  sake. 

That  Wealth  should  thus  follow  in  Love's  shin- 
ing wake, 

Admire  also  the  moral  —  that  he,  the  sly  elfi 

Who  has  fudg'd  all  the  world,  should  be  now 
fudg'd  himself! 


EXTRACT   FROM   LETTER   ENCLOSED. 

With  pain  the  mournful  news  I  writ^. 
Miss  Fudge's  uncle  died  last  night ; 
And  much  to  mine  and  friends'  surprise. 
By  will  doth  all  his  wealth  devise  — 
Lands,  dwellings  —  rectories  likewise  — 
To  his  "belov'd  grand  niece,"  Miss  Fanny, 
Leaving  Miss  Fudge  herself,  who  mtmy 
Long  years  hath  waited  —  not  a  penny  ! 
Have  notified  the  same  to  latter. 
And  wait  instructions  in  the  matter. 

For  seK  and  partners,  ftc 


Hu 


—  a. VI  well  worthy  of  the  anention  of  artain  expriind*!! 
of  ^  Apocalypw 


1 


SONGS  FROM  M.  P.;    OR,  THE  BLUE  STOCKmO.                        fc77 

SONGS    FROM    M.  P.;    OR 

,    THE    BLUE    STOCKING 

SONG. 

This  is  love,  faithful  love, 

Such  as  saints  might  feel  abore. 

SUSAN. 

jfoimro  Lovo  liv'd  once  in  a  humble  shed. 

Wher»»  roses  brec'-hing, 

SpiiUT  of  Joy,  thy  altar  lies 

And  woodbines  wteathing 

In  youthful  hearts  that  hope  like  mine , 

A.round  the  lattice  their  tendrils  spread, 

And  'tis  the  light  of  laughing  eyes, 

hs  wild  and  sweet  as  the  life  he  led. 

That  leads  us  to  thy  fairy  shrino. 

His  garden  flourish'd, 

There  if  we  find  the  sigh,  the  tear. 

For  young  Hope  nourish'd 

They  are  not  those  to  Sorrow  known  ; 

The  infant  buds  with  beams  and  showers  ; 

But  breath  so  soft,  and  drops  so  clear, 

Dut  lips,  though  blooming,  must  still  bo  fed. 

That  Bliss  may  claim  them  for  her  own. 

And  not  even  I  ove  can  live  on  flowers. 

Then  give  me,  give  me,  while  I  weep, 

The  sanguine  hope  that  brightens  woe. 

^88  !  that  Poverty's  evil  eye 

And  teaches  ev'n  our  tears  to  keep 

Should  e'er  come  hither, 

The  tinge  of  pleasure  as  they  flow. 

Such  SM  ects  to  wither ! 

The  flowers  laid  down  their  heads  to  die, 

The  child,  who  sees  the  dew  of  night 

A.nd  Hope  fell  sick  as  the  witch  drew  nigh. 

Upon  the  spangled  hedge  at  momf 

She  came  one  morning. 

Attempts  to  catch  the  drops  of  light. 

Ere  Love  had  warning, 

But  wounds  his  finger  with  the  them. 

And  raia'd  the  latch,  where  the  young  god  lay ; 

Thus  oft  the  brightest  joys  we  seek. 

»  0  ho  !  "  said  Love  —  "is  it  you  ?  good  by  ;  " 

Are  lost,  when  touch'd,  and  turn  to  paiu  . 

So- he  oped  the  window,  and  flew  away  1 

The  flush  they  kindled  leaves  the  check. 

The  tears  they  waken  long  remain. 

But  give  me,  give  me,  &&  k* 

To  sigh,  yet  feel  no  pain, 

When  Leila  touch'd  the  lute, 

To  weep,  yet  scarce  know  why; 

Not  then  alone  'twas  felt. 

To  sport  an  hour  with  Beauty's  chain, 

But,  when  the  sounds  were  mute. 

Then  throw  it  idly  by. 

In  memory  still  they  dwelt. 

To  kneel  at  many  a  shrine, 

Sweet  lute  !  in  nightly  slumbers 

Yet  lay  the  heart  on  none ; 

Still  we  heard  thy  morning  number*. 

To  think  all  other  charms  divine. 

But  those  we  just  have  won. 

Ah,  how  could  she,  who  stole 

lliis  is  love,  faithless  love, 

Such  breath  from  simple  wire. 

8uch  as  kindleth  hearts  that  rove. 

Be  led,  in  pride  of  soul. 

To  string  with  gold  her  Ijte? 

To  keep  one  sacred  flame. 

Sweet  lute  !  thy  chords  she  breaketu  ; 

Through  life  unchill'd,  unmov'd. 

Golden  now  the  strings  she  waJieth  1 

To  lore,  in  wintry  ago,  the  same 

As  first  in  youth  we  lov'd  ; 

But  where  arc  all  the  tales 

To  feci  that  we  adore. 

Her  lute  so  sweetly  told  ? 

E-'n  to  such  fond  excess. 

In  lofty  themes  she  fails, 

That,  though  the  heart  would  break,  with 

And  soft  ones  suit  not  gold. 

more. 

Rich  lute  !  wo  sec  thee  glisten. 

It  could  nst  live  with  le$$. 

But,  alas  1  uo  more  we  listen  1 

178                        SONGS  FROM  M.   P.  ;    OR,  THE  BLUE  STOCKING. 

Which  weren't  very  hard  to  win, 

BOAT  GT.EE. 

For  he,  who  won 

The  eyes  of  fun, 

Thb  Rong  that  lightens  our  langmd  way 

Was  sure  to  have  the  kisses  in. 

When  brows  are  glowing, 

A  Lottery,  a  Lotterj',  &e. 

And  faint  with  rowing, 

I&  like  the  spell  of  Hope's  airy  lay, 

This  Lottery,  this  Lottery, 

To  whose  sound  through  life  M'e  stray. 

In  Cupid's  Court  went  merrily. 

1  he  beams  that  flash  on  the  oar  a  while. 

And  Cupid  play'd 

As  we  row  along  through  waves  so  clear, 

A  Jevrish  trade 

Illume  its  spray,  like  the  fleeting  smile 

In  this  his  scheming  Lottery ; 

That  shines  o'er  Sorrow's  tear. 

For  hearts,  we're  told. 

In  shares  he  sold 

Nothing  is  lost  on  him  who  sees 

To  many  a  fond  believing  dron» 

With  an  eye  that  Feeling  gave  ;  — 

And  cut  the  hearts 

For  him  there's  a  story  in  every  breeze, 

So  well  in  parts, 

And  a  picture  in  every  wave. 

That  each  believ'd  the  whole  his  own. 

Then  sing  to  lighten  the  languid  way ;  — 

When  brows  are  glowing. 

Ckor.  —  A  Lottery,  a  Lottery, 

And  faint  with  rowing : 

In  Cupid's  Court  there  used  to  be  • 

'Tis  like  the  spell  of  Hope's  airy  lay. 

Two  roguish  eyes 

To  whose  sound  through  life  we  stray. 

The  highest  prize 

_ 

In  Cupid's  scheming  Lottery. 

O  THINK,  when  a  hero  is  sighing, 

SONG.' 

What  danger  in  such  an  adorer ! 

What  woman  could  dream  of  denying 

Though  sacred  the  tic  that  our  country  in 

The  hand  that  lays  laurels  before  her. 

twineth, 

No  heart  is  so  guarded  around, 

And  dear  to  the  heart  her  remembrance  n^ 

But  the  smile  of  a  victor  would  take  it  j 

mains. 

No  bosom  can  slumber  so  sound, 

Yet  dark  are  the  ties  where  no  liberty  shineth, 

But  the  trumpet  of  Glory  will  wake  it. 

And  sad  the  remembrance  that  slavery  stftina 

0  Liberty,  born  in  the  cot  of  the  peasant. 

Love  sometimes  is  given  to  sleeping, 

But  dying  of  languor  in  hiiury's  dome, 

And  woe  to  the  heart  that  allows  him ; 

Our  vision,    when    absent  —  our   glory   whea 

For  soon  neither  smiling  nor  weeping 

present  — 

Will  e'er  from  such  slumber  arouse  him. 

Where  thou  art,  0  Liberty  !  there  is  my  home. 

But  though  he  were  sleeping  so  fast. 

That  the  life  almost  soem'd  to  forsake  him, 

Farewell  to  the  land  where  in  childhood  I  wan* 

Ev'n  then,  one  soul-thrilling  blast 

der'd ! 

From  the  trumpet  of  Glory  would  wake  him. 

In  vain  is  she  mighty,  in  vain  is  she  brave ; 

Unbless'd  is  the  blood  that  for  tyrants  is  squan- 

der'd. 

And  Fame  has  no  wreaths  for  the  brow  of  the 

CUPID'S  LOTTERY. 

slave. 

But  hail  to  thee,  Albion !  who  meet'st  the  3om« 

A  LoTTEBT,  a  Lottery, 

motion 

In  Cupid's  Court  there  used  to  be ; 

Of  Europe,  as  calm  as  thy  cliffs  meet  the  foam ; 

Two  roguish  eyes 

With  no  bonds  but  the  law,  and  no  slave  but 

The  highest  prize. 

the  ocean. 

In  Cupid's  scheming  Lottery ; 

Hail,  Temple  of  Liberty !  thou  art  my  hom« 

And  kisses,  too. 

As  good  as  new. 

1  Bung  in  the  character  cf  a  Frenchman. 

MISCELLANEOUS   POEMiS. 


7* 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


AT  NIGHT.' 

At  night,  •when  all  is  still  around, 
Ho«  %vre«t  to  hear  the  distant  sound 

Of  footstep,  coming  soft  and  light  I 
What  pleasure  in  the  anxioiis  beat, 
With  which  the  bosom  flies  to  meet 

That  foot  that  comes  so  soft  at  night !, 

A.nd  then,  at  night,  how  sweet  to  say 
"  'Tis  late,  my  love !  "  and  chide  delay. 

Though  still  the  western  clouds  are  bright ; 
0,  happy,  too,  the  silent  press, 
The  eloquence  of  mute  caress. 

With  those  we  love  ozchang'd  at  night ! 


TO  LADY  HOLLAND. 
OM  napoleon's  leoact  of  a  snuffbox. 

Gift  of  the  Hero,  on  his  djnng  day,  • 

To  her,  whose  pity  watch'd,  forever  nigh ; 
O,  could  he  see  the  proud,  the  happy  ray, 

This  relic  lights  up  on  her  generous  eye, 
Righing,  he'd  feel  how  easy  'tis  to  pay 

A  friendship  all  his  kingdoms  could  not  buy. 

"am,  July,  1821. 


EPILOGUK 

imnTEN  roa  lady  daciie's  tragedy  of  ina. 

I  A5T  night,  as  lonely  o'er  my  fire  I  sat, 
Thinking  of  cues,  starts,  exits,  and  —  all  that. 
And  wondering  much  what  little  kna^•i3h  sprite 
Had  put  it  first  in  women's  heads  to  write  :  — 
•j'oddP'  I  saw  —  as  in  some  witching  dream  — 
A  bright-blue  glory  round  my  bookcase  beam, 
/ram    whose    quick    opening    folds    of   azure 

light 
Out  flew  a  tiny  form,  as  small  and  bright 
As  Puck  the  Fairy,  when  he  pops  his  head. 
Some  sunny  morning  from  a  violet  bed. 


1  Theoe  line*  allude  to  a  curiouR  lamp,  which  has  for  ill 
<«ric«  a  Ciipid,  with  the  wordi  ''at  night"  written  over 
H'm 


**  Bless  me !  "  I  starting  cried,  "  what  imp  aM 
you  ? "  — 

"  A  small  he-devil,  Ma'am  —  my  nune  J\am 
Bleu  — 

"  A  bookish  sprite,  much  given  to  routs  and 
reading ; 

"  'Tis  I  who  teach  your  spinsters  of  good  breed- 
ing, 

"  The  reigning  taste  in  chemistry  and  caps, 

"  The  last  new  bounds  of  tuckers  and  of  maps, 

••  And,  when  the  w»Jtz  has  twirl'd  her  giddy 
brain, 

"  With  metaphysics  twirl  it  back  again  ! " 

I  view'd  him,  as  he  spoke  —  his  hose  were  blue. 
His  wings  —  the  covers  of  the  last  Review 
Cerulean,  border'd  with  a  jaundice  hue. 
And  tinsell'd  gayly  o'er,  for  evening  wear. 
Till  the  next  quarter  brings  a  new-fledg'd  pair 
"  Inspir'd    by    me  —  (pursaed    this    M'aggisb 

Fairy)  — 
"  That  best  of  wives  and  Sapphos,  lady  Mary, 
"  Votary  alike  of  Crispin  and  the  Muse, 
"  Makes  her  own  splay-foot  epigrams  and  shoes. 
"  For  me  the  eyes  of  young  Camilla  shine, 
"  And    mingle    Love's    blue    brilliances    with 

mine; 
"  For  mo  she  sits  apart,  from  coxcombs  shrink- 
ing. 
"  Looks  wise  —  the  pretty  soul !  —  and  thinkt 

she's  thinking. 
"  By  my  advice  Miss  Indigo  attends 
"  Lectures  on  Memory,  and  assures  her  friends, 
"  •  'Pon  honor  !  —  (mimics)  —  nothing  can  s'ur* 

pass  the  plan 
"  *  Of    that   professor  —  {trying  to   recoils)  — 

pshaw  !  that  memory  man  — 
•••That  —  what's  his  name?  —  him  I  attended 

lately  — 
"  '  'Pon  honor,  he  impror'd  my  memory  great 

ly.'" 

Here,  courtesying  low,  I  ask'd  the  blue-lcgg'd 

sprite. 
What  share  he  had  in  this  our  play  to-nighl 
••  Nay,  there  —  (he  cried)  —  there  I  am  guilt- 
less quite  — 
••  What !  choose  a  heroine  from  that  Gothic  tim«, 
"  When  no  one  waltz'd,  and  none  but  mouki 
could  rhyme ; 


uo 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


"  When  lovely  woman,  all  unschool'd  and  wild, 
'  Blush' d  without    art,   and  without    culture 

smil'd  — 
"  Simple  as  flowers,  while  yet  unclass'd  they 

shone, 
"  Ere  Sciei.  je  call'd  their  brilliant  world  her  own, 
"  Rtng'd  the  wild,  rosy  things  in  learned  orders, 
"  And  fill'd  with  Greek  the  garden's  blushing 

borders  !  — 
•'  No,  no  —  your  gentle  Inas  will  not  do  — 
"  To-morrow  evening,  when  the  lights  bum  blue, 
•'  111  come  —  (^pointing   downwards)  —  you  un- 
derstand —  till  then  adieu  !  " 

And  has  the  sprite  been  here?    No — jests 
apart  — 
Howe'er  man  rules  in  science  and  in  art. 
The  sphere  of  woman's  glories  is  the  heart. 
And,  if  out  Muse  have  sketch' d  with  pencil  true 
The  wife  —  the  mother  —  firm,  yet  gentle  too  — 
Whose  soul,  wrapp'd  up  in  ties  itself  hath  spun. 
Trembles,  if  touch'd  in  the  remotest  one  ; 
Who  loves  —  yet  dares  even  Love  himself  dis- 
own. 
When  Honor's  broken  shaft  supports  his  throne  ; 
If  such  our  Ina,  she  may  scorn  the  evils. 
Dire  as  they  are,  of  Critics  and  —  Blue  Devils. 


THE  DAYDREAM.' 

HKT  both  were  hush'd,  the  voice,  the  chords, 
I  heard  but  once  that  witching  lay  ; 
And  few  the  notes,  and  few  the  words. 
My  spell-bound  memory  brought  away ; 

Traces,  rcmcmber'd  here  and  there. 
Like  echoes  of  some  broken  strain ;  — 

Links  of  a  sweetness  lost  in  air. 
That  nothing  now  could  join  again. 

Ev'n  these,  too,  ere  the  morning,  fled ; 

A  lid,  though  the  charm  still  linger'd  on, 
TLat  o'er  each  sense  her  song  had  shed. 

The  song  itself  was  faded,  gone  ;  — 

Gone,  like  the  thoughts  that  once  were  ours, 
On  summer  days,  ere  youth  had  set ; 

rhoughts  bright,  we  know,  as  summer  flowers, 
Though  what  they  were,  we  now  forget. 


1  In  these  stanzas  I  have  done  little  more  than  relate  a 
*e«  m  rorfe     anr  tt.e  lady,  whoa-i  ''...jing  gave  rise  to  this 


In  vain,  with  hints  from  other  strains, 
I  woo'd  this  truant  air  to  come  — 

As  birds  are  taught,  on  eastern  plains, 
To  lure  their  wilder  kindred  home. 

In  vain  :  —  the  song  that  Sappho  gave. 

In  dying,  to  the  mournful  sea, 
Not  muter  slept  beneath  the  wave. 

Than  this  within  my  memoiy. 

At  length,  one  morning,  as  I  lay 

In  that  half-waking  mood,  when  dreuns 

Unwillingly  at  last  give  way 

To  the  full  truth  of  dayhght's  beams, 

A  face  —  the  very  face,  methought, 

From  which  had  breath' d,  as  from  a  shrinfl 

Of  song  and  soul,  the  notes  I  sought  - 
Came  with  its  music  close  to  mine  ; 

And  sung  the  long-lost  measure  o'er, -  — 
Each  note  and  word,  with  every  tone 

And  look,  that  lent  it  life  before,  — 
All  perfect,  all  again  my  own  ! 

Like  parted  souls,  when,  'mid  the  Blest 
They  meet  again,  each  widow'd  sound 

Through  memory's  realm  had  wing'd  in  qao«t 
Of  its  sweet  mate,  till  all  were  found. 

Nor  ev'n  in  waking  did  the  clew. 
Thus  strangely  caught,  escape  again  , 

For  never  lark  its  matins  knew 
So  well  as  now  I  knew  this  strain. 

And  oft,  when  memory's  wondi.>us  spell 
Is  talk'd  of  in  our  tranquil  bower, 

I  sing  this  lady's  song,  and  tell 
The  vision  of  that  morning  hour. 


SONG 

"Where  is  the  heart  that  would  not  givr 

Years  of  drowsy  days  and  nights. 
One  little  hour,  like  this,  to  live  — 
Full,  to  the  brim,  of  life's  delignta  i 
Look,  look  around, 
This  fairy  ground. 
With  love  lights  glittering  o'er; 


curious  instance  of  the  power  of  memory  in  sleep,  it  Mb 
Robert  Arkwrigbt. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


esi 


While  cups  that  shine 
With  freight  divine 
Qo  coasting  round  its  shore. 

Rope  is  the  dupe  of  future  hours, 

Memory  lives  in  those  gone  by ; 
N^either  con  see  the  moment's  flowers 
Springing  up  fresh  beneath  the  eye. 

Wouldst  thou,  or  thou, 

Forego  what's  tioto. 
For  all  that  Hope  may  say  i 

No  —  Joy's  reply, 

From  every  eye, 
Is,  "  Live  we  while  we  may." 


BONO  OF  THE  POCO-CURANTE 
SOCIFfY. 


Hmud  curat  Illppoclide 


Ebami.  Mag 


r8  those  we  love  we've  drank  to-night ; 

But  now  attend,  and  stare  not. 
While  I  the  ampler  list  recite 

Of  those  for  whom  We  care  not. 

For  royal  men,  howe'er  they  frown, 
If  on  their  fronts  they  bear  not 

That  noblest  gem  that  decks  a  crown, 
The  People's  Love  —  We  care  not. 

For  slavish  men,  who  bend  beneath 

A  despot  yoke,  yet  dare  not 
Pronounce  the  will,  whose  very  breath 

Would  rend  its  links  —  We  cake  not. 

For  priestly  men,  who  covet  sway 
And  wealth,  though  they  declare  not , 

Who  point,  like  finger  posts,  the  way 
They  never  go  —  We  cake  not. 

for  martial  men,  who*on  their  sword, 
Howo'er  it  conquers,  wear  not 

rh?  pledges  of  a  soldier's  word, 
Kedcem'd  and  pure  —  We  carb  not. 

For  legal  men,  who  plead  for  wrong, 
And,  though  to  lies  they  sM-ear  not. 

Are  hardly  better  than  the  throng 
Of  those  who  do  —  Wb  carb  not. 

For  courtly  men,  who  feed  upon 
The  land,  like  grubs,  and  spare  not 

the  smallest  leaf,  where  they  can  sun 
Their  crawling  limbs  —  We  care  hot. 


For  wealthy  men,  who  kcvip  their  mines 
In  darkness  hid,  and  share  not 

The  paltry  ore  with  him  who  pines 
In  honest  want  —  Wb  carb  not. 

For  prudent  men,  who  hold  the  power 
Of  Love  aloof,  and  bare  not 

Their  hearts  in  any  guardlesa  hour 
To  Beauty's  shaft —  We  carb  mot 

For  all,  in  short,  on  land  or  sea, 
In  camp  or  court,  who  are  not. 

Who  never  were,  or  e'er  toili  be 
Good  men  and  true  —  Wb  carb  mot. 


ANNE  BOLEYN. 

translation    FOOII   the   UETRICAL    "  HUTOltfl 
D'ANNE    BOLEYN." 

"  S'elle  estoit  belle  et  de  taJIle  MftnVa, 
Estuit  de8  yeulx  encur  pluii  auirante, 
Lesquelz  t^RVuit  bien  cunduyre  i  propoi 
En  leg  tenant  qiielquefoyi  en  repoa  ; 
Aucunefoys  envoyant  en  mefKa^e 
Puner  du  cueiir  le  secret  teMDoignag*." 

Much  as  her  form  seduc'd  the  sight. 

Her  eyes  could  ev'n  more  surely  woo ; 
And  when,  and  how  to  shoot  their  light 

Into  men's  hearts  full  well  she  knew 
For  sometimes,  in  repose,  she  hid 
Their  rays  beneath  a  downcast  lid  ; 
And  then  again,  with  wakening  air. 

Would  send  their  sunny  glances  out, 
Like  heralds  of  delight,  to  bear 

Her  heart's  sweet  messages  about. 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  TWO  SISTERS 

FBOU   DANTE. 

Nell  ora,  credo,  che  detl'  oriente 
Prima  raggi6  nel  monle  Cite rea, 
Che  di  Tunco  d'  amor  par  lenipro  ardent*, 

Giovane  e  bella  in  logno  mi  parea 
Donna  vedere  andar  per  una  landa 
Cogliendo  fiori ;  e  cantando  dices:  >— 

Sappia  qiialunque  1  mio  nome  dimanda, 
Ch'  io  mi  ion  Lin,  e  vo  movendu  'nionM 
Le  belle  mani  a  Tarnii  una  glilrlan  la  — 

Per  piacermi  alio  >|>eccliio  qui  m'  adonw*  r 
Ma  mia  suora  Rarliel  mai  non  li  tmaga 
Dal  luo  ammiraglio,  •  fiede  tutto  11  gk)a» 

Bl*  4  de'  (uoi  begU  oecbi  v«d«r  rags. 
Com'  io  dell'  adomaimi  con  !•  manl ; 
Lai  Io  vedat*  •  ow  i'ovrar*  appaga. 

O  »Ts,  Furg  canto  zivtk 


692 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


'TwAS  eve's  soft  hour,  and  bright,  above, 

The  star  of  B  sauty  beam'd, 
While  luU'd  by  light  so  full  of  love 

In  slumber  thus  I  drcam'd  — 
Xlethought,  at  that  sweet  hour, 

A  nymph  caiL3  o'er  the  lea, 
\Vho,  gath'ring  many  a  flow'r, 

Thus  said  and  sung  to  me  :  — 
"  Should  any  ask  what  Leila  loves, 

'■  Say  thou,  To  wreathe  her  hair 
"With  flow'rets  cuU'd  from  glens  and  groves, 

"  Is  Leila's  only  care. 

"  While  thus  in  quest  of  flow'rets  rare, 

"  O'er  hill  and  dale  I  roam, 
•'  My  sister,  Rachel,  far  more  fair, 

•'  Sits  lone  and  mute  at  home. 
' '  Before  her  glass  untiring, 

"  With  thoughts  that  never  stray, 
'  Her  own  bright  eyes  admiring, 

"  She  sits  the  livelong  day  ; 
»•  While  I !  —  0,  seldom  ev'n  a  look 

•'  Of  self  salutes  my  eye  ;  — 
"  My  only  glass,  the  limpid  brook, 

•'  That  shines  and  passes  by." 


SOVEREIGN  WOMAN. 


The  dance  was  o'er,  yet  still  in  dreams, 

Tliat  fairy  scene  went  on  ; 
Like  clouds  still  flush'd  with  daylight  gleams. 

Though  day  itself  is  gone. 
And  gracefully  to  music's  sound, 
The  same  bright  nymphs  went  gliding  round  ; 
While  thou,  the  Queen  of  all,  wert  there  — 
The  Fairest  still,  where  all  were  fair. 

rhe  dream  then  chang'd  —  in  hidls  of  state, 

I  saw  thee  high  enthron'd ; 
While,  rang'd  aiound,  the  wise,  the  great 

In  thee  their  mistress  own'd  : 
And  still  the  came,  thy  gentle  sway 
O'er  willing  subjects  won  its  May-— 
Till  all  confess' d  the  Right  Divine 
To  rtlc  o'er  man  was  only  thine  I 


But,  lo,  the  scene  now  chang'd  again— 

And  borne  on  plumed  steed, 
I  saw  thee  o'er  the  battle  plain 

Our  land's  defenders  lead  : 
And  stronger  in  thy  beauty's  charms. 
Than  man,  with  countless  hosts  in  arms, 
Thy  voice,  like  music,  chcer'd  the  Free, 
Thy  very  smile  was  victory ! 

Nor  reign  such  queens  on  thrones  alone  — 

In  cot  and  court  the  same. 
Wherever  woman's  smile  is  known, 

Victoria's  still  her  name. 
For  though  she  almost  blush  to  reign, 

Though  Love's  own  flow'rets  wreathe  the  chala 
Disguise  our  bondage  as  we  will, 
'Tis  woman,  woman,  rules  us  still. 


COME,  PLAY  ME  THAT  SIMPLE  AIR 
AGAIN. 

A   BALLAD. 

Come,  play  me  that  simple  air  again, 

I  us'd  so  to  love,  in  life's  young  day. 
And  bring,  if  thou  canst,  the  dreams  that  thcr 
Were  wakcn'd  by  that  sweet  lay. 
The  tender  gloom  its  strain 

Shed  o'er  the  heart  and  brow, 
Griefs  shadow,  without  its  pain  — 
Say  where,  where  is  it  now  ? 
But  play  me  the  well-known  air  once  more, 

For  thoughts  of  youth  still  haunt  its  sttaia. 
Like  dreams  of  some  far,  fairy  shore 
We  never  shall  see  again. 

Sweet  air,  how  every  note  brings  back 

Some  sunny  hope,  some  daydream  bright. 
That,  shining  o'er  life's  early  track, 
Fill'd  ev'n  its  tears  with  light. 
The  new-found  life  that  came 

With  love's  first  echo'd  vow  ;  — 
The  fear,  the  bliss,  the  shame  — 
Ah  —  where,  where  are  they  nirv 
But,  still  the  same  lov'd  notes  prolong, 

For  sweet  'twere  thus,  to  that  old  lay, 
In  dreams  of  youth  and  love  and  song. 
To  breathe  life's  hour  away. 


I 


THE  EPICUKEAN. 


Ml 


THE    EPICUREAN. 

A  TALE. 


PREFACE 
TO  THE  TENTH  VOLUME. 

Thr  Storj  which  occupies  this  volume  was 
ntended  originally  to  be  told  in  verse ;  and  a 
grcai  portion  of  it  was  at  first  MTitten  in  that 
form.  This  fact,  as  well  as  the  character,  per- 
haps, of  the  whole  work,  which  a  good  deal 
partakes  of  the  cast  and  coloring  of  poetry,  have 
lieen  thought  sufficient  to  entitle  it  to  a  place  in 
this  general  collection  of  my  poetical  writings. 

How  little  akin  to  romance  or  poesy  were 
some  of  the  circumstances  under  which  this 
■urork  was  first  projected  by  me,  the  reader  may 
have  seen  from  a  preceding  preface  ;  '  and  the 
following  rough  outline,  which  I  have  found 
among  my  papers,  dated  Paris,  July  25,  1820, 
will  show  both  ray  first  general  conception,  or 
foreshadowing  of  the  story,  and  likewise  the 
extent  to  which  I  thought  right,  in  afterwards 
working  out  this  design,  to  reject  or  modify 
some  of  its  details. 

•'  Began  my  Egyptian  Poem,  and  wrote  about 
thirteen  or  fourteen  lines  of  it.  The  story  to  be 
told  in  letters  from  a  young  Epicurean  philoso- 
pher, who,  in  the  second  century  of  the  Christian 
fsra,  goes  to  Egypt  for  the  purpose  of  discovering 
the  elixir  of  immortality,  which  is  supposed  to 
be  one  of  the  secrets  of  the  Egyptian  jiriests. 
During  a  Festival  on  the  Nile,  he  meets  with  a 
Dcautiful  maiden,  the  daughter  of  one  of  the 
priests  lately  dead.  She  enters  the  catacombs, 
and  disappears.  He  hovers  around  the  spot, 
and  at  last  finds  the  well  and  secret  passages, 
kc.  by  which  those  who  are  initiated  enter. 
He  sees  this  maiden  in  one  of  those  theatrical 
spectacles  wliich  formed  a  part  of  the  subter- 
rinfan  Elysium  of  the  Pyramids  —  finds  op- 
portunities of  conversing  with  her  —  their  in- 
tercourse in  this  mysterious  region  described. 
They  are  discovered  ;  and  he  is  thrown  into 
those  subterranean  prisons,  where  they  who 
violate  the  rules  of  Initiation  are  confined.  He 
Is  liberated  from  thence  by  the  young  maiden, 
tnd   taking   flight   together,   they   reach  uomc 

>  Prefrxo  to  tl)e  Ei{lith  Volume,  p.  527  of  this  edition. 


beautiful  region,  where  they  linger,  for  a  tim*) 
delighted,  and  she  is  near  becoming  a  victim  to 
his  arts.  But  taking  alarm,  she  flies  ;  and  seeks 
refuge  with  a  Christian  monk,  in  the  T^abaid, 
to  whom  her  mother,  who  was  secretly  a  Chris- 
tian, had  consigned  her  in  dying.  The  strug- 
gles of  her  love  with  her  religion.  A  persecu- 
tion of  the  Christians  takes  place,  and  she  is 
seized  (chiefly  through  the  unintentional  means 
of  her  lover),  and  suffers  martyrdom.  The  scene 
of  her  martyrdom  described,  in  a  letter  from  the 
Solitary  of  the  Thcbaid,  and  the  attempt  made 
by  the  young  philosopher  to  rescue  her.  He  is 
carried  off  from  tlience  to  the  cell  of  the  Soli- 
tary. His  letters  from  that  retreat,  after  he  has 
become  a  Christian,  devoting  his  thoughts  en* 
tirely  to  repentance  and  the  recollection  of  the 
beloved  saint  who  had  gone  before  him.  —  If  I 
don't  make  something  out  of  all  this,  the  deusp 
is  in't." 

According  to  this  plan,  the  events  of  the  story 
were  to  be  told  in  Letters,  or  Epistolary  Poems, 
addressed  by  the  philosopher  to  a  young  Athe- 
nian friend ;  but,  for  greater  variety,  as  well  as 
convenience,  I  afterwards  distributed  the  task 
of  narration  among  the  chief  personages  of  th« 
Talc.  The  great  difficulty,  however,  of  man- 
aging, in  rhyme,  the  minor  details  of  a  story,  so 
as  to  be  clear  without  growing  prosaic,  and  still 
more,  the  diff"use  length  to  which  I  saw  narra- 
tion in  verse  would  extend,  deterred  me  froiTi 
following  this  plan  any  further;  and  I  then 
commenced  the  talc  anew  in  its  present  shape. 

Of  the  Poems  written  for  my  first  experiment, 
a  few  specimens,  the  best  I  could  select,  were  in- 
troduced into  the  prose  story ;  but  the  rcmainde< 
I  had  thrown  aside,  and  nearly  forgotten  even 
their  existence,  when  a  circumstance  somewhat 
characteristic,  perhaps,  of  that  trading  spuit, 
which  has  now  converted  Parnassus  itself  into 
a  market,  again  called  my  attention  to  them. 
The  late  Mr.  Macrone,  to  whose  general  talenta 
and  enterprise  in  business  all  who  knew  him 
will  bear  ready  testimony,  had  long  been  anx- 
ious that  I  should  undertake  for  him  some  new 
Poem  or  Story,  afl"ording  such  subjects  for  illus 
tration  as  might  call  into  play  the  fanciful  pencil 
of  Mr.  Turner.     Other  tasks  and  ties,  howevp* 


584 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


bad  rendered  my  compliance  -with  this  wish 
impracticable  ;  and  he  was  about  to  give  up  all 
thoughts  of  attaining  his  object,  when  on  learn- 
ing from  me  accidentally  that  the  Epicurean  was 
Btill  my  own  property,  he  proposed  to  purchase 
of  me  the  use  of  the  copyright  for  a  single  illus- 
trated edition. 

The  terms  proffered  by  him  being  most  liberal, 
I  r#*idily  acceded  to  the  proposed  arrangement ; 
but,  on  further  consideration,  there  arose  some 
difficulty  in  the  way  of  our  treaty  —  the  work 
itself  being  found  insufficient  to  form  a  volume 
of  sucxi  dimensions  as  would  yield  any  hope  of 
defraying  the  cost  of  the  numerous  illustrations 
then  intended  for  it.  Some  modification,  there- 
fore, of  our  terms  was  thought  necessary ;  and 
then  first  was  the  notion  suggested  to  me  of 
bringing  forth  from  among  my  papers  the  origi- 
nal sketch,  or  opening  of  the  story,  and  adding 
these  fragments,  as  a  sort  of  makeweight,  in  the 
mutual  adjustment  of  our  terms. 

That  I  had  myself  regarded  the  first  experi- 
ment as  a  failure,  was  sufficiently  shown  by  my 
relinquishment  of  it.  But,  as  the  published 
work  had  then  passed  through  several  editions, 
and  had  been  translated  into  most  of  the  lan- 
guages of  Europe,  it  was  thought  that  an  insight 
into  the  anxious  process  by  which  such  success 
had  been  attained,  might,  as  an  encouragement, 
at  least,  to  the  humble  merit  of  painstaking,  be 
deemed  of  some  little  use. 

The  following  are  the  translations  of  this  Tale 
which  have  reached  me :  viz.  two  in  French,  two 
in  Italian  (Milan,  1836  —  Venice,  1835),  one  in 
German  (Inspruc,  1828),  and  one  in  Dutch,  by 
M.  Herman  van  Loghem  (Deventer,  1829). 


LORD    JOHN    RUSSELL, 
THIS    VOLUME 

UrSCBIBED  BT  OXE  WnO  AOMIBES  HIS  CIIARACTEB  XHD 
lALENIS,  ASD  IS  PBOUD  OF  UIS    riilENDSUIP. 


JLETTER  TO  THE  TRANSLATOR, 

FROM 

,  Eld. 

Cairo,  June  19, 1800. 
Mt  seab  Sir, 

DuRixa  a  visit  lately  paid  by  me  to  the 

nonastery  of  St.  Macarius  —  which  is  situated, 


as  you  know,  in  the  Valley  of  the  Lakes  cf  Na- 
tron—  I  was  lucky  enough  to  obtain  possession 
of  a  curious  Greek  manuscript  which,  in  th« 
hope  that  you  may  be  induced  to  translate  it,  I 
herewith  transmit  to  you.  Observing  one  of 
the  monks  very  busily  occupied  in  tearing  up 
into  a  variety  of  fantastic  shajjes  some  papers 
which  had  the  appearance  of  being  the  leaves 
of  old  books,  I  inquired  of  him  the  meajiing 
of  his  task,  and  received  the  following  explana- 
tion :  — 

The  Arabs,  it  seems,  who  are  as  fond  of  pigeons 
as  the  ancient  Egyptians,  have  a  superstitious 
notion  that,  if  they  place  in  their  pigeon  houses 
small  scraps  of  paper,  written  over  with  learned 
characters,  the  birds  are  always  sure  to  thrive 
the  better  for  the  charm  ;  and  the  monks,  who 
are  never  slow  in  profiting  by  superstition,  have, 
at  all  times,  a  supply  of  such  amulets  for  pur- 
chasers. 

In  general,  the  fathers  of  the  monastery  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  scribbling  these  fragments 
themselves ;  but  a  discovery  lately  made  by 
them,  saves  all  this  trouble.  Having  dug  up 
(as  my  informant  stated)  a  chest  of  old  manu- 
scripts, which,  being  chiefly  on  the  subject  of 
alchemy,  must  have  been  buried  in  the  time  of 
Diocletian,  «*we  thought,"  added  the  monk, 
"  that  we  could  not  employ  such  rubbish  more 
properly,  than  in  tearing  it  up,  as  you  see,  for 
the  pigeon  houses  of  the  Arabs." 

On  my  expressing  a  wish  to  rescue  some  part 
of  these  treasures  from  the  fate  to  which  his 
indolent  fraternity  had  consigned  them,  he  pro- 
duced the  manuscript  which  I  have  now  the 
pleasure  of  sending  you  —  the  only  one,  he  said, 
remaining  entire  —  and  I  very  readily  paid  tha 
price  which  he  demanded  for  it. 

You  will  find  the  story,  I  think,  not  altogethei 
uninteresting ;  and  the  coincidence,  in  many 
respects,  of  the  curious  details  in  Chap.  VI 
with  the  description  of  the  same  ceremonies  in 
the  Romance  of  Set/ws,^  will,  I  hcve  no  doubly 
strike  you.  Hoping  that  you  may  be  induced 
to  give  a  translation  of  this  Tale  to  this  world, 
I  am,  my  dear  Sir, 

Very  truly  yoxira. 


I  The  description,  here  alluded  to,  may  also  bo  found 
copied  verbalim  from  Sethos,  in  the  "  Voyages  d'Ant^nor.* 
—  "In  that  philosophical  romance,  called  '  La  Vie  de  S» 
thos,' "  says  Warbiirton,  "  we  find  a  much  Juster  account  Oi. 
old  Egyptian  wisdom,  than  in  all  the  pretended  '  His!oi^ 
du  CieU'  "—Div,  Le£.  book  iv.  sect.  14. 


THE  EPICrjKEAN. 


681 


CHAPTER  I. 

It  wns  in  the  fourth  year  of  the  reign  of  thr 
late  Emperor  Valerian,  that  the  followers  ci 
Epicurus,  -who  were  at  that  time  numerous  in 
Athens,  proceeded  to  the  election  of  a  person  to 
fill  the  vacant  chair  of  their  sect ;  —  and,  by  the 
onanimous  voice  of  the  School,  I  was  the  indi- 
vidual chosen  for  their  Chief.  I  was  just  then 
entering  on  my  twenty-fourth  year,  and  no  in- 
•tance  had  ever  before  occurred,  of  a  person 
•o  young  being  selected  for  that  high  office. 
Youth,  however,  and  the  personal  advantages 
that  adorn  it,  could  not  but  rank  among  the 
most  agreeable  recommendations  to  a  sect  that 
included  within  its  circle  all  the  beauty  as  well 
as  the  wit  of  Athens,  and  which,  though  digni- 
fying its  pursuits  with  the  name  of  philosophy, 
was  little  else  than  a  plausible  pretext  for  the 
more  refined  cultivation  of  pleasure. 

The  "chiiracter  of  the  sect  had,  indeed,  much 
changed,  since  the  time  of  its  wise  and  virtuous 
founder,  who,  while  he  asserted  that  Pleasure 
is  the  only  Good,  inculcated  also  that  Good  is 
the  only  source  of  Pleasure.  The  purer  part 
of  this  doctrine  had  long  evaporated,  and  the 
temperate  Epicurus  would  have  as  little  recog- 
nized his  own  sect  in  the  fissemblage  of  refined 
Toluptuaries  who  now  usurped  its  name,  as  he 
would  have  known  his  own  quiet  Garden  in  the 
luxurious  groves  and  bowers  among  which  the 
meetings  of  the  School  were  now  held. 

Many  causes  concurred,  at  this  period,  be- 
sides the  attractiveness  of  its  doctrines,  to  ren- 
der our  school  by  far  the  most  popular  of  any 
that  still  survived  the  glory  of  Greece.  It  may 
generally  be  observed,  that  the  prevalence,  in 
one  half  of  a  community,  of  very  rigid  notions 
on  the  subject  of  religion,  produces  the  oppo- 
site extremity  of  laxity  and  infidelity  in  the 
.ther ;  and  this  kind  of  reaction  it  was  that  now 
mainly  contributed  to  render  the  doctrines  of 
the  Garden  the  most  fashionable  philosophy  of 
the  day.  llie  rapid  progress  of  the  Christian 
iaith  had  alarmed  all  those,  who,  either  from 
piety  or  worldliness,  were  interested  in  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  old  established  creed  —  all  who 
believed  in  the  Deities  of  Olympus,  and  all  who 
lived  ^v  them.  The  natural  consequence  was, 
•  considerable  is  rease  of  zeal  and  activity, 
throughout  the  onstituted  authorities  and 
Bricsthood  of  the  whole  Heathen  world.  What 
was  wanting  in  sincerity  of  belief  was  made  up 
n  rigor ;  —  Me  weakest  porta  of  the  Mythology 


were  those,  of  course,  most  angrily  defender, 
and  any  reflections,  tending  to  bring  Saturn,  oi 
his  wife  Ops,  into  contempt,  were  punished 
with  the  utmost  severity  of  the  la\fr. 

In  this  state  of  affairs,  between  the  alarmed 
bigotry  of  the  declining  Faith  and  the  simple, 
sublime  austerity  of  her  rival,  it  was  not  won- 
derful that  those  lovers  of  ease  and  pleasure, 
who  had  no  interest,  reversionary  or  othenfc-^e, 
in  the  old  religion,  and  were  too  indolent  to  in- 
quire into  the  sanctions  of  the  now,  should  taks 
refuge  from  the  severities  of  both  in  the  anna 
of  a  luxurious  philosophy,  which,  leaving  to 
others  the  task  of  disputing  about  the  future^ 
centred  all  its  wisdom  in  the  full  enjoyment  of 
the  present. 

The  sectaries  of  the  Garden  had,  ever  since 
the  death  of  their  founder,  been  accustomed  to 
dedicate  to  his  memory  the  twentieth  day  of 
every  month.  To  these  monthly  rites  had,  for 
some  time,  been  added  a  grand  annual  Festival, 
in  commemoration  of  hia,  birth.  The  feasts, 
given  on  this  occasion  by  my  predecessors  in 
the  Chair,  had  been  invariably  distinguished  for 
their  taste  and  splendor ;  and  it  was  my  ambi- 
tion, not  merely  to  imitate  this  example,  but 
even  to  render  the  anniversary,  now  celebrated 
under  my  auspices,  so  lively  and  brilliant  as  tc 
efface  the  recollection  of  all  that  had  preceded  it 
Seldom,  indeed,  had  Athens  witnessed  si 
bright  a  scene.  The  grounds  that  formed  the 
original  site  of  the  Garden  had  received,  from 
time  to  time,  considerable  additions ;  and  the 
whole  extent  was  now  laid  out  with  that  perfect 
taste,  which  understands  how  to  wed  Nature- 
with  Art,  without  sacrificing  any  of  her  sim- 
plicity to  the  alliance.  Walks,  leading  through 
wildernesses  of  shade  and  fragrance  —  glades, 
opening,  as  if  to  afford  a  playground  for  the 
sunshine  —  temples,  rising  on  the  very  spots 
where  Imagination  herself  would  have  called 
them  up,  and  fountains  and  lakes,  in  alternate 
motion  and  repose,  either  wantonly  courting  thfl 
verdure,  or  calmly  sleeping  in  its  emorace  — 
such  was  the  variety  of  feature  that  diversified 
these  fair  gardens ;  and,  animated  as  they  were 
on  this  occasion,  by  all  the  living  wit  and  love 
liness  of  Athens,  it  afforded  a  scene  such  as  my 
own  youthful  fancy,  rich  as  it  was  then  in  im- 
ages of  luxury  and  beauty,  could  hardly  havr 
anticipated. 

The  ceremonies  of  the   day  began  ■«ith  tht 

very  dawn,  when,  according  to  the  form  of  siiu- 

i  pier  and  better  times,  those  among  the  disciplei 

I  who  had  apartments  within  the  Garden,  boi« 


JS6 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


the  image  of  our  Founder  in  procession  from 
chamber  to  chamber,  chanting  verses  in  praise 
of  what  had  long  ceased  to  be  objects  of  our 
ir/iitation  —  his  frugality  and  temperance. 

Round  a  beautiful  lake,  in  the  centre  of  the 
Garden,  stood  four  white  Doric  temples,  in  one 
of  which  was  collected  a  library  containing  all 
the  flowers  of  Grecian  literature  ;  while,  in  the 
remaining  three,  Conversation,  the  Song,  and 
the  Dance,  hel^i,  uninterrupted  by  each  other, 
their  respective  rites.  In  the  Library  stood 
busts  of  all  the  most  illustrious  Epicureans, 
both  of  Rome  and  Greece  —  Horace,  Atticus, 
Pliny  the  elder,  the  poet  Lucretius,  Lucian, 
and  the  lamented  biographer  of  the  Philoso- 
phera,  lately  lost  to  us,  Diogenes  Laertius. 
There  were  also  the  portraits,  in  marble,  of  all 
the  eminent  female  votaries  of  the  school  — 
1  <;ontium  and  her  fair  daughter  DanaC,  The- 
miita,  Philaenis,  and  others. 

It  was  here  that,  in  my  capacity  of  Heresiarch, 
on  the  morning  of  the  Festival,  I  received  the 
felicitations  of  the  day  from  some  of  the  fairest 
lips  of  Athens ;  and,  in  pronouncing  the  cus- 
tomary oration  to  the  memory  of  our  Master 
(in  which  it  was  usual  to  dwell  upon  the  doc- 
trines he  had  inculcated)  endeavored  to  attain 
that  art,  so  useful  before  such  an  audience,  of 
lending  to  the  gravest  subjects  a  charm,  which 
secures  them  listeners  even  among  the  simplest 
and  most  volatile. 

Though  study,  as  may  be  supposed,  engrossed 
but  little  the  nights  or  mornings  of  the  Garden, 
yet  all  the  lighter  parts  of  learning  —  that  por- 
tion of  its  attic  honey,  for  which  the  bee  is  not 
compelled  to  go  very  deep  into  the  flower  —  was 
somewhat  zealously  cultivated  by  us.  Even 
here,  however,  the  young  student  had  to  en- 
counter that  kind  of  distraction,  which  is,  of 
all  others,  the  least  favorable  to  composure  of 
thought ;  and,  with  more  than  one  of  my  fair 
disciples,  there  used  to  occur  such  scenes  as  the 
following,  which  a  poet  of  the  Garden,  taking 
hii  picture  from  the  life,  thus  described :  — 

As  o'er  the  lake,  in  evening's  glow. 

That  temple  threw  its  lengthening  sJiade, 
Upon  the  marble  steps  lielovv 

Tl)cre  sate  a  fair  Corinthian  maid, 
Grarefnlly  o'er  some  volume  bending; 

While,  by  her  Hide,  the  youthful  Sage 
Held  back  her  ringlets,  lest,  descending, 

Tljey  should  o'ershadow  all  the  page." 

But  t  was  for  the  evening  of  that  day,  that  the 
ichest  rf  our  luxuries  were  reserved.     Every 


part  of  the  Garden  was  illuminated,  with  the 
most  skilful  variety  of  lustre ;  while  over  the 
Lake  of  the  Temples  were  scattered  wieaths  of 
flowers,  through  which  boats,  filled  vdth  beau- 
tiful children,  floated,  as  through  a  liquid  par- 
terre. 

Between  two  of  these  boats  a  mock  combat 
was  perpetually  carried  on; — their  respective 
commanders,  two  blooming  youths,  beins;  hab- 
ited to  represent  Eros  and  Anteros  :  the  for  cie/, 
the  Celestial  Love  of  the  Platonists,  and  thj 
latter,  that  more  earthly  spirit,  which  usurps 
the  name  of  Love  among  the  Epicureans. 
Throughout  the-  whole  evening  their  conflict 
was  maintained  with  various  success  ;  the  timid 
distance  at  which  Eros  kept  aloof  from  his  live-  I 
ly  antagonist  being  his  only  safeguard  against 
those  darts  of  firo,  with  showers  of  which  the 
other  assailed  him,  but  which,  falling  short  of 
their  mark  upon  the  lake,  only  scorched  the 
few  flowers  on  which  they  fell,  and  were  ex- 
tinguished. 

In  another  part  of  the  gardens,  on  a  wide 
glade,  illuminated  only  by  the  moon,  was  per- 
formed an  imitation  of  the  torch  race  of  the 
Panathenffia  by  young  boys  chosen  for  their 
fle<.  tness,  and  arrayed  with  wings,  like  Cupids 
while,  not  far  off,  a  group  of  seven  nymphs 
with  each  a  star  on  her  forehead,  represented 
the  movements  of  the  planetary  choir,  and  em- 
bodied the  dream  of  Pythagoras  into  real  mo- 
tion and  song. 

At  every  turning  some  new  enchantment 
broke  imexpectedly  on  the  eye  or  ear;  and 
now,  from  the  depth  of  a  dark  grove,  from 
which  a  fountain  at  the  same  time  issued,  there 
came  a  strain  of  sweet  music,  which,  mingling 
with  the  murmur  of  the  water,  seemed  like  the 
voice  of  the  spirit  that  presided  over  its  flow  ;  — 
while,  at  other  times,  the  same  strain  appeared 
to  come  breathing  from  among  flowers,  or  was 
heard  suddenly  from  under  ground,  as  if  the 
foot  had  just  touched  some  spring  that  set  its 
melody  in  motion. 

It  may  seem  strange  that  I  should  now  dwell 
upon  these  trifling  details  ;  but  they  were  to  me 
full  of  the  future  ;  and  every  thing  connicted 
with  that  memorabU  night  —  even  its  lung- 
repented  follies  —  must  forever  live  fondly  and 
sacredly  in  my  memory.  The  festival  con- 
cluded with  a  banquet,  at  which,  as  master  o*^ 
the  Sect,  I  presided ;  and  being,  myself,  ui 
every  sense,  the  ascendant  spijit  of  the  whole 
scene,  gave  life  to  all  around  me,  and  saw  mj 
own  happiness  reflected  in  that  of  others 


THE  BPICUREAN. 


Wi 


CHAPTER  n. 

The  festival  was  over ;  —  the  sounds  of  the 
song  and  dance  had  ceased,  and  I  was  now  left 
in  those  luxurious  gardens,  alone.  Though  so 
trdcnt  and  active  a  votary  of  pleasure,  I  had, 
by  nature,  a  disposition  full  of  melancholy ;  — 
«r  imagination  that,  even  in  the  midst  of  mirth 
and  happiness,  presented  saddening  thoughts, 
and  thiew  the  shadow  of  the  future  over  the 
gayest  illusions  of  the  present.  Melancholy 
was,  indeed,  twin  bom  in  my  soul  with  Pas- 
sion ;  and  not  even  in  the  fullest  fervor  of  the 
latter  were  they  ever  separated.  From  the  first 
moment  that  I  was  conscious  of  thought  and 
feeling,  the  same  dark  thread  had  run  across 
tlie  web ;  and  images  of  death  and  annihilation 
came  to  mingle  themselves  with  even  the  most 
smiling  scenes  through  which  love  and  enjoy- 
ment led  me.  My  very  passion  for  pleasure  but 
deepened  these  gloomy  thoughts.  For,  shut 
out,  a.s  I  was  by  my  creed,  from  a  future  life, 
»ad  having  no  hope  beyond  the  narrow  horizon 
of  this,  every  minute  of  earthly  delight  as- 
sumed, in  my  eyes,  a  mournful  preciousness ; 
and  pleasure,  like  the  flower  of  the  cemetery, 
grew  but  more  luxuriant  from  the  neighborhood 
of  death. 

This  very  night  my  triumph,  my  happiness 
had  seemed  complete.  I  had  been  the  presiding 
genius  of  that  voluptuous  scene.  Both  my  am- 
bition and  my  love  of  pleasure  had  drunk  deep 
of  ihc  rich  cup  for  which  they  thirsted.  Looked 
up  to  as  I  was  by  the  learned,  and  admired  and 
loved  by  the  beautiful  and  the  young,  I  had 
seen,  in  every  eye  that  met  mine,  either  the 
acknowledgment  of  bright  triumphs  already 
won,  or  ths  promise  of  others,  still  brighter, 
that  awaited  me.  Yet,  even  in  the  midst  of  all 
this,  the  same  daik  thoughts  had  presented 
themselves  ;  —  the  pcrishablencss  of  myself  and 
ill  around  me  had  recurred  every  instant  to  my 
mind  Those  hands  I  had  pressed  —  those 
eye>  -  which  I  had  seen  sparkling  a  spirit  of 
light  and  life  that  ought  never  to  die  —  those 
voices,  that  had  spoken  of  eternal  love  —  all,  all, 
I  ftlt,  were  but  a  mockery  of  the  moment,  and 
woui  1  leave  nothing  eternal  but  the  silence  of 
heir  dust ! 

U,  wcro  It  not  ior  th\»  ud  voic*, 

St«alin|[  smlil  our  mirth  to  say. 
That  all,  in  whirh  w*-  niiwt  rpjoire, 

Ere  pi^ht  may  he  the  ennhworm'a  prey     - 
But  for  thi!"  hitler  —  only  Uiiii  — 
Pull  as  the  wurld  is  briiiim'd  witb  bliia. 


And  capable  as  ieel«  my  aoul 
Of  draining  to  iu  depth  the  whole, 
I  Khould  turn  earth  to  heaven,  and  ba, 
If  bliss  made  goda,  a  ueity  ! 

Such  was  the  description  I  gav*  of  ray  own 
feelings,  in  one  of  those  wild,  passionate  son^ 
to  which  this  mixture  of  mirth  and  meli-icholy, 
in  a  spirit  so  buoyant,  naturally  gave  birth. 

And  seldom  had  my  heart  so  fully  sunra- 
dered  itself  to  this  sort  of  vngue  sadness  as  al 
that  very  moment,  when,  as  I  paced  thought- 
fully among  the  fading  lights  and  flowers 
of  the  banquet,  the  echo  of  my  own  step  was 
all  that  now  sounded,  where  so  many  gay  forma 
had  lately  been  revelling.  The  moon  was 
still  up,  the  morning  had  not  yet  glimmered, 
and  the  calm  glories  of  the  night  still  rested  on 
all  around.  Unconscious  whither  my  pathwa) 
led,  I  continued  to  wander  along,  till  I,  at 
length,  found  myself  before  that  fair  statue  of 
Venus,  with  which  the  chisel  of  Alcamenes  hrd 
embellished  our  Garden  ;  —  that  image  of  deiticd 
woman,  the  only  idol  to  which  I  had  ever  yet 
bent  the  knee.  Leaning  against  the  pedestal 
of  the  statue,  I  raised  my  eyes  to  heaven,  and 
fixing  them  sadly  and  intently  on  the  ever- 
burning stars,  as  if  seeking  to  read  the  mourn- 
ful secret  in  their  light,  asked,  wherefore  was  it 
that  Man  alone  must  fade  and  perish,  while 
they,  so  much  less  wonderful,  less  godlike  than 
he,  thus  still  lived  on  in  radiance  unchangeable 
and  forever  !  —  "  O,  that  there  were  some  spell, 
some  talisman,"  I  exclaimed,  "  to  make  the 
spirit  til  at  bums  within  us  deatliless  as  thosf 
stars,  and  open  to  it  a  career  like  theirs,  at 
bright  and  inextinguishable  throughout  al 
time  !  " 

While  thus  indulging  in  wild  and  melanchol" 
fancies,  1  felt  that  lassitude  which  earthly  pleas 
ure,  however  sweet,  still   leaves  behind,  com 
insensibly  over  me,  and  at  length  sunk  at  tl  .■ 
base  of  the  statue  to  sleep. 

But  even  in  sleep,  the  same  fancies  continn  vl 
to  haun*  me ;  and  a  dream,'  so  distinct  uu  I 
vivid  as  to  leave  behind  it  the  impressici  tf 
reality,  thus  presented  itself  to  my  mind  I 
found  myself  suddenly  transported  to  a  w  ac 
and  desolate  plain,  where  nothing  ap|)eBred  tu 
breathe,  or  move,  or  live.  The  very  sky  tL*i 
hting  above  it  looked  pole  and  extinct,  givu  ^ 
the  idea,  not  of  darkness,  but  of  light  thst  h  /I 
become  dead; — and  had  that  whole  ref,i/« 
been  the   remains   of  some   older   world,   lei. 


1  fbr  the  Importanfe  attached  to  4 **<*>•  br  Uw  «i>'-eato 
as*  Mrtm,  Ransrki  on  EcrlMfawtirU  Hkrtoo.  vil  .  .-  W 


088 


THE  EPICUREA?? 


broken  up  and  sunless,  it  could  not  have  pre- 
sented an  aspect  more  quenched  and  desolate. 
The  only  thing  that  bespoke  life,  throughout 
this  melancholy  waste,  was  a  small  spark  of 
light,  that  at  first  glimmered  in  the  distance, 
but,  at  length,  slowly  approached  the  bleak  spr,t 
where  I  stood.  As  it  drew  nearer,  I  could  spc 
that  its  small  but  steady  gleam  came  f'  ora  a 
tiiper  in  the  hand  of  an  ancient  and  vOToraole 
man,  who  now  stood,  like  a  pale  mt-ssengsr 
from  the  grave,  before  me.  A  fter  a  lev/  mo- 
ments of  awful  silence,  during  which  no  looked 
nt  me  with  a  sadness  that  thrilled  my  very  soul, 
he  said,  "Thou,  who  seekest  etamal  life,  go 
unto  the  shores  of  the  dark  Nile  —  go  unto  the 
shores  of  the  dark  Nile,  and  thou  wilt  find  the 
eternal  life  thou  seekest !  " 

No  sooner  had  he  uttered  these  words  than 
the  deathlike  hue  of  his  cheek  at  once  bright- 
ened into  a  smile  of  more  than  earthly  promise  ; 
while  the  small  torch  he  held  in  his  hand  sent 
forth  a  glow  of  radiance,  by  which  suddenly 
the  whole  surface  of  the  desert  was  illumi- 
nated ;  —  the  light  spreading  even  to  the  distant 
horizon's  edge,  along  whose  line  I  could  now 
Bee  gardens,  palaces,  and  spires,  all  as  bright  as 
the  rich  architecture  of  the  clouds  at  sunset. 
Sweet  music,  too,  came  floating  in  every  direc- 
tioik  through  the  air,  and,  from  all  sides,  such 
varieties  of  enchantment  broke  upon  me,  that, 
with  the  excess  alike  of  harmony  and  of  ra- 
diance, I  awoke. 

That  infidels  should  be  superstitious  is  an 
anomaly  neither  unusual  nor  strange.  A  belief 
in  superhuman  agency  seems  natural  and  neces- 
»ary  to  the  mind ;  and,  if  not  suff'ered  to  flow  in 
the  obvious  channels,  it  will  find  a  vent  in  some 
other.  Hence,  many  who  have  doubted  the  ex- 
istence of  a  God,  have  yet  implicitly  placed 
themselves  under  the  patronage  of  Fate  or  the 
stars.  Much  the  same  inconsistency  I  was  con- 
scious of  in  my  own  feelings.  Though  reject- 
ing all  belief  in  a  Divine  Providence,  I  had  yet 
a  faith  in  dreams,  that  all  my  philosophy  could 
not  conquer.  Nor  was  experience  wanting  to 
confirm  me  in  my  delusion ;  for,-  by  some  of 
those  accidental  coincidences,  which  make  the 
fortune  of  soothsayers  and  prophets,  dreams, 
more  than  once,  had  been  to  me 

Oracles,  truer  far  than  oak, 
Or  dove,  or  tripod,  ever  spoke. 

It  was  not  wonderful,  therefore,  that  the  vision 
•f  that  night —  touching,  as  it  did,  a  chord  so 
ready  to  »?  urate  —  should   have  afiected   me 


with  ricre  than  ordinary  power,  and  even  sun* 
desyjr  mto  my  memory  with  every  eff"ort  I  made 
to  forget  it.  In  vain  did  I  mock  at  my  owr 
'fr-iukness  ;  —  such  self-derision  is  seldom  sin- 
oesre.  In  vain  did  I  pursue  my  accustomed 
pleasures.  Their  zest  was,  as  usual,  forevci 
■/lew;  but  still,  in  the  midst  of  all  my  enjoy- 
ment, came  the  cold  and  saddening  conscious- 
ness of  mortality,  and,  with  it,  the  recollection 
of  that  visionary  promise,  to  which  my  fancy, 
in  defiance  of  reason,  still  continued  to  cling. 

At  times  indulging  in  reveries,  that  were  little 
else  than  a  continuation  of  my  dream,  I  even 
contemplated  the  possible  existence  of  some 
mighty  secret,  by  which  youth,  if  not  perpet- 
uated, might  be  at  least  prolonged,  and  that 
dreadful  vicinity  of  death,  within  whose  circle 
love  pines  and  pleasure  sickens,  might  be  for  a 
while  averted.  "Who  knows,"  I  would  ask, 
"  but  that  in  Egypt,  that  region  of  wonders, 
where  Mystery  hath  yet  unfolded  but  half  her 
treasures  —  where  still  remain,  undecipheredj 
upon  the  pillars  of  Seth,  so  many  written 
secrets  of  the  antediluvian  world  —  who  can 
tell  but  that  some  powerful  charm,  some  amu- 
let, may  there  lie  hid,  whose  discovery,  as  this 
phantom  hath  promised,  but  a^vaits  my  coming 

—  some  compound  of  the  same  pure  atoms,  that 
form  the  essence  of  the  living  stars,  and  whose 
infusion  into  the  frame  of  man  might  render 
him  also  unfading  and  immortal !  " 

Thus  fondly  did  I  sometimes  speculate,  iu 
those  vague  moods  of  mind,  when  the  life  of 
excitement  in  which  I  was  engaged,  acting 
upon  a  M'arm  heart  and  vivid  fancy,  pro- 
duced an  intoxication  of  spirit,  during  which  I 
was  not  wholly  myself.  This  bewilderment, 
too,  was  not  a  little  increased  by  the  constant 
struggle  I  experiehced  between  my  own  natural 
feelings,  and  the  cold,  mortal  creed  of  my  sect 

—  in  endeavoring  to  escape  from  whose  deaden- 
ing bondage  I  but  broke  loose  into  the  realms 
of  fantasy  and  romance. 

Even  in  my  soberest  moments,  however,  that 
strange  vision  forever  haunted  me;  and  eveiy 
effort  I  made  to  chase  it  from  my  recollection 
was  unavailing.  The  deliberate  co}iclusion, 
therefore,  to  which  I  at  last  came,  was,  that  to 
visit  Egypt  was  now  my  only  resource ;  that, 
without  seeing  that  land  of  wonders,  I  could 
not  rest,  nor,  until  convinced  of  my  folly  by  dis* 
appointment,  be  reasonable.  Without  delay, 
accordingly,  I  announced  to  my  friends  of  thi 
Garden,  the  intention  I  had  formed  to  pay  a 
visit  to   the  land  of   Pyramids.    To  none  o( 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


«bii 


Inem,  however,  did  I  dare  to  confess  the  vague, 
visionary  impulse  that  actuated  me  ;  — knowl- 
edge being  the  object  that  I  alleged,  while 
Pleasure  was  that  for  which  they  gave  me 
credit.  The  interests  of  the  School,  it  was 
icared,  might  suffer  by  my  absence ;  and  there 
were  some  tenderer  tics,  which  had  still  more 
to  fear  from  separation.  But  for  the  former  in- 
convenience a  temporary  remedy  was  pro%'ided  ; 
while  the  latter  a  skilful  distribution  of  vows 
and  §igh9  alleviated.  Being  furnished  with 
recommendatory  letters  to  all  parts  of  Egypt,  I 
set  sail  in  the  summer  of  the  year  257,  a.  d., 
for  Alexandria. 


CHAPTER  III. 

I'o  one,  who  so  well  knew  how  to  extract 
pleasure  from  every  moment  on  land,  a  sea 
voyage,  however  smooth  and  favorable,  appeared 
the  least  agreeable  mode  of  losing  time  that  could 
be  devised.  Often,  indeed,  did  my  imagination, 
in  passing  some  isle  of  those  seas,  people  it  with 
fair  forms  and  loving  hearts,  to  which  most  will- 
ingly would  I  have  paused  to  offer  homage. 
2nt  the  wind  blew  direct  towards  the  land  of 
Mystery  ;  and,  still  more,  I  heard  a  voice  within 
me,  whisi>ering  forever  "  On." 

As  we  approached  the  coast  of  Egypt,  our 
course  became  less  prosperous  ;  and  we  had  a 
specimen  of  the  benevolence  of  the  divinities 
cf  the  Nile,  in  the  shape  of  a  storm,  or  rather 
whirlwind,  which  had  nearly  sunk  our  vessel, 
and  whi<  h  the  Egyptians  on  board  declared  to 
be  the  work  of  their  deity,  Typhon.  After  a 
day  and  night  of  danger,  during  which  we  were 
driven  out  of  our  course  to  the  eastward,  some 
benigner  influence  prevailed  above ;  and,  at 
length,  as  the  morning  freshly  broke,  we  saw 
the  bt-autiful  city  of  Alexandria  rising  from  the 
sea,  with  its  proud  Palace  of  Kings,  its  portico 
of  four  hundred  columns,  and  the  fair  Pillar  of 
Pillars,'  towering  in  the  midst  to  heaven. 

After  passing  in  review  this  splendid  vision, 
^e  shot  rapidly  round  the  Rock  of  Pharos,  and, 
In  a  few  minutes,  found  ourselves  in  the  harbor 
of  Eunostus.  The  sun  had  risen,  but  the  light 
on  the  Great  Tower  of  the  Rock  was  still  bum- 

1  Morp  properly,  perhaps,  "  the  Column  of  the  Pillars." 
Vide  Abdalatif,  Relation  de  l'Eg>-pte,  and  the  notes  of  M. 
it  Stey.  7'he  great  portico  around  this  column  (formerly 
denignated  Pompey's,  but  now  known  to  have  been  erected 
in  honor  uf  Diocletian)  was  still  standing,  M.  de  Sary  says, 
in  the  lime  of  Saladiu     Vide  Lord  Fnlnttia'*  TraseU. 


ing  ;  and  there  was  a  languor  in  the  first  waking 
movements  of  that  voluptuous  city  —  whose 
houses  and  temples  lay  shining  in  silence  around 
the  harbor  —  that  sufficiently  attested  the  fes- 
tivities of  the  preceding  night. 

We  were  soon  landed  on  the  quay  ;  and  as  1 
walked,  through  a  line  of  palaces  and  shrines,  up 
the  street  which  leads  from  the  sea  to  the  Oate 
of  Canopus,  fresh  as  I  was  from  the  contempla- 
tion  of  my  own  lovely  Athens,  I  yet  felt  a  glow 
of  admiration  at  the  scene  around  me,  which 
its  novelty,  even  more  than  its  magnificence,  in- 
spired. Nor  were  the  luxuries  and  delights, 
which  such  a  city  promised,  among  the  least  of 
the  considerations  upon  which  my  fancy  dwelt 
On  the  contrary,  every  thing  around  mo  seemed 
prophetic  of  love  and  pleasure.  The  very  formt 
of  the  architecture,  to  my  Epicurean  imagina- 
tion, appeared  to  call  up  images  of  living  grace 
and  even  the  dim  seclusion  of  the  temples  ant 
groves  spoke  only  of  tender  mysteries  to  ra) 
mind.  As  the  whole  bright  scene  grew  ani- 
mated around  me,  I  felt  that  though  Egypt  might 
not  enable  me  to  lengthen  life,  she  could  teach 
the  next  best  art  —  that  of  multiplying  its  en- 
jo  j-ments. 

The  population  of  Alexandria,'  at  this  period, 
consisted  of  the  most  motley  miscellany  of  na- 
tions, religions,  and  sects,  that  had  ever  been 
brought  together  in  one  city.  Beside  the  school 
of  the  Grecian  PlatonLst  was  seen  the  cratorv 
of  the  cabalistic  Jew ;  while  the  church  of  tht 
Christian  stood,  undisturbed,  over  the  crypts  oi 
the  Egyptian  Hierophant.  Here,  the  adorer  of 
Fire,  from  the  East,  laughed  at  the  less  elegant 
superstition  of  the  worshipper  of  cats  from  th«> 
West.  Here  Christianity,  too,  had  learned  to 
emulate  the  pious  vagaries  of  Paganism  ;  and 
while,  on  one  side,  her  Ophite  professor  was 
seen  bending  his  knee  gravely  before  a  serpent, 
on  the  other,  a  Nicosian  Christian  was  heard 
contending,  with  no  less  gravity,  that  there  could 
be  no  chance  whatever  of  salvation  out  of  th< 
pale  of  the  Greek  alphabet.  Still  worse,  thf 
uncharitableness  of  Christian  schism  was  already, 
with  equal  vigor,  distinguishing  itself ;  and  I 
heard  every  where,  on  my  arrival,  of  the  fi'rw 
rancor  and  hate,  with  which  the  Greek  and 
Latin  churchmen  were  then  persecuting  each 

*  Ammianus  thus  speaks  of  the  state  of  Alexr'^dria  In  hk 
time,  which  was,  I  believe,  as  late  as  the  end  of  the  fourta 
century:  —  "  Ne  nunc  quidem  in  eadem  urtie  Dr<'trin»  rt 
ric  silent,  non  apud  noe  eziruit  Musica  nee  HannorU  co« 
tirniL"  —  Lili.  22. 


690 


THE  EnCirREAN. 


other,  because,  forsooth,  the  one  fasted  on  the 
seventh  day  of  the  week,  and  the  others  fasted 
upon  the  fourth  and  sixth  ! 

To  none,  however,  of  these  differert  creeds 
and  sects,  except  in  as  far  as  thej'  furnished  food 
for  ridicule,  had  I  time  to  pay  much  attention. 
I  was  now  in  the  most  luxurious  city  of  the 
universe,  and  accordingly  gave  way.  without 
reserve,  to  the  various  seductions  that  sur- 
rounded me.  My  reputation,  both  as  a  philoso- 
pher and  a  man  of  pleasure,  had  preceded  mv 
coming  ;  and  Alexandria,  the  second  Athens  of 
the  world,  welcomed  me  as  her  own,  I  found 
my  celebrity,  indeed,  act  as  a  talisman,  that 
opened  all  hearts  and  doors  at  my  approach. 
The  usual  novitiate  of  acquaintance  was  dis- 
pensed with  in  my  favor,  and  not  only  intimacies, 
but  loves  and  friendships,  ripened  as  rapidly  in 
my  path,  as  vegetation  springs  up  where  the 
Nile  has  flowed.  The  dark  beauty  of  the  Egyp- 
tian women '  possessed  a  novelty  in  my  eyes 
that  enhanced  its  other  charms;  and  the  hue 
left  by  the  sun  on  their  rounded  cheeks  seemed 
but  an  earnest  of  the  genial  ardor  he  must  have 
kindled  in  their  hearts  — 

Th'  imbrowning  of  the  fruit,  that  tells, 

How  rich  within  the  soul  o.' sweemess  dwells. 

Some  weeks  had  now  passed  in  such  constant 
and  ever-changing  pleasures,  that  even  the  mel- 
ancholy voice  deep  within  my  heart,  thoush  it 
Btill  spoke,  was  but  seldom  listened  to,  and  soon 
died  away  in  the  sound  of  the  siren  songs  that 
surrounded  me.     At  length,  as  the  novelty  of 


1  Fri'm  the  character  of  the  features  of  the  Sphinx,  and  a 
)  XEsagG  in  Herodotvis,  describing  the  Egj'ptians  as  fxcXay- 
\^jti  Kui  ov'^orptxsi,  Voloey,  Bruce,  and  a  few  other!<, 
liave  concluded  that  the  ancient  inhabitants  of  Egypt  were 
negroes.  But  this  opinion  is  contradicted  by  a  host  of  au- 
thorities. See  Castera's  notes  upon  Browne's  Travels,  for 
the  result  of  BUimenbach's  dissection  of  a  variety  of  nuiin- 
niies.  Denon,  speaking  of  the  character  of  the  heads  repre- 
Bented  in  the  ancient  sculpture  and  painting  of  Egypt,  says, 
"Celle  des  femmes  resseinble  encore  k  la  figure  des  jolies 
femmes  J'aujourd'hui :  de  la  rondeur,  de  la  volupt6,  le  nez 
petit,  l83  yeux  longs,  peu  ouvert?,"&c.&c.  He  could  judge, 
tfo,  he  says,  fr  )in  tlio  female  mummies, "  que  leurs  cheveux 
itci^nt  longs  et  lisses,  que  le  caractAre  de  tete  de  la  plupart 
tenc it  du  beau  style." — "  Je  rapportai,"  he  adds,  "  une  tete 
ie  vieille^femme  qui  etoit  aussi  belle  que  celles  de  Micbel- 
Angc,  et  leur  ressembloit  beaucoup." 

In  a  "  Description  gCHerali  de  Thibes,"  by  Messrs.  Jollois 
tt  Dcsvilliers,  they  sa) , "  Toutes  les  sculptures  Egyptiennes, 
4epuis  les  plus  grands  colosses  de  Thebes  jusqu'aux  plus  pe- 
utes  idwes,  ne  nppclent  en  aucune  maniire  les  traits  de  la 
Ugure  ues  n^gres;  outre  que  les  tetes  des  momies  des  cata- 
C4.>nibesi  de  Tlifebes  pKiseatent  des  profils  droits."  (See  also 
M-  Jomari's  "  Description  of  Syene  and  tlie  Cataracts," 
Barm  LvTey,  on  the  "  conformation  physique  "  n(  the  Egyp- 


I  these  gay  scenes  wore  off,  the  same  vague  tad 
gloomy  bodings  began  to  mingle  with  all  my 
joys ;   and  an  incident  that  occurred,  at  thii 

j  time,  during  one  of  my  gayest  revels,  conduced 

I  still  more  to  deepen  their  gloom. 

I  The  celebration  of  the  annual  festival  of 
Serapis  happened  to  take  place  during  my  stay, 
and  I  was,  more  than  once,  induced  to  mingle 
with  the  gay  multitudes  that  flocked  to  the 
shrine  at  Canopus  on  the  occasion.  Day  and 
night,  as  long  as  this  festival  lasted,  the  great 
canal,  which  led  from  Alexandria  to  Canopus, 
was  covered  with  boats  full  of  pilgrims  of  both 
sexes,  all  hastening  to  avail  themselves  of  this 
pious  license,  which  lent  the  zest  of  a  religious 
sanction  to  pleasure,  and  gave  a  holiday  to  the 
follies  and  passions  of  earth,  in  honor  of  heaven. 
I  was  returning,  one  lovely  night,  to  Alexan- 
dria. The  north  wind,  that  welcome  visitor,  had 
cooled  and  freshened  the  air,  while  the  banks, 
on  either  side  of  the  stream,  sent  forth,  from 
groves  of  orange  and  henna,  the  most  delicious 
odors.  As  I  had  left  all  the  crowd  behind  me 
at  Canopus,  there  was  not  a  boat  to  be  seen  on 
the  canal  but  my  own ;  and  I  was  just  yield- 
ing to  the  thoughts  which  solitude  at  such  an 
hour  inspires,  when  my  reveries  were  suddenly 
broken  by  the  sound  of  some  female  voices, 
coming  mingled  with  laughter  and  screams, 
trom  the  garden  of  a  pavilion,  that  stood,  bril- 
liantly illuminated,  upon  the  bank  of  the  canaL 
On  rowing  nearer,  I  perceived  that  both  the 
mirth  apd  the  alarm  had  been  cauied  by  the 


tians,  &,c.)  But  the  «nost  satisfactory  refutation  of  the  opin- 
ion of  Volney  has  been  afforded  within  theso  few  years,  by 
Doctor  Granville,  who  having  been  lucKy  enough  to  obtain 
possession  of  a  perfect  female  mummy,  has,  by  the  dissec 
tion  and  admeasurement  of  its  form,  completely  t.<stablished 
the  fact,  that  the  ancient  Egyptians  were  of  the  Caucasian 
race,  not  of  the  Ethiopian.  See  this  gentleman's  curioua 
"  Etsay  on  Egyptian  Mummies,"  read  before  the  Royal  Soci. 
ety,  April  14,  1825. 

De  Pauw,  the  great  depredator  of  everything  Eg>ntian, 
has,  on  the  authority  of  a  passage  in  ./Elian,  presumed  ts 
affix  to  the  countrywomen  of  Cleopatra  the  stigma  of  o  lO- 
plete  and  unredeemed  ugliness.  The  following  line  of  El 
ripides,  however,  is  an  answer  to  such  charges :  — 

NciAov  nev  alSc  KaWtvapOcvot  poai. 

In  addition  to  the  celebrated  instances  of  Cleopatra,  Rho- 
dope,  &.C.  we  are  told,  ,j)  the  authority  of  Manetho  (as  given 
by  Zoega  from  Georgius  ?y.icellus),  of  a  beautiful  queen  of 
Memphis,  Nitocris,  of  the  sixth  dynasty,  who,  in  addition  to 
other  charms  and  perfections,  was  (rather  inconsistently 
with  the  negro  hypothesis)  ^avdn  rrjv  xpoiav,  i.  t.  yeliov 
haired. 

See  foi  a  tribute  to  the  beauty  of  the  Egyptian  woomb, 
Montesquieu's  Temple  de  Guide. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


»fFort8  of  Sf  /ne  plaj-ful  girls  to  reach  a  hedge  of 
asniine  w).ich  grew  near  tie  water,  and  in 
bending  towards  which  they  had  nearly  fallen 
into  the  stream.  Hastening  to  proffer  my  as- 
iiist  ance,  I  soon  recognized  the  voice  of  one  of 
ny  lair  Alexandrian  friends,  and,  springing  on 
he  bank,  was  surrounded  by  the  whole  group, 
who  insisted  on  my  joining  their  party  in  the 
parilion,  and  having  flung  around  me,  as  fetters, 
the  tendrils  of  jasmine,  which  they  had  just 
J  lucked,  conducted  me,  no  unwilling  captive, 
to  the  banquet  room.  • 

I  found  here  an  assemblage  of  the  very  flower 
of  Alexandrian  society.  The  unexpectednesi  of 
the  meeting  added  new  zest  to  it  on  both  sides ; 
and  seldom  had  I  ever  felt  more  enlivened  my- 
self, or  succeeded  better  in  infusing  life  and 
gayety  into  others. 

Among  the  company  were  some  Greek  women, 
who,  according  to  the  fashion  of  their  country, 
wore  veils  ;  but,  as  usual,  rather  to  set  off  than 
to  conceal  their  beauty,  some  bright  gleams  of 
which  were  constantly  escaping  from  under  the 
cloud.  There  was,  however,  one  female,  who 
particularly  attracted  my  attention,  on  whose 
head  was  a  chaplet  of  dark-colored  flowers,  and 
who  sat  veiled  and  silent  during  the  whole  of 
the  banquet.  She  took  no  share,  I  observed,  in 
what  was  passing  around  :  the  viands  and  the 
wine  went  by  her  untouched,  nor  did  a  word 
that  was  spoken  seem  addressed  to  her  ear. 
This  abstraction  from  a  scene  so  sparkling  with 
gayety,  though  apparently  unnoticed  by  any  one 
but  myself,  struck  me  fts  mysterious  and  strange. 
I  inquired  of  my  fair  neighbor  the  cause  of  it, 
but  she  looked  grave  and  was  silent. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  lyre  and  the  cup  went 
round ;  and  a  young  maid  from  Athens,  as  if 
Inspired  by  the  presence  of  her  countryman, 
took  her  lute,  and  sung  to  it  some  of  the  songs 
of  Greece,  with  a  warmth  of  feeling  that  bore 
me  back  to  the  banks  of  the  Ilissus,  and,  even 
in  the  bosom  of  present  pleasure,  drew  a  sigh 
from  my  heart  for  that  which  had  passed  away. 
It  was  daybreak  ere  our  delighted  party  ro.^e, 
fcnd  n  ost  unwillingly  refimbarked  to  return  to 
the  ciiy. 

We  wore  scarce  afloat,  when  it  was  discovered 
,nat  the  lute  of  the  young  Athenian  had  been 
left  behind  ;  and,  with  a  heart  still  full  of  its 
»weet  soundfl,  I  most  readily  sprang  On  shore  to 
•cck  it.  I  hastened  at  once  to  the  banquet 
oom,  which  was  now  dim  and  solitary,  except 
hat — there,  to  my  utter  astonishment,  was 
till  seated  that  silent  figure,  ^hich  had  awa- 


kened so  much  my  curiosity  during  the  evening 
A  vague  feeling  of  awe  came  over  me,  as  I  now 
slowly  approached  it.  There  was  no  motioa 
no  sound  of  breathing  in  that  form ;  —  not  a 
leaf  of  the  dark  chaplet  upon  its  brow  stirred 
By  the  light  of  a  dying  lamp  which  stood  on 
the  table  before  the  figure,  I  raised,  with  • 
hesitating  hand,  the  veil ;  and  saw  —  what  my 
fancy  had  already  anticipated  —  that  the  shape 
underneath  was  lifeless,  was  a  skeleton  !  Startled 
and  shocked,  I  hurried  back  with  the  lute  tc 
the  boat,  and  was  almost  as  silent  as  that  shape 
itself  during  the  remainder  of  the  voyage. 

This  custom  among  the  Egyptians  of  placing 
a  mummy,  or  skeleton,  at  the  banquet  table, 
had  been  for  some  time  disused,  except  at  par- 
ticular ceremonies;  and,  even  on  such  occasions, 
it  had  been  the  practice  of  the  luxurious  Alex- 
andrians to  disguise  this  memorial  of  mortality 
in  the  manner  just  described.  But  to  me,  who 
was  wholly  unprepared  for  such  a  spectacle,  it 
gave  a  shock  from  which  my  imagination  did 
not  speedily  recover.  This  silent  and  ghastly 
witness  of  mirth  seemed  to  embody,  as  it  were, 
the  shadow  in  my  own  heart.  The  features  of 
the  grave  were  thus  stamped  upon  the  idea  that 
had  long  haunted  me,  and  this  picture  of  what 
I  was  to  he  now  associated  itself  constantly  with 
the  sunniest  aspect  of  what  I  voa*. 

The  memory  of  the  dream  now  recurred  to 
me  more  livelily  than  ever.  The  bright,  assur- 
ing smile  of  that  venerable  Spirit,  and  his 
words,  "  Go  to  the  shores  of  the  dark  Nile,  and 
thou  wilt  find  the  eternal  life  thou  seekest," 
were  forever  present  to  my  mind.  But  as  yet, 
alas,  I  had  done  nothing  towards  realizing  the 
proud  promise.  Alexandria  was  not  Egypt ;  — 
the  very  soil  on  which  it  now  stood  was  not  in 
existence,  when  already  Thebes  and  Memphis 
had  numbered  ages  of  glory. 

"  No,"  I  exclaimed ;  "  it  is  only  beneath  the 
Pyramids  of  Memphis,  or  in  the  mystic  Halls 
of  the  Labyrinth,  those  holy  arcana  are  to  be 
found,  of  which  the  antedeluvian  world  has 
made  Egypt  its  heir,  and  among  which  —  blest 
thought !  —  the  key  to  eternal  life  may  lie." 

Having  formed  my  determination,  I  took  leave 
of  my  many  Alexandrian  Mends,  and  departed 
for  Memphis. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

EoYPT  was,  perhaps,  of  all  others,  the  country 
most  calculated,  from  that  mixture  of  the  mel- 


uncholy  and  the  voluptuous,  which  marked  the 
character  of  her  people,  her  religion,  and  her 
Bcencry,  to  affect  deeply  a  fancy  and  tempera- 
ment like  mine,  and  keep  both  forever  trem- 
blingly alive.  Wherever  I  turned,  I  beheld  the 
desert  and  the  garden,  mingling  together  their 
desolation  and  bloom.  I  saw  the  love  bower 
and  the  tomb  standing  side  by  side,  as  if,  in  that 
land.  Pleasure  and  Death  kept  hourly  watch 
npon  each  other.  In  the  very  luxury  of  the 
climate  there  was  the  same  saddening  influence. 
The  monotonous  splendor  of  the  days,  the  sol- 
emn radiance  of  the  nights  —  all  tended  to  cher- 
ish that  ardent  melancholy,  the  offspring  of 
passion  and  of  thought,  which  had  been  so  long 
the  familiar  inmate  of  my  soul. 

When  I  sailed  from  Alexandria,  the  inunda- 
tion of  the  Nile  was  at  its  full.  The  whole 
valley  of  Egypt  fay  covered  by  its  flood  ;  and, 
ns,  looking  around  me,  I  saw  in  the  light  of  the 
Betting  sun,  shrines,  palaces,  and  monuments, 
encircled  by  the  waters,  I  could  almost  fancy 
that  I  beheld  the  sinking  island  of  Atalantis,  on 
the  last  evening  its  temples  were  visible  above 
the  wave.  Such  varieties,  too,  of  animation  as 
presented  themselves  on  every  S'ide  !  — 


While,  far  as  sight  could  reach,  beneath  as  clear 
And  blue  a  heaven  as  ever  blessM  tliis  sphere, 
Gardens,  and  pillar'd  streets,  and  porphyry  domea, 
And  high-built  temples,  fit  to  be  the  homes 
Of  mighty  gods  —  and  pyramids,  whose  hour 
Outlasts  all  time,  above  the  waters  tower ! 

Then,  too,  the  scenes  of  pomp  and  joy,  that  make 

One  theatre  of  this  vast  peopled  lake. 

Where  all  that  Love,  Religion,  Commerce  gives 

Of  life  and  motion,  ever  moves  and  lives. 

Here,  up  the  steps  of  temples,  from  the  wave 

Ascending,  in  procession  slow  and  grave. 

Priests,  in  white  garments,  go,  witli  sacred  wands 

And  silver  cymbals  gleaming  in  their  hands: 

Wliile,  there,  rich  barks  —  fresh  from  those  sunny  tracts 

Far  off,  beyond  the  sounding  cataracts  — 

Glido  with  their  precious  lading  to  the  sea. 

Plumes  of  bright  birds,  rhinoceros'  ivory. 

Gems  from  the  Isle  of  Meriie,  and  those  grains 

Of  gold,  wash'd  down  by  Abyssinian  rains. 

Hare,  where  the  waters  wind  into  a  bay 
Rnadowy  and  cool,  some  pilgrims  on  their  way 

1  Vide  Strabo. 

S  To  (?'  cv  "Zaci  Ti7f  AOrjvai,  fiv  koi  Ictiv  voiit^ov(7iv,  t^og, 
l!!fypa(priv  £x^t  Toiavrriv,  Ej-w  ti^i  rrav  to  yeyovoi,  KOt  ov 
»«(  cudficvoi/,  KOI  Tov  cp.oi>  TeTrAoc  ovSn;  iru)  aTeKaXv\pcv, 
Tlutarch.  de  hid.  et  Osir. 

3  Deli,  en  remontant  toiijours  le  Nil,  on  trouve  i  deux 
Mnt  c.nquante  pas,  ou  environ  de  la  Matar£e,  les  traces  de 


To  Sai's  or  Buhastiis,  among  beds 

Of  lotus  flowersji  that  close  above  their  heads, 

Push  their  light  barks,  and  hid,  as  In  a  bower, 

Sing,  talk,  or  sleep  away  the  sultry  hour; 

While  haply,  not  far  off,  beneath  a  bank 

Of  blossoming  acacias,  many  a  prank 

Is  play'd  in  the  cool  current  by  a  train 

Of  laughing  nymphs,  lovely  as  she,  whose  chain 

Around  two  conquerors  of  the  world  was  cast, 

But,  for  a  third  too  feeble,  broke  at  last ! 

Enchanted  with  the  whole  scene,  I  lingered 
delightedly  on  my  voyage,  visiting  all  those  luxu- 
rious and  venerable  places,  whose  names  have 
been  consecrated  by  the  wonder  of  ages.  At 
Sals  I  was  present  during  her  Festival  of  Lamps, 
and  read,  by  the  blaze  of  innumerable  lights, 
those  sublime  words  on  the  temple  of  Neftha  :  * 
—  "I  am  all  that  has  been,  that  is,  and  that 
will  be,  and  no  man  hath  ever  lifted  my  veil.' ' 
I  wandered  among  the  prostrate  obelisks  of  He- 
liopolis,-'  and  saw,  not  without  a  sigh,  the  sun 
smiling  over  her  ruins,  as  if  in  mockery  of  the 
mass  of  perishable  grandeur,  that  had  once 
called  itself,  in  its  pride,  '♦  The  City  of  the  Sun." 
But  to  the  Isle  of  the  Golden  Venus*  was,  I 
own,  my  fondest  pilgrimage ;  —  and  there,  as  I 
rambled  through  its  shades,  where  bowers  are 
the  only  temples,  I  felt  how  far  more  worthy  to 
form  the  shrine  of  a  Deity  are  the  ever-living 
stems  of  the  garden  and  the  grove,  than  the 
most  precious  columns  the  inanimate  quarry 
can  supply. 

Every  where  new  pleasures,  new  interests 
awaited  me  ;  and  though  Melancholy  stood,  as 
usual,  forever  near,  her  shadow  fell  but  half 
way  over  my  vagrant  path,  leaving  the  rest  but 
more  welcomely  brilliant  from  the  contrast. 
To  relate  my  various  adventures,  during  this 
short  voyage,  would  only  detain  me  from  events, 
far,  far  more  worthy  of  record.  Amidst  all  this 
endless  variety  of  attractions,  the  great  object 
of  my  journey  had  been  foi gotten ;  —  the  mys- 
teries of  this  land  of  the  sun  still  remained,  to 
me,  as  much  mysteries  as  ever,  and  as  yet  I  had 
been  initiated  in  nothing  but  its  pleasures. 

It  was  not  till  that  memorable  evening,  when 
I  first  stood  before  the  Pyramids  of  Memphis, 
and  beheld  them  towering  aloft,  like  the  watch 
towers   of    Time,   from   whose   summit,   when 


I'ancienne  H^liopolis,  ou  Ville  de  Soleil,  i  qui  ce  lieu  ^tol 
particulidrement  Consaor6.  C'est  pour  cette  raison  qu'on 
I'appelloit  encore  I'ffiil,  ou  la  Fontaine  du  Soleil.  Maillci, 
*  "  On  trouve  une  lie  appelie  Venus-Dor^e,  ou  le  cham| 
d'or,  avant  de  remonter  jusqu'4  Memphis  "  Voyiges  ie  P^ 
thaaore. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


09w 


tbout  to  expire,  he  will  look  his  last  —  it  was 
*ot  till  this  moment  that  the  great  secret  an- 
nounced in  my  dream  again  rose,  in  all  its  in- 
scrutable darkness,  upon  my  thoughts.  There 
was  a  solemnity  in  the  sunshine  resting  upon 
those  monuments  —  a  stillness,  as  of  reverence, 
in  the  air  that  breathed  around  them,  which 
seemed  to  steal,  like  the  music  of  past  times, 
into  my  heart.  I  thought  what  myriads  of  the 
wise,  the  beautiful,  and  the  brave,  had  sunk 
Into  dust  since  earth  first  saw  those  wonders ; 
and,  in  the  sadness  of  my  soul,  I  exclaimed,  — 
"  Must  man  alone,  then,  perish  ?  must  minds 
and  hearts  be  annihilated,  while  pyramids  en- 
dure ?  O,  Death,  Death !  even  upon  these 
everlasting  tablets  —  the  only  approach  to  im- 
mortality that  kings  themselves  could  purchase 
—  thou  hast  written  our  doom  awfully,  and 
intelligibly,  saying,  *  There  is  for  man  no  eter- 
nal mansion  but  the  grave  ! '  " 

My  heart  sunk  at  the  thought ;  and,  for  the 
moment,  I  yielded  to  that  desolate  feeling, 
■Rrhich  overspreads  the  soul  that  hath  no  light 
from  the  future.  But  again  the  buoyancy  of 
my  nature  prevailed,  and  again,  the  willing  dupe 
of  vain  dreams,  I  deluded  myself  into  the  be- 
lief of  all  that  my  heart  most  wished,  with  that 
happy  facility  which  enables  imagination  to 
stand  in  the  place  of  happiness.  "  Yes,"  I 
cried,  "  immortality  must  be  within  man's  reach  ; 
and,  as  wisdom  alone  is  worthy  of  such  a  bless- 
ing, to  the  wise  alone  must  the  secret  have  been 
revealed.  It  is  said,  that  deep,  under  yonder 
pyramid,  has  lain  for  ages  concealed  the  Table  of 
Emerald,'  on  which  the  Thrice- Great  Hermes, 
in  times  before  the  flood,  engraved  the  secret  of 
Alchemy,  which  gives  gold  at  will.  Why,  then, 
may  not  the  mightier,  the  more  godlike  secret, 
that  gives  life  at  will,  be  recorded  there  also  ? 
It  was  by  the  power  of  gold,  of  endless  gold, 
that  the  kings,  who  now  repose  in  those  massy 
structures,  scooped  earth  to  its  very  centre,  and 
raised  quarries  into  the  air,  to  provide  for  them- 
selves tombs  that  might  outstand  the  world. 
Who  can  tell  but  that  the  gift  of  immortality 

1  For  an  account  of  the  Table  of  Emerald,  vide  Lettr— 
lur  POrij^ne  dtt  Dieuz  d^Erijpte.  De  Paute  supposes  it  to 
oe  a  modern  Oction  of  tlie  Aralis.  Many  writers  have  fan- 
cied that  tlie  art  of  making  gold  was  the  great  secret  that 
ay  hid  under  '.ho  forms  of  Egyptian  theology.  "  La  science 
llerin^tique,"  says  the  Benedictine,  Pernetz,  "  I'art  sacertlo- 
tal,  ^tuit  la  source  de  toutea  lea  richesses  des  Rois  d'Bgypte, 
It  I'objot  de  ces  rr.ys'dres  si  caches  soui  le  voile  de  leur  pr4- 
«ndue  Seli«  an.'*  I'^bUs  Egyptiennei.  The  hieroglyphs, 
tuu  (>  ir«tly  wverad  the  Pyramids,  are  auppoaed  by  some 


was  also  theirs?  who  knows  but  thst  they 
themselves,  triumphant  over  decay,  still  live ;  — 
those  mighty  mansions,  which  we  call  tombs, 
being  rich  and  everlasting  palaces,  within  whoss 
depths,  concealed  from  this  withering  world, 
they  still  wander,  with  the  few  Elect  who  havt 
been  sharers  of  their  gift,  through  a  sunks*»  but 
ever  illuminated,  elysium  of  their  own  ?  Klso^ 
wherefore  those  structures  r  wherefore  thut  sub- 
terraneaix  realm,  by  which  the  whole  valley  ol 
Egypt  is  undermined  ?  ^Vhy,  else,  those  laby- 
rinths, which  none  of  earth  hath  ever  behold  — 
which  none  of  heaven,  except  that  God,  who 
stands,  with  finger  on  his  hushed  lip,*  hath  ever 
trodden  ? " 

While  thus  I  indulged  in  fond  dreams,  the 
sun,  already  half  sunk  beneath  the  horizon,  ■%-ai 
taking,  calmly  and  gloriously,  his  last  look  of 
the  Pyramids  —  as  he  had  done,  evening  aftei 
evening,  for  ages,  till  they  had  grown  familiar 
to  him  as  the  earth  itself.  On  the  side  turned 
to  his  ray  they  now  presented  a  front  of  daz 
zling  whiteness,'  while,  on  the  other,  their  great 
shadows,  lengthening  away  to  the  eastward, 
looked  like  the  first  steps  of  Night,  hastening 
to  envelop  the  hills  of  Araby  in  her  shade. 

No  sooner  had  the  last  gleam  of  the  sun  dis- 
appeared, than,  on  every  housetop  in  Memphis, 
gay,  gilded  banners  were  seen  waving  aloft,  to 
proclaim  his  setting  —  while,  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, a  full  burst  of  harmony  was  heard  to  peal 
from  all  the  temples  along  the  shores. 

Startled  from  my  musing  by  these  sounds,  I 
at  once  recollected,  that,  on  that  very  evening, 
the  great  festival  of  the  Moon  was  to  be  cele- 
brated. On  a  little  island,  half  way  over  be- 
tween the  gardens  of  Memphis  and  the  eastern 
shore,  stood  the  temple  of  that  goddess. 


whose  beams 
Bring  the  sweet  time  of  night  flowers  and  dream* 
AVit  the  cold  Dian  of  the  North,  who  cliains 
In  vestal  ice  the  current  of  young  veins ; 
But  she,  who  haunts  the  gay,  Bubastian  *  grove. 
And  owns  she  sees,  from  her  bright  hcav'n  tuove, 
Nothing  on  earth,  to  match  that  heav Y,  but  lov* ' 

of  these  writen  to  relate  to  the  same  art.    See  MtiU.t  Lit*' 
RupelltB. 

*  "  Enfln  Flarpocrate  reprtsentoit  auasi  le  soleil.  11  eel 
vrai  que  cVtoit  le  Uieu  du  Hilence  ;  il  niettoit  le  dcigt  si  r  la 
bouche  parce  qu'on  adoruit  le  soleil  avec  un  respecti.eui 
silence,  et  c'e«t  de  U  qu'e>t  venu  le  Sigi  des  BasilidicDS,  qu' 
tiroient  leur  origine  de  I'Egypte."    Btausobrt.  • 

1  "  By  reflecting  the  sun's  rays,"  snys  Clark*,  speakini 
of  the  Pyramids,  "  they  npftcared  white  as  snow." 

*  For  Bulastis,  tlie  Uiana  of  tiie  Egyptians.  —  Vid»  t* 
Vmuki,  lib.  ii.  cap.  4 


<94 


THE  EPICUREAN". 


Thus  did  I  exclaim,  in  the  words  of  one  of 
their  own  Egyptian  poets,  as,  anticipating  the 
various  delights  of  the  festival,  I  cast  away  from 
toy  mind  all  gloomy  thoughts,  and,  hastening  to 
my  little  bark,  in  which  I  now  lived  the  life  of 
a  Nile  bird,  on  the  waters,  steered  my  course  to 
the  island  temple  of  the  Moon. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Tke  rising  of  the  Moon,  slow  and  majestic,  as 
if  conscious  of  the  honors  that  awaited  her  upon 
earth,  was  welcomed  with  a  loud  acclaim  from 
every  eminence,  where  multitudes  stood  watch- 
ing for  her  first  light.  And  seldom  had  that 
light  risen  upon  a  more  beautiful  scene.  The 
city  of  Memphis  —  still  grand,  though  no  longer 
the  unrivalled  Memphis,  that  had  borne  away 
from  Thebes  the  crown  of  supremacy,  and  worn 
it  undisputed  through  ages  —  now,  softened  by 
the  mild  moonlight  that  harmonized  with  her 
decline,  shone  forth  among  her  lakes,  her  pyra- 
mids, and  her  shrines,  like  one  of  those  dreams 
of  human  glory  that  must  ere  long  pass  away. 
Even  already  ruin  was  visible  around  her.  The 
sands  of  the  Libyan  desert  were  gaining  upon 
her  like  a  sea ;  and  there,  among  solitary  col  ■ 
umns  and  sphinxes,  already  half  sunk  from  sight. 
Time  seemed  to  stand  waiting,  till  all  that  now 
flourished  around  him  should.  faU  benenth  las 
desolating  hand,  like  the  rest. 

On  the  waters  all  was  gayety  asid  life.  As  far 
as  eye  could  reach,  the  lights  of  innumerable 
boats  were  seen  studding,  like  rubies,  the  sur- 
face of  the  stream.  Yessels  of  every  kind  — 
from  the  light  coraeie,'  built  for  shooting  down 
the  cataracts,  to  tne  large  yacht  that  glides  slowly 
to  the  sound  of  flutes  —  all  were  afloat  for  this 
«acred  festival,  filled  with  crowds  of  the  young 
and  the  gay,  not  only  from  Memphis  and  Baby- 
^lo-Q,  but  from  cities  still  far*-her  removed  from 
th;  f€£tal  scene. 

•  Vide  Amailhnu,  "  Histoire  de  la  JVavi^ation  et  du  Com- 
nrrce  dts  Egiptiens  sous  les  Ptolemies."  See  also,  for  a  de- 
JKription  of  the  various  kinds  of  boats  used  on  the  Nile, 
Maillet,  torn   i.  p.  98. 

s  Vide  Maurice,  Appendix  to  "Ruins  of  Babylon." 
Another  reason,  he  says,  for  their  worship  of  tlie  Ibis, 
"  founded  on  their  love  of  geometry,  was  (according  to  Plu- 
Isroh)  that  the  space  between  its  legs,  when  parted  asunder, 
V  it  walks,  together  with  its  beak,  forms  a  complete  equi- 
«teial  triangle."  From  the  examination  of  the  embalmed 
bit'ls,  foi  nd  in  the  Catacombs  of  ."^accara,  there  seems  to  be 
t(    loubt  that  the  Ibii  vas  the  same  kind  of  bird  as  that 


As  I  approached  the  island,  I  cou'  I  seti,  glit« 
tering  through  the  trees  on  the  bank,  the  lampi 
of  the  pilgrims  hastening  to  the  ceremony 
Landing  in  the  direction  which  \  ose  light! 
pointed  out,  I  soon  joined  the  c«  'wd ;  and, 
passing  through  a  long  alley  of  fcphitixes,  whoso 
spangling  marble  gleamed  out  froin  the  dark  syca- 
mores around  them,  reached  in  a  short  time  lh« 
grand  vestibule  of  the  temple,  where  I  found 
the  ceremonies  of  the  evening  already  com- 
menced. 

In  this  vast  hall,  which  was  surrounded  by  a 
double  range  of  columns,  and  lay  open  over- 
head to  the  stars  of  heaven,  I  saw  a  group  of 
young  maidens,  moving  in  a  sort  of  measured 
step,  between  walk  and  dance,  round  a  small 
shrine,  upon  which  stood  one  of  those  sacred 
birds,"  that,  on  account  of  the  variegated  color 
of  their  wings,  are  dedicated  to  the  worship  of 
the  moon.  The  vestibule  was  dimly  lighted  — 
there  being  but  one  lamp  of  naptha  hung  on 
each  of  tVie  great  pillars  that  encircled  it.  But, 
having  taken  my  station  beside  one  of  those 
pillars,  I  had  a  clear  view  of  the  young  dancers, 
as  in  succession  they  passed  me. 

The  drapery  of  all  was  white  as  snow ;  and 
each  wore  looselv,  beneath  the  bosom,  a  dark- 
blue  zone,  0!f  bandelet,  studded,  like  the  skies 
at  midnight,  with  small  silver  stars.  Through 
their  dark  locks  was  wreathed  the  white  lily  of 
the  Nile  —  that  sacred  flower  being  accounted 
no  less  welcome  to  the  moon,  than  the  golden 
blossoms  of  the  bean  flower '  are  known  to  be 
to  the  sun.  As  they  passed  under  the  lamp,  a 
gleam  of  light  flashed  from  their  bosoms,  which, 
I  could  perceive,  was  the  reflection  of  a  small 
mirror,  that,  in  the  manner  of  the  women  of  the 
East,  each  of  the  dancers  wore  beneath  her  left 
shoulder. 

There  was  no  music  to  regulate  their  steps ; 
but,  as  they  gracefully  went  round  the  bird  on 
the  shrine,  some,  to  the  beat  of  the  Castanet, 
some,  to  the  shrill  ring  of  a  sistrum  *  —  which 
they  held  uplifted  in  the  attitude  of  their  own 

described  by  Bruce,  under  liie  Arabian  name  o  Abo*. 
Hammes. 

8  "  La  fleur  en  est  mill*  fois  plus  odorifi6rante  que  cellel 
de  nos  ffeves  d'Europc,  quoique  leur  parfum  nous  paroisse  et 
agr^abla.  Comma  on  en  sime  beaucoup  dans  les  terres  voi- 
sines,  du  Caire,  du  cot6  de  I'occident,  c'est  quelque  cho8« 
de  charmant  que  I'air  enibaiini6  que  Ton  respire  le  soir  sui 
les  terrasses,  quand  le  vent  de  I'ouest  vient  i  soufller,  et  y 
apporte  cette  odeur  admirable."    Maillet 

*  "  Isis  est  genius,"  says  Sereius,  "  iEgypti,  qui  per  sistB 
motum,  quod  gerit  in  dextra,  Nili  accessus  recessusque  uf 
nificat." 


THE  EPICUREAN 


S> 


OiTine  Isis  —  continued  harmoniously  to  time 
Ihe  cadence  of  their  feet ;  while  others,  at  every 
•tep,  shook  a  small  chain  of  silver,  whose  sound, 
mingling  with  those  of  the  castanets  and  sis- 
trums,  produced  a  wild,  but  not  unpleasing, 
hiirmony. 

Th2y  seemed  all  lovely;  but  there  was  one 

-  whos3  face  the  light  had  not  yet  reached,  so 
i jwncast  she  held  it  —  who  attracted,  and,  at 
ergth,  riveted  all  my  looks  and  thoughts.  I 
know  not  why,  but  there  was  a  something  in 
those  half-seen  features  —  a  charm  in  the  very 
shadow,  that  hung  over  their  imagined  beauty 
—  which  took  my  fancy  more  than  all  the  out- 
shining loveliness  of  her  companions.  So  en- 
■jhained  was  I  by  this  coy  mystery,  that  her 
klone,  of  all  the  group,  could  I  either  see  or 
think  of  —  her  alone  I  watched,  as,  with  the 
iame  downcast  brow,  she  glided  gently  and 
aerially  round  the  altar,  as  if  her  presence,  like 
»hat  of  a  spirit,  was  something  to  be  felt,  not 
seen. 

Suddenly,  while  I  gazed,  the  loud  crash  of  a 
thousand  cymbals  was  heard  ;  —  the  massy  gates 
of  the  Temple  flew  open,  as  if  by  magic,  and  a 
flood  of  radiance  from  the  illuminated  aisle  filled 
the  whole  vestibule  ;  while,  at  the  same  instant, 
OS  if  the  light  and  the  sounds  were  born  together, 
%  peal  of  rich  harmony  can>e  mingling  with  the 
adiance. 

It  was  then  —  by  that  light,  which  shone  full 
upon  the  young  maiden's  features,  as,  starting 
at  the  sudden  blaze,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the 
portal,  and  as  quickly  let  fall  their  lids  again  — 
it  was  then  I  beheld,  what  even  my  own  ardent 
imagination,  in  its  most  vivid  dreams  of  beauty, 
had  never  pictured.  Not  Psyche  herself,  when 
psusing  on  the  threshold  of  heaven,  while  its 
first  glories  fell  on  her  dazzled  lids,  could  have 
looked  more  purely  beautiful,  or  blushed  with 
n  more  innocent  shame.  Often  as  I  had  felt 
the  power  of  looks,  none  had  ever  entered  into 
my  soul  so  deeply.  It  was  a  new  feeling  —  a 
uew  sense  —  coming  as  suddenly  upon  me  as 
tliat  radiance  into  the  vestibule,  and,  at  once, 
filling  my  whole  being  ;  —  and  had  that  bright 

1  The  ivy  was  consecrated  to  Osiris.  Vide  Diedor.  Sie 
1.10. 

*  "  Qiielqiies  unes,"  says  Dupuu,  describing  the  pmces- 
tions  of  Idis,  "  portoietit  des  iniruin  anacbis  &  leura  6paules, 
tflii  de  multiplier  et  de  porter  duns  tous  les  sens  les  images 
Je  la  Dtesse."  Origint  du  CulUi,  turn.  viii.  p.  847.  A  mir- 
or,  it  appears,  was  also  one  of  the  emblems  in  the  mysteries 
K  Bacchus. 

»  "  Tout  proiive  que  la  territorie  de  Sakkarah  *t<)it  la  Ne- 
Iroiiolia  au  « id  de  Memphis,  et  le  bubourg  oppose  i  celui- 


vision  but  lingered  another  moment  before  mj 
eyes,  I  should  in  my  transport  have  wholly 
forgotten  who  I  was  and  where,  an .  thrown 
myself,  in  prostrate  adoration,  at  her  feet. 

But  scarcely  had  that  gush  of  harmony  be«ij 
heard,  when  the  sacred  bird,  which  had,  till 
now,  been  standing  motionless  as  an  imag«, 
spread  wide  his  wings,  and  flew  into  the  Tem- 
ple ;  while  his  graceful  young  worshippers,  *  itl 
a  fleetness  like  his  own,  followed  —  and  she, 
who  had  left  a  dream  in  my  heart  never  to  b* 
forgotten,  vanished  along  with  the  rest.  Ai 
she  went  rapidly  past  the  pillar  against  which  I 
leaned,  the  ivy  that  encircled  it '  caught  in  hci 
drapery,  and  disengaged  some  ornament  which 
fell  to  the  ground.  It  was  the  small  mirror 
which  I  had  seen  shining  on  her  bosom.  Has- 
tily and  tremulously  I  picked  it  up,  and  hurried 
to  restore  it ;  but  she  was  already  lost  to  my 
eyes  in  the  crowd. 

In  vain  did  I  try  to  follow ;  —  the  aisles  wers 
already  filled,  and  numbers  of  eager  pilgrims 
pressed  towards  the  portal.  But  the  servants 
of  the  Temple  denied  all  farther  entrance,  and 
still,  as  I  presented  myself,  their  white  wand« 
barred  the  way.  Perplexed  and  irritated  amid 
that  crowd  of  faces,  regarding  all  as  enemies 
that  impeded  my  progress,  I  stood  on  tiptoe, 
gazing  into  the  busy  aisles,  and  with  a  heart 
beating  as  I  caught,  from  time  to  time,  a  glimpse 
of  some  spangled  zone,  or  lotus  wreath,  which 
led  me  to  fancy  that  I  had  discovered  the  fair 
object  of  my  search.  But  it  was  all  in  vain  ;  — 
in  every  direction,  files  of  sacred  njinphs  were 
moving,  but  nowhere  could  I  discover  her  whom 
alone  I  sought. 

In  this  state  of  breathless  agitation  did  I  stand 
for  some  time  —  bewildered  with  the  confusion 
of  faces  and  lights,  as  well  as  with  the  clouds 
of  incense  that  rolled  around  me  —  till,  fevered 
and  impatient,  I  could  endure  it  no  longer. 
Forcing  my  way  out  of  the  vestibule  into  the 
cool  air,  I  hurried  back  through  the  alley  ol' 
sphinxes  to  the  shore,  and  flung  myself  into  rar 
boat. 
There  lies,  to  the  north  of  Memphis,'  a  soli- 

cl,  oil  sont  lea  pyramides  d«  Gizeh,  une  autre  Ville  tfae 
Morts,  qui  terminoil  Memphis  au  nord."    Oman. 

There  is  nothing  known  with  ceruinfy  as  to  the  aite  of 
Memphis,  but  it  will  be  perceived  that  tiie  descriirtion  of  iu 
poeilion  given  by  the  Epicurean  corresponds,  in  almost  er- 
er>-  particular,  with  that  which  M.  Maillet  (the  French  coo. 
sul,  for  many  years,  at  Cairo)  has,  in  his  work  on  Egypt 
left  us.  It  must  be  always  borne  in  mind,  too,  fh^t  of  iIm 
distances  between  the  recpwlive  places  liore  mentioned,  w^ 
have  DO  longer  any  accurate  means  of  Judging 


196 


THE  EPICUREAN 


taxy  lake,  (which,  at  this  season  of  the  year, 
mingles  with  the  rest  of  the  waters,)  upon 
whose  shores  stands  the  Necropolis,  or  City  of 
the  Dead  —  a  place  of  melancholy  grandeur, 
covered  over  with  shrines  and  pyramids,  where 
many  a  kingly  head,  proud  even  in  death,  has 
lain  awaiting  through  long  ages  the  resurrection 
ol  t»  glories.  Through  a  range  of  sepulchral 
pots  underneath,  the  humbler  denizens  of  the 
tomb  are  deposited — looking  out  on  each  suc- 
cessive generation  that  visits  them,  with  the 
same  face  and  features  '  they  wore  centuries  ago. 
Every  plant  and  tree,  consecrated  to  death,  from 
the  asphodel  flower  to  the  mystic  plantain,  lends 
its  sweetness  or  shadow  to  this  place  of  tombs  ; 
and  the  only  noise  that  disturbs  its  eternal  calm, 
is  the  low  humming  sound  of  the  priests  at 
prayer,  when  a  new  inhabitant  is  added  to  the 
silent  city. 

It  was  towards  this  place  of  death  that,  in  a 
mood  of  mind,  as  usual,  half  gloomy,  half  bright, 
I  now,  almost  unconsciously,  directed  my  bark. 
The  form  of  the  young  Priestess  was  continu- 
ally before  me.  That  one  bright  look  of  hers, 
the  very  remembrance  of  which  was  worth  all 
the  actual  smiles  of  others,  never  for  a  moment 
left  my  mind.  Absorbed  in  such  thoughts,  I 
continued  to  row  on,  scarce  knowing  whither 
I  went,  till,  at  length,  startled  to  find  myself 
within  the  shadow  of  the  City  of  the  Dead,  I 
looked  up,  and  beheld,  rising  in  succession  be- 
fore me,  pyramid  beyond  pyramid '  each  tower- 
ing more  loftily  than  the  other  —  while  all  were 
outtopped  in  grandeur  by  one,  upon  whose  sum- 
mit the  bright  moon  rested  as  on  a  pedestal. 

Drawing  nearer  to  the  shore,  which  was  suffi- 
vjiently  elevated  to  raise  this  silent  city  of  tombs 
above  the  level  of  the  inundation,  I  rested  my 
oar,  and  allowed  the  boat  to  rock  idly  upon  the 
water,  while,  in  the  mean  time,  my  thoughts, 
left  equally  without  direction,  were  allowed  to 
fluctuate  as  idly.  How  vague  and  various  were 
ihe  dreams  that  then  floated  through  my  mind  — 
that  bright  vision  of  the  temple  still  mingling 
itself  with  all !  Sometimes  she  stood  before 
xe,  like  an  aerial  spirit,  as  pure  as  if  that  ele- 
ment of  music  and  light,  into  which  I  had  seen 
her  vanish,  was  her  only  dwelling.  Sometimes, 
animated   with  passion,    and    kindling    into   a 

1  "  Par-Ii  non  seulement  on  conservoit  les  corps  d'une 
^mille  cntiere,  niais  en  descendant  dans  ces  lieux  so&ter- 
rainH,  oil  ils  ^toicnt  deposes,  on  pouvoit  se  repr6senter  en  un 
mslant  tous  ses  anceties  depiiis  plusieurs  milliers  d'ann^es, 
i»ls  a-p»vi-prt8  qu'ils  6toient  de  leur  vivaiiC"  MailUt. 
"  Miiltad  olim  pvramidis  fuisse  e  ruinis  arguitur."    Zo 


creature  of  eaith,  she  seemed  to  lean  towardi 
me  with  looks  of  tenderness,  which  it  wera 
worth  worlds,  but  for  one  instant,  to  inspire ; 
and  again  —  as  the  dark  fancies,  that  ever 
haunted  me,  recurred  —  I  saw  her  cold,  paroheo, 
and  blackening,  amid  the  gloom  of  those  eternal 
sepulchres  before  me  ! 

Turning  away,  with  a  shudder,  from  tne  ceme- 
tery at  this  thought,  I  hsard  the  sound  of  ta 
oar  plying  swiftly  through  the  water,  and,  in  a 
few  moments,  saw,  shooting  past  me  towards 
the  shore,  a  small  boat  in  which  sat  two  female 
figures,  muffled  up  and  veiled.  Having  landed 
them  not  far  from  the  spot  where,  under  the , 
shadow  of  a  tomb  on  the  bank,  I  lay  concealed, 
the  boat  again  departed,  with  the  same  fieetness, 
over  the  flood. 

Never  had  the  prospect  of  a  lively  adventure 
come  more  welcome  to  me  than  at  this  moment, 
when  my  busy  fancy  was  employed  in  weaving 
such  chains  for  my  heart,  as  threatened  a  bond- 
age, of  all  others,  the  most  difficult  to  break. 
To  become  enamoured  thus  of  a  creature  of  my 
own  imagination,  was  the  worst,  because  the 
most  lasting,  of  follies.  It  is  only  reality  tliat 
can  afford  any  chance  of  dissolving  such  spells, 
and  the  idol  I  was  now  creating  to  myself  must 
forever  remain  ideal.  Any  pursuit,  therefore, 
tliat  seemed  likely  to  diverl  me  from  such 
thoughts  —  to  bring  back  my  imagination  to 
earth  and  reality,  from  the  vague  region  in 
which  it  had  been  wandering,  was  a  relief  far 
too  seasonable  not  to  be  welcomed  with  eager- 
ness. 

I  had  watched  the  course  which  the  two 
flgures  took,  and,  having  hastily  fastened  my 
boat  to  the  bank,  stepped  gently  on  shore,  and, 
at  a  little  distance,  followed  them.  The  wind- 
ings through  which  they  led  were  intricate ; 
but,  by  the  bright  light  of  the  moon,  I  was 
enabled  to  keep  their  forms  in  view,  as,  with 
rapid  step,  they  glided  among  the  monuments. 
At  length,  in  the  shade  of  a  small  pyramid, 
whose  peak  barely  surmounted  the  plane  trees 
that  grew  nigh,  they  vanished  from  my  sight, 
I  hastened  to  the  spot,  but  there  was  not  a  sign 
of  life  around  ;  and,  had  my  creed  extended  fc 
another  world,  I  might  have  fancied  these  forn.s 
were  spirits,  sent  down   from  thence  to  mock 

eira.  —  Vansltb,  who  visited  more  tlian  ten  of  the  small  pyra. 
mids,  is  of  opinion  that  there  must  have  originally  been  I 
hundred  in  this  place. 

See,  on  tlie  subject  of  the  lake  to  the  nortliward  of  M«3i 
phis,  SAato'*  Travels,  p.  302. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


o»7 


■e  —  8C  instantaneously  had  they  disappeared. 
I  searched  through  the  neighboring  grove,  but 
all  there  was  still  as  death.  At  length,  in  ex- 
amining one  of  the  sides  of  the  pyramid,  which, 
for  a  few  feet  from  the  ground,  was  furnished 
v'th  steps,  I  found,  midway  between  peak  and 
base,  a  part  of  its  surface,  which,  although  pre- 
senting to  the  eye  an  appearance  of  smoothness, 
gave  to  the  touch,  I  thought,  indications  of  a 
e</r.tcaled  opening. 

After  a  variety  of  efforts  and  experiments,  I, 
at  last  more  by  accident  than  skill,  pressed  the 
•pring  that  commanded  this  hidden  aperture. 
In  an  instant  the  portal  slid  aside,  and  disclosed 
a  narrow  stairway  within,  the  two  or  three  first 
steps  of  which  were  discernible  by  tbo  moonlight, 
while  the  rest  were  all  lost  in  utter  darkness. 
Though  it  was  difficult  to  conceive  that  the  per- 
sons whom  I  had  been  pursuing  would  have 
ventured  to  pass  through  thi*  gloomy  openii:g, 
yet  to  account  for  their  disappearance  otherwise 
was  still  more  difficult.  At  all  events,  my 
curiosity  was  now  too  eager  in  the  chase  to 
relinquish  it ;  —  the  spirit  of  adventure,  once 
raised,  could  not  be  so  easily  laid.  Accordingly, 
having  sent  up  a  gay  prayer  to  that  bliss-loving 
Queen  whose  eye  alone  was  upon  me,  I  .passed 
through  the  portal,  and  descended  into  the 
pyramid. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AT  the  bottom  of  the  stairway  I  found  my- 
self in  a  low,  narrow  passage,  through  which, 
without  stooping  almost  to  the  earth,  it  was  im- 
possible to  proceed.  Though  leading  through  a 
multiplicity  of  dark  windings,  this  way  seemed 
but  little  to  advance  my  progress  —  its  course,  I 
pe'ocived,  being  chiefly  circular,  and  gathering, 
at  every  turn,  but  a  deeper  intensity  of  darkness. 

"  Can  any  thing,"  thought  I,  '•  of  human- 
kind, sojourn  here  ?  "  —  and  had  scarcely  asked 
myself  the  question,  when  the  path  opened 
into  a  long  gallery,  at  the  farthest  end  of  which 

I  '  On  voit  en  Egypte,  apr^  la  rrtraite  du  Nil  et  la  fi- 
eondation  des  terres,  le  lirnon  couvert  d'une  multitude  dp 
■carabSeti.  Un  pnreil  pliinoin^ne  a  dQ  Kpinbler  aux  Egyp- 
liens  le  plus  prupro  i  peiiidre  une  nuuvolle  existence."  M. 
JoaariL  —  Partly  i'ur  the  same  reason,  and  partly  for  anotli- 
■r,  «till  ihoro  raii>:irul,the  early  Christians  used  to  apply  tliis 
•lublem  lu  Christ.  "  Bonus  itle  scarabieus  roeus,"  Myi  SL 
Augustine,  "  nun  ei  tantum  de  cau^  quod  unlgenitus,  quod 
IMemei  sui  auctur  murulium  sfwcieie  induerit,  s«d  quid  in 
kac  mwttft  fcce  sese  voluiavert  et  ex  bac  ipA  naaci  to- 
••Til" 


a  gleam  of  light  was  visible.  This  welcome 
glimmer  appeared  to  issue  from  some  cell  o» 
alcove,  in  which  the  right-hand  wall  of  the  gal- 
lery terminated,  and,  breathless  with  expecta- 
tion, I  stole  gently  towards  it. 

Arrived  at  the  end  of  the  gallery,  a  scene 
presented  itself  to  my  eyes,  for  which  my  fond- 
est expectations  of  adventure  could  not  have 
prepared  me.  The  place  from  which  the  light 
proceeded  was  a  small  chapel,  of  whose  interior, 
from  the  dark  recess  in  wliich  I  stood,  I  could 
take,  unseen  myself,  a  full  and  distinct  view. 
Over  the  walls  of  this  oratory  were  painted 
some  of  those  various  symbols,  by  which  the 
mystic  wisdom  of  the  Egyptians  loves  to  shadow 
out  the  History  of  the  Soul ;  the  winged  globe 
with  a  serpent  —  the  rays  descending  from 
above,  like  a  glory  —  and  the  Theban  beetle,'  as 
ho  comes  forth  after  the  waters  have  passed 
away,  and  the  Erst  sunbcain  falls  on  his  regen  ■ 
erated  wings. 

In  the  middle  of  the  chapel,  on  a  low  altar  of 
granite,  lay  a  lifeless  female  form,  enshrined 
within  a  case  of  crystal  *  —  as  it  is  the  custom 
to  preserve  the  dead  in  Ethiopia  —  and  looking 
as  freshly  beautiful  as  if  the  soul  had  but  a  lew 
hours  departed.  Among  the  emblems  of  death,* 
on  the  front  of  the  altar,  were  a  slender  lotua 
branch  broken  in  two,  and  a  small  bird  juat 
winging  its  flight  from  the  spray. 

To  these  memorials  of  the  dead,  however,  1 
paid  but  little  attention  ;  for  there  M-as  a  living 
object  there  upon  which  my  eyes  were  now  in- 
tently fixed. 

The  lamp,  by  which  the  whole  of  the  chapel 
was  illuminated,  was  placed  at  the  head  of  the 
pale  image  in  the  shrine  ;  and  between  its  light 
and  me  stood  a  female  form,  bending  over  the 
monument,  as  if  to'gaze  upon  the  silent  features 
within.  The  position  in  which  this  figure  was 
placed,  intercepting  a  strong  light,  afforded  me^ 
at  first,  but  an  imperfect  and  shadowy  view  of 
it.  Yet  even  at  this  mere  outline  I  felt  ray 
heart  beat  high  —  and  memory  had  no  leu 
share,  as  it  proved,  in  this  feeling  than  imagine* 

<  "  Le*  Egyptiena  ont  fait  auvi,  pour  oonterver  .wn 

morts,  des  caisses  de  verre." — De  Pattu.  He  mentiona, 
also,  in  another  place,  a  sprt  of  trans|>arcnt  «uti«tiinre,  whick 
tlio  Ethiopians  used  for  the  same  purpiim,  and  which  was 
Irequently  mistaken  by  the  GrMks  for  %\am. 

*  "  Uu  prctre,  qui  brise  la  tige  d'una  fleur,  dec  obnui 
qui  s'envolent,  sont  les  emblinie*  da  la  mort  et  de  I'&nie  <|er 
le  s^pare  du  corpa."    Denon. 

Ttaeaeut  empioyf  the  tame  imace  in  lb«  Pbcdia:-> 
Of>vt{  yap  (1)(  ri(  k  xtfuo  a^avrof  t( 
Ilv't/  K  Wot)  tiKfa¥  bpl^ii'  «•■  H* 


tion.  For,  on  the  head  changing  its  position,  so 
as  to  let  a  gleam  fall  upon  the  features,  I  saw, 
with  a  transport  which  had  almost  led  me  to 
oetray  my  'urking-place,  that  it  was  she  —  the 
young  worsiiippcr  of  Isis  —  the  same,  the  very 
same,  whom  I  had  seen,  brightening  the  holy 
place  where  she  stood,  and  looking  like  an  in- 
habitant of  some  purer  world. 

The  movement,  by  which  she  had  now  af- 
forded me  an  opportunity  of  recognizing  her, 
was  made  in  raising  from  the  shrine  a  small 
cross  '  of  silver,  which  lay  directly  over  the 
bosom  of  the  lifeless  figure.  Bringing  it  close 
to  her  lips,  she  kissed  it  with  a  religious  fervor ; 
then,  turning  her  eyes  mournfully  upwards, 
held  them  fixed  with  a  degree  of  inspired  ear- 
nestness, as  if,  at  that  moment,  in  direct  com- 
munion with  Heaven,  they  saw  neither  roof,  nor 
any  other  earthly  barrier  between  them  and  the 
skies. 

What  a  power  is  there  in  innocence  !  whose 
very  helplessness  is  its  safeguard  —  in  whose 
presence  even  Passion  himself  stands  abashed, 
and  turns  worshipper  at  the  very  altar  which  he 
came  to  despoil !  She,  who,  but  a  short  hour 
before,  had  presented  herself  to  my  imagination 
as  something  I  could  have  risked  immortality  to 
wm  —  she,  whom  gladly,  from  the  floor  of  her 
own  lighted  temple,  in  the  very  face  of  its  proud 
ministers,  I  would  have  borne  away  in  triumph, 
and  dared  all  punishments,  divine  and  human, 
to  make  her  mine  —  that  very  creature  was  now 
before  me,  as  if  thrown  by  fate  itself,  into  my 
power  —  standing  there,  beautiful  and  alone, 
with  nothing  but  her  innocence  for  her  guard  ! 
Yet,  no  —  so  touching  was  the  purity  of  the 
whole  scene,  so  calm  and  august  that  protection 
which  the  dead  extended  over  the  living,  that 
every  earthly  feeling  was  forgotten  as  I  gazed, 
and  love  itself  became  exalted  into  reverence. 

But,  entranced  as  1  felt  in  witnessing  such  a 
scene,  thus  tc  enjoy  it  by  stealth  seemed  to  me 


I  A  cross  was,  among  the  Egyptians,  the  emblem  of  a 
ftlture  life. 

"  The  singular  appearance  of  a  Cross  so  frequently  recur- 
liag  among  tlie  hieroglyphics  of  Egypt,  had  excited  the  cu- 
ric«ity  of  the  Christians  at  a  vcrj-  early  period  of  ecclesiasti- 
cal history,  and  as  some  of  the  Priests,  who  were  acqnaint- 
eaivlth  the  meaning  of  the  hieroglyphics,  became  converted 
to  Christianity,  the  secret  transpired.  '  The  converted  hea- 
thens,' says  Socrates  Scholasticus,  '  explained  the  symbol, 
and  declared  that  it  signified  Life  to  Come.' "     Clarke. 

Lipsuia,  therefore,  is  mistaken  in  supposing  the  Cross  to 
Have  been  an  emblem  peculiar  to  the  Christians.  See,  on 
*Jlis  subject,  L'HUtoire  des  Juifs,  liv.  vi.  c.  16. 

It  is  singclar  enough  that  while  t  te  Cross  was  thus  held 


a  wrong,  a  sacrilege  —  and,  rather  than  let  hei 
eyes  encounter  the  flash  of  mine,  or  disturb,  bj 
a  whisper,  that  sacred  silence,  in  which  Youth 
and  Death  held  communion  through  un  lyinq 
Love,  I  would  have  suff'ered  my  heart  to  brcaK, 
without  a  murmur,  where  I  stood.  Gently,  as 
if  life  itself  dejjended  on  my  every  movement, 
I  stole  away  from  that  tranquil  and  holy  scene  — 
leaving  it  stUl  holy  and  tranquil  as  I  had  found 
it — and,  gliding  back  through  the  same  pas- 
sages and  windings  by  which  I  had  entered, 
reached  again  the  narrow  stairway,  and  re- 
ascended  into  light. 

The  sun  had  just  risen,  and,  from  the  summit 
of  the  Arabian  hills,  was  pouring  down  his 
beams  into  that  vast  valley  of  waters  —  as  if 
proud  of  last  night's  homage  to  his  own  divine 
Isis,  now  fading  away  in  the  superior  splendor 
of  her  Lord.  My  first  impulse  was  to  fly  at 
once  from  this  dangerous  spot,  and  in  new  loves 
and  pleasures  seek  forgetfulness  of  the  wondrous 
scene  I  had  just  witnessed.  •'  Once,"  I  ex- 
claimed, ♦'  jut  of  the  circle  of  this  enchantment, 
I  know  too  well  my  own  susceptibility  to  new 
impressions,  to  feel  any  doubt  that  I  shall  soon 
break  the  spell  that  is  now  around  me." 

But  vain  were  all  my  eff"orts  and  resolves 
Even  while  swearing  to  fly  that  spot,  I  found 
my  steps  still  lingering  fondly  round  the  pyra- 
mid—  my  eyes  still  turned  towards  the  portal 
which  severed  this  enchantress  from  the  world 
of  the  living.  Ilour  after  hour  did  I  wander 
through  that  City  of  Silence,  till,  already,  it  was 
midday,  and,  under  the  sun's  meridian  eye,  th« 
mighty  pyramid  of  pyramids  stood,  like  a  great 
spirit,  shadowless." 

Again  did  those  wild  and  passionate  feelings, 
which,  for  the  moment,  her  presence  had  sub- 
dued into  reverence,  return  to  take  possession 
of  my  imagination  and  my  senses.  I  even  re- 
proached myself  for  the  awe,  that  had  held  me 
spell-bound  before  her.     •'  What,"  thought  I, 


sacred  among  the  Egyptians,  not  only  the  custom  of  ffwk 
ing  the  forehead  with  the  sign  of  the  Cross,  but  baptism 
and  the  consecration  of  the  bread  in  ine  Kucharist,  were 
imitated  in  the  mysterious  ceremonies  of  Mithra.  TertutL 
de  Proscriptione  Hereticorum. 

Zoega  is  of  opinion  that  the  Cross,  said  to  have  been  fol 
the  first  time  found,  on  the  destruction  of  the  temple  of  Ser 
apis,  by  the  Christians,  could  not  have  been  the  crux  ansa- 
ta ;  as  nothing  is  more  common  than  this  emblem  ou  all  thi 
Egyptian  monuments. 

»  It  was  an  idea  entertained  among  the  ancients  that  thi 
Pyramids  were  so  constructed  ("mecaniv4  constructione,* 
says  Ammianus  MarcMinua)  as  never  tc  cast  any  snadow. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


SVI 


'•  would  my  companions  of  the  Garden  say,  did 
they  know  that  their  chief —  he  whose  path  Love 
had  strewed  with  trophies  —  was  now  pining  for 
a  simple  Egyptian  prl,  in  whose  presence  he 
had  not  dared  to  utter  a  single  sigh,  and  who 
had  vanquished  the  victor,  without  even  know- 
ing her  triumph ! " 

A  blush  came  over  my  cheek  at  the  humiliat- 
ing If  ought,  and  I  determined,  at  all  risks,  to 
Await  her  coming.  That  she  should  bo  an  in- 
mate of  those  gloomy  caverns  seemed  incon- 
ceivalle  ;  nor  did  there  appear  to  be  any  egress 
out  of  their  depths  but  by  the  pyramid.  Again, 
therefore,  like  a  sentinel  of  the  dead,  did  I  pace 
up  and  down  among  those  tombs,  contrasting 
mournfully  the  burning  fever  in  my  own  veins 
with  the  cold  quiet  of  those  who  lay  slumbering 
around. 

At  length  the  intense  glow  of  the  sun  over 
my  head,  and,  still  more,  that  ever  restless  agi- 
tation in  my  heart,  became  too  much  for  even 
strength  like  mine  to  endure.  Exhausted,  I 
threw  myself  down  at  the  base  of  the  pyramid  — 
choosing  my  place  directly  under  the  portal, 
where,  even  should  slumber  surprise  mo,  my 
heart,  if  not  my  ear,  might  still  keep  watch, 
and  her  footstep,  light  as  it  was,  could  not  fail 
to  awake  me. 

After  many  an  ineffectual  struggle  against 
drowsiness,  I  at  length  sunk  into  sleep  —  but 
not  into  forgctfulness.  The  same  image  still 
flaunted  me,  in  every  variety  of  shape,  with 
which  imagination,  assisted  by  memory,  could 
invest  it.  Now,  like  the  goddess  NcTtha,  upon 
her  tnrone  at  Sals,  she  seemed  to  sit,  with  the 
veil  just  raised  from  that  brow,  which  till  then 
no  mortal  had  ever  beheld  —  and  now,  like  the 
beautiful  enchantress  Rhodope,  I  saw  her  rise 
^m  out  the  pyramid  in  which  she  had  dwelt 
or  ages, — 

"  Fair  Rhodope,!  as  story  telU, 
The  bright  iiiieartlily  nyinpli,  who  dwell* 
'Mid  giiiiless  gold  and  jeweU  bid, 

The  Ijady  of  the  Pyramid  ! " 

» 

Bo  ong  had  my  sleep  continued,  that,  when  I 
ftwoke,  I  found  the  moon  again  resplendent 
above  the  horizon.  But  all  around  was  looking 
tranquil  and  lifeless  as  before  ;  nor  did  a  print 
on  the  grass  betray  that  any  foot  had  passed 

1  From  the  story  of  Rhodope,  Zoega  thinkH,  "  videntur 
Arabea  anstm  arripuisse  ut  in  una  ex  pyramidibtis,  genii 
loco,  liabitare  diterent  niulierein  nudani  insigiiii  pulciiritu- 
4tnis  qu*  as|ierto  suo  homines  insanire  facial."  Dt  Un 
I  yUhtconm.     «Me  abo  VS.gifU  dt  MwrUdi  par  ValHtr. 


there  since  my  own.  Refreshed,  however,  bj 
my  long  i-est,  and  with  a  fancy  still  more  ex- 
cited by  the  mystic  wonders  of  which  I  had 
been  dreaming,  I  now  resolved  to  revisit  th« 
chapel  in  the  pyramid,  and  put  an  end,  if  pos- 
sible, to  this  strange  mysterj'  that  haunted  me. 

Having  learned,  from  the  ex])crience  of  tha 
preceding  night,  the  inconvenience  of  encoun- 
tering those  labyrinths  without  a  light,  I  now 
hastened  to  provide  myself  with  a  lamp  from 
my  boat.  Tracking'  my  way  back  with  some 
difficulty  to  the  shore,  I  there  found  not  only 
my  lamp,  but  also  some  dates  and  dried  fruits, 
of  which  I  was  always  provided  with  store,  fot 
my  roving  life  upon  tlie  waters,  and  which* 
after  so  many  hours  of  abstinence,  were  now  s 
most  welcome  and  necessary  relief. 

Thus  prepared,  I  again  ascended  the  pyramid* 
and  was  proceeding  to  search  out  the  secret 
spring,  when  a  loud,  dismal  noise  was  heard  at 
a  distance,  to  which  all  the  melancholy  echoes 
of  the  cemcterj'  gave  answer.  The  sound  came, 
I  knew,  from  the  Great  Temple  on  the  shore  of 
the  lake,  and  was  the  sort  of  shriek  which  its 
gates  —  the  Gates  of  Oblivion*  as  they  are 
called  —  used  always  to  send  forth  from  their 
hinges,  when  opening  at  night,  to  receive  the 
newly-landed  dead. 

I  had,  more  than  once  before,  heard  that 
sound,  and  always  with  sadness ;  but,  at  this 
moment,  it  thrilled  through  me  like  a  voice  of 
Ul  omen,  and  I  almost  doubted  whether  I  should 
not  abandon  my  enterprise.  The  hesitation, 
however,  was  but  momentary  ;  —  even  while  it 
passed  through  my  mind,  I  had  touched  the 
spring  of  the  portal.  In  a  few  seconds  more,  I 
was  again  in  the  passage  beneath  the  pyramid  ; 
and,  being  enabled  by  the  light  of  my  lamp  to 
follow  the  windings  more  rapidly,  soon  found 
myself  at  the  door  of  the  small  chapel  in  the 
gallery. 

I  entered,  still  awed,  though  there  was  now, 
alas,  nought  living  within.  The  young  Priesteef 
had  vanished  like  a  spirit  into  the  darkness . 
and  all  the  rest  remained  as  I  had  left  it  on  th« 
preceding  night.  The  lamp  still  stood  burning 
upon  the  crystal  shrine  i  the  cross  was  lying 
where  the  hands  of  the  young  mcumer  had 
placed  it,  and  the  cold  image,  within  the  shrina^ 
wore  still  the  same  tranquil  look,  as  if  re»igiied 


1  **  Apud  Memphim  cneas  quaadam  portas,  fl 
et  Cocyti  (hoc  eat  oblivionis  el  laineiiutioois)  appaaaaiiM 
aperiri,  gravwa  aspenimque  edeitfes  ■otiuaa.*'    Xecfs 


^00 


THE   EPICUREAN. 


to  the  solitude  of  death —  of  all  lone  things  the 
foneliest.  Remembering  the  lips  that  I  had 
seen  kiss  that  cross,  and  kindling  with  the  rec- 
ollection, I  raised  it  passionately  to  my  own  ;  — 
but  the  dead  eyes,  I  thought,  met  mine,  and, 
awed  and  saddened  in  the  midst  of  my  ardor,  I 
replaced  the  cross  upon  the  shrine. 

I  had  now  lost  every  clew  to  the  object  of  my 
pursuit,  and,  with  all  that  sullen  satisfaction 
which  certainty,  even  when  unwelcome,  brings, 
was  about  to  retrace  my  steps  slowly  to  earth, 
when,  as  I  held  forth  my  lamp,  on  leaving  the 
chapel,  I  perceived  that  the  gallery,  instead  of 
terminating  here,  took  a  sudden  and  snake-like 
bend  to  the  left,  which  had  before  eluded  my 
observation,  and  which  seemed  to  give  promise 
of  a  pathway  still  farther  into  those  recesses. 
Reanimated  by  this  discovery,  which  opened  a 
new  source  of  hope  to  my  heart,  I  cast,  for  a 
moment,  a  hesitating  look  at  my  lamp,  as  if  to 
inquire  whether  it  would  be  faithful  through 
the  gloom  I  was  about  to  encounter,  and  then, 
without  further  consideration,  rushed  eagerly 
forward. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

t*HE  path  led,  for  a  while,  through  the  same 
sort  of  narrow  windings  as  those  which  I  had 
before  encountered  in  descending  the  stairway  ; 
and  at  length  opened,  in  a  similar  manner,  into 
a  straight  and  steep  gallery,  along  each  side  of 
which  stood,  closely  ranged  and  upright,  a  file 
of  lifeless  bodies,'  whose  glassy  eyes  appeared 
to  glare  upon  me  preternaturaUy  as  I  passed. 

Arrived  at  the  end  of  this  gallery,  I  found  my 
h->pes,  for  the  second  time,  vanish  ;  as  the  path, 
it  was  manifest,  extended  no  farther.  The  only 
fttjc-t  I  was  able  to  discern,  by  the  glimmering 
of  my  lamp,  which  now  burned,  every  minute, 
fainter  and  fainter,  was  the  mouth  of  a  huge 
well,  that  lay  gaping  before  me  —  a  reservoir 
cf  darkness,  black  and  unfathomable.  It  now 
cr'.issed  my  memory  that  I  had  once  heard  of 
such  wells,  as  being  used  occasionally  for  pas- 
Bagee  by  the  priests.  Leaning  down,  therefore, 
over  the  edge,  I  examined  anxiously  all  within, 
in  order  to  see  if  it  afforded  the  means  of  effect- 
ing a  descent  into  the  chasm  ;  but  the  sides,  I 
could  perceive,  were  hard  and  smooth  as  glass, 


1  See,  for  the  cirstohi  of  burj'ing  the  dead  upright,  ("  post 
Vinus  stantia  busto  wrpora,"  as  Statius  describes  it,)  Dr 
Clarke's  preface  to  the  2d  section  of  bis  fifU.  volume.   Tliey 


being  varnished  all  over  with  that  sort  of  dark 
pitch,  which  the  Dead  Sea  throws  out  upon  iti 
slimy  shore. 

After  a  more  attentive  scrutiny,  however,  1 
observed,  at  the  depth  of  a  few  feet,  a  sort  of 
iron  step,  projecting  dimly  from  the  side,  and, 
below  it,  another,  which,  though  hardly  percep- 
tible, was  just  sufficient  to  encourage  an  adven- 
turous foot  to  the  trial.  Though  all  hope  of 
tracing  the  young  Priestess  was  now  at  an  end 

—  it  being  impossible  that  female  foot  should 
have  ventured  on  this  descent  —  yet,  as  I  had 
engaged  so  far  in  the  adventure,  and  there  was, 
at  least,  a  mystery  to  be  unravelled,  I  deter- 
mined, at  all  hazards,  to  explore  the  chasm. 
Placing  my  lamp,  therefore,  (which  was  hol- 
lowed at  the  bottom,  so  as  to  be  worn  like  a 
helmet,)  firmly  upon  my  head,  and  having  thus 
both  hands  at  liberty  for  exertion,  I  set  my  foot 
cautiously  on  the  iron  step,  and  descended  into 
the  well. 

I  found  the  same  footing,  at  regular  intervals, 
to  a  considerable  depth  ;  and  had  already  count- 
ed near  a  hundred  of  these  steps,  when  the  lad- 
der altogether  ceased,  and  I  could  descend  no 
farther.  In  vain  did  I  stretch  down  my  foot  in 
search  of  support  —  the  hard  slippery  sides  were 
all  that  it  encountered.  At  length,  stooping  my 
head,  so  as  to  let  the  light  fall  below,  I  observed 
an  opening  or  window  directly  above  the  step 
on  which  I  stood,  and,  taking  for  granted  that 
the  way  must  lie  in  that  direction,  contrived  to 
clamber  with  no  small  difficulty  through  thf 
aperture. 

I  now  found  myself  on  a  rude  and  narrow 
stairway,  the  steps  of  which  were  cut  out  of 
the  living  rock,  and  wound  spirally  downwar(* 
in  the  same  direction  as  the  well.  Almost  dizzj 
with  the  descent,  which  seemed  as  if  it  woul(* 
never  end,  I,  at  last,  reached  the  bottom,  wherf 
a  pair  of  massy  iron  gates  were  closed  directlj 
across  my  path,  as  if  wholly  to  forbid  any  far 
ther  progress.  Massy  and  gigantic,  however,  at 
they  were,  I  found,  to  my  surprise,  that  the  hand 
of  an  infant  might  have  oi^encd  them  with  east 

—  so  readily  did  thei» stupendous  folds  give  wa^ 
to  my  touch, 

"  Light  as  a  lime  bush,  that  receives 
Some  wandering  bird  among  its  leaves." 

No  sooner,  however,  had  I  passed  through,  thau 
the  astounding  din,  with  which  the  gates  dusfieil 


used  to  insert  precious  stones  in  the  plac»  of  the  «yea 
"  Les  yeux  ^toient  formes  d'enieraudes,  de  tun{  joises,"  &e 
—  Vide  JUasoudy,  quoted  by  Quatremire. 


tjgt-tlei  again,'  was  such  as  might  have  awa- 
kened death  itself.  It  seemed  as  if  every  echo  * 
throughout  that  vast,  subterranean  world,  from 
the  Catacombs  of  Alexandria  to  Thebes's  Valley 
of  Kings,  had  caught  up  and  repeated  the  thun- 
'lering  sound. 

Startled  as  I  was  by  the  crash,  not  even  this 
saperiiatuial  clangor  could  divert  my  attention 
(ro!Q  the  sudden  light  that  now  broke  around 
xne  —  soft,  warm,  and  welcome  as  are  the  stars 
of  his  own  South  to  the  eyes  of  the  mariner 
vho  has'long  been  wandering  through  the  cold 
seas  of  the  North.  l/joking  for  the  source  of 
this  splendor,  I  saw,  through  an  archway  oppo- 
site, a  long  illuminated  alley,  stretching  away 
•s  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  and  fenced,  on  one 
•ido,  with  thickets  of  odoriferous  shrubs,  while, 
along  the  other  extended  a  line  of  lofty  arcades, 
from  which  the  light,  that  filled  the  whole  area, 
Issued.  As  soon,  too,  as  the  din  of  the  deep 
echoes  had  subsided,  there  stole  gradually  on 
my  ear  a  strain  of  choral  music,  which  appeared 
In  come  mellowed  and  sweetened  in  its  passage, 
through  many  a  spacious  hall  within  those  shin- 
ing arcades ;  while  among  the  voices  I  could 
distinguish  some  female  tones,  which,  towering 
high  and  clear  above  all  the  rest,  formed  the 
■pire,  as  it  were,  into  which  the  harmony  ta- 
pered, as  it  rose. 

.'>o  excited  was  my  fancy  by  this  sudden  en- 
ehantment,  that  —  though  never  had  I  caught 
«  sound  from  the  fair  Egyptian's  lips  —  I  yet 
persuaded  myself  that  the  voice  I  now  heard 
was  hers,  sounding  highest  and  most  heavenly 
of  all  that  choir,  and  calling  to  me,  like  a  dis- 
tant spirit  from  its  sphere.  Animated  by  this 
thought,  I  flew  forward  tj  the  archway,  but 
found,  to  my  mortification,  that  it  was  guarded 
by  a  trellis  work,  whose  bars,  though  invisible 
at  a  distance,  resisted  all  my  efforts  to  force  them. 

While  occupied  in  these  ineffectual  struggles, 
I  perceived,  to  the  left  of  the  archway,  a  dark, 
cavernous  opening,  which  seemed  to  lead  in  a 
dir  action  parallel  to  the  lighted  arcades.  Not- 
Wi  .hstanding,  however,  my  impatience,  the  as- 
pect of  this  passage,  as  I  looked  shudderingly 

TTie  following  verses  of  CI»ui1ian  ire  supposed  to  have 
been  meitnl  at  a  description  of  thoi<e  imitations  of  the  noise 
•<  earthquake  and  thunder  which,  by  means  of  the  Cerauno- 
Mope,  and  otiier  sitch  contrivan  tes,  were  practised  in  the 
riiows  of  tlie  My.-tcri<»H :  — 

Jam  mihi  ceniiintur  tropidis  dehihni  moveri 
Sedihit!",  et  claram  dispcr^'cre  culmina  lucem, 
Adventuin  tP!<tata  Dpi.    Jam  niaKnns  nb  iinis 
Aiiditur  freniiliis  terri.s,  tcmpliimqiie  reroiigit 
Cacrupium.  Rapt  Ptmup.  Uk.  L 


into  it,  chilled  my  very  blood.  It  was  not  st, 
much  darkness,  as  a  sort  of  livid  and  ghastly 
twilight,  from  which  a  damp,  like  that  of  death 
vaults,  exhaled,  and  through  which,  if  my  eyei 
did  not  deceive  me,  pale,  phantom-like  tpe« 
were,  at  that  verj'  moment,  hovering. 

Looking  anxiously  round,  to  discovtf  »om«  ^ 
less  formidable  outlet,  I  saw,  over  the  vast  foil- 
ing-gates  through  which  I  had  just  paMcd,  ■ 
blue,  tremulous  flame,  which,  alter  playing  fti 
a  few  seconds  over  the  dark  ground  of  the  p%i 
iment,  settled  gradually  into  characterb  of  lig  : ; 
and  formed  the  following  words  :  — 

You,  who  would  try 

Yon  terrible  track. 
To  live,  or  to  die. 

But  ne'er  to  look  back.— 
You,  who  aspire 

To  be  purifled  there. 
By  the  terrors  of  Fire, 

Of  Water,  and  Air— 
If  danger,  and  pain, 

And  death  you  despim. 
On  —  for  again 

Into  light  you  shall  riae  i 
Rise  into  light 

With  that  Secret  Divine, 
Now  shrouded  from  sight 

By  the  Veils  of  the  ShriiM  ■ 

But  if— 

Here  the  letters  faded  away  into  a  dead  blank 
more  awfully  intelligible  than  the  most  eloquent 
words. 

A  new  hope  now  flashed  across  me,  Th« 
dream  of  the  Garden,  which  had  been  for  some 
time  almost  forgotten,  returned  freshly  to  my 
mind.  "  Am  I  then,"  I  exclaimed,  "  in  the 
path  to  the  promised  mystery  ?  and  shall  the 
great  secret  of  Eternal  Life  indeed  be  mine  r  " 

"  Yes  ! "  seemed  to  answer  out  of  the  air, 
that  spirit  voice,  which  still  was  heard  at  a  dis- 
tance crowning  the  choir  with  its  single  sweet- 
ness. I  hailed  the  omen  with  transport.  Love 
and  Immortality,  both  beckoning  me  onward- 
who  would  give  even  a  thought  to  fear,  with 
two  such  bright  hopes  in  prosi>et.c  ?  Ilaring 
invoked  and  blessed  that  unknown  ench&ntreM, 

t  See,  for  the  echoes  in  the  pyramids,  PluWdL  it  Fb 
eiii»  PkUoiopk. 

*  "  Ce  moment  henreuz  (de  I'Autopaie)  itott  ;f«p*rk  p»\ 
des  seines  efTniyantes,  par  des  alternatives  de  crainte  •(  d« 
Joie,  de  lumiire  et  de  t<nibre«,  par  le  liieur  des  4rlaii«,  p«l 
le  bniit  terrible  de  la  foudre,  qu'cn  imitoil,  et  par  dee  a|ip» 
ritions  de  spertree,  des  illusions  magiques.  qui  flappoiMM  to 
yeux  et  lee  ureillM  ftmt  wwMe  **    Dufmu 


02 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


»Fhose  steps  had  led  me  to  this  abode  of  mys- 
tery and  knowledge,  I  instantly  plunged  into 
the  chasm. 

Instead  of  that  vague,  spectral  twilight  which 
lad  at  first  met  my  eye,  I  now  found,  as  I  en- 
tered, a  thick  darkness,  which,  though  far  less 
horrible,  was,  at  this  moment,  still  more  discon- 
eer"dng,  as  mj'  lamp,  which  had  been,  for  some 
time,  almost  useless,  was  now  fast  expiring. 
Resolred,  however,  to  make  the  most  of  its  last 
gleam,  I  hastened,  with  rapid  step,  through  this 
gloomy  region,  which  appeared  to  be  wider  and 
more  open  to  the  air  than  any  I  had  j-et  passed. 
Nor  was  it  long  before  the  sudden  appearance 
of  a  bright  blaze  in  the  distance  announced  to 
me  that  my  first  great  Trial  was  at  hand.  As  I 
drew  nearer,  the  flames  before  me  burst  high 
and  wide  on  all  sides  ;  —  and  the  awful  specta- 
cle that  then  presented  itself  was  such  as  might 
have  daunted  hearts  far  more  accustomed  to 
dangers  than  mine. 

There  lay  before  me,  extending  completely 
across  my  path,  a  thicket,  or  grove  of  the  most 
combustible  trees  of  Egypt  —  tamarind,  pine, 
and  Arabian  balm ;  while  around  their  stems 
and  branches  were  coiled  serpents  of  fire,'  which, 
twisting  themselves  rapidly  from  bough  to  bough, 
spread  the  contagion  of  their  own  wildfire  as 
they  went,  and  involved  tree  after  tree  iii  one 
general  blaze.  It  was,  indeed,  rapid  as  the 
burning  of  those  reed  beds  of  Ethiopia,*  Avhose 
light  is  often  seen  brightening,  at  night,  the 
distant  cataracts  of  the  Nile. 

Through  the  middle  of  this  blazing  grove,  I 
could  now  perceive,  my  only  pathway  lay. 
There  was  not  a  moment,  therefore,  to  be  lost 
—  for  the  conflagration  gained  rapidly  on  either 
side,  and  already  the  naiTowing  path  between 
was  strewed  with  vivid  fire.  Casting  away  my 
noAv  useless  lamp,  and  holding  my  robe  as  some 
slight  protection  over  my  head,  I  ventured,  with 
trembling  limbs,  into  the  blaze. 

Instantly,  as  if  my  presence  had  given  new 
life  to  the  flames,  a  fresh  outbreak  of  combus- 
lion  arose  on  all  sides.  The  trees  clustered  into 
t,  bower  of  fire  above  my  head,  while  the  ser- 
jteiits  that  hung  hissing  from  the  red  branches 
Bhcc  showers  of  sparkles  down  upon  me  as  I 
passed.    Never  were  decision  and  activity  of 

1  "  Ces  ft.  nsidintinns  me  portent  k  penser  que,  dans  lea 
pystires,  ces  phdnnmfenes  6toient  beauconp  mieux  ex4cu- 
jees,  et  sans  coinparaison  plus  tcrribles  k  I'aide  de  qiielqiie 
imposition  pyriqiie  qui  est  restie  cach^e,  corarae  celle  du 
fcu  Gregeois."    De  Pauw. 

t  "  a  i\'y  ».  point  d'autre  m  >ven  que  de  (.  rter  le  feu  dans 


more  avail :  —  one  minute  later,  and  I  must 
have  perished.  The  narrow  opening,  of  which  I 
had  so  promptly  availed  myself,  closed  instantly 
behind  me ;  and  as  I  looked  back,  to  contem- 
plate the  ordeal  which  I  had  passed,  I  saw  t\  \X 
the  whole  grove  was  already  one  mass  of  firo. 

Rejoiced  to  have  escaped  this  first  trial,  I  in- 
stantly plucked  from  one  of  the  pine  trees  a 
bough  that  was  but  just  kindled,  and,  with  thi» 
for  my  only  guide,  hastened  breathlessly  for- 
ward. I  had  advanced  but  a  few  paces,  when 
the  path  turned  suddenly  off,  leading  down- 
wards, as  I  could  perceive  by  the  glimmer  of 
my  brand,  into  a  more  confined  region,  through 
which  a  chilling  air,  as  if  from  some  neighbor- 
ing waters,  blew  over  my  brow.  Nor  had  I 
proceeded  far  in  this  course,  when  the  sound  of 
torrents  '  —  mixed,  as  I  thought,  from  time  to 
time,  with  shrill  wailings,  resembling  the  cries 
of  persons  in  danger  or  distress,  fell  mournfully 
upon  my  ear.  At  every  step  the  noise  of  the 
dashing  waters  increased,  and  I  now  perceived 
that  I  had  entered  an  immense  rocky  cavern, 
through  the  middle  of  which,  headlong  as  a 
winter  torrent,  the  dark  flood,  to  whose  roar  I 
had  been  listening,  poured  its  waters  ;  while 
upon  its  surface  floated  grim  spectre- like  shapes, 
which,  as  they  went  by,  sent  forth  those  dismJ 
shrieks  I  had  heard  —  as  if  in  fear  of  some  aw- 
ful precipice  towards  whose  brink  they  were 
hurrying. 

I  saw  plainly  that  across  that  torrent  must 
be  my  course.  It  was,  indeed,  fearful ;  but  ia 
courage  and  perseverance  now  lay  my  only  hope 
What  awaited  me  on  the  opposite  shore,  I  knew 
not ;  for  all  there  was  immersed  in  impenetrable 
gloom,  nor  could  the  feeble  light  which  I  carried 
send  its  glimmer  half  so  far.  Dismissing,  how- 
ever, all  thoughts  but  that  of  pressing  onward, 
I  sprung  from  the  rock  on  which  I  stood  into 
the  flood,  trusting  that,  with  my  right  hand,  I 
should  be  able  to  buffet  the  current,  while,  with 
the  other,  as  long  as  a  gleam  of  my  brand  re- 
mained, I  might  hold  it  aloft  to  guide  me  safely 
to  the  shore. 

Long,  formidable,  and  almost  hopeless  was  the 
struggle  I  had  now  to  maintain  ;  and  more  than 
once  overpowered  bj'  the  rush  of  the  waters,  I 
had   given  myself  up,*  as  destined  to  follow 

cea  for@t8  do  roseaux,  qui  r^pandent  alors  dans  tout  le  paYi 
une  lumiere  aussi  considerable  que  celle  du  jour  mgme  ' 
Maillet,  torn.  i.  p.  63. 

3  Tf.e  Nile,  Pliny  tells  us,  was  admitted  into  the  Pyra 
mid 

*  "  On  ezer^oit."  says  J)upui$,  "  les  recipHndaries,  pea 


THE  EPICURE.\N. 


7M 


thoee  pale,  deith-l'ke  apparitions,  that  still  went 
past  me,  hurrying  onward,  with  mournful  cries, 
to  find  their  doom  in  some  invisible  gulf  beyond. 

At  length,  just  as  my  strength  was  nearly 
exhausted,  and  the  last  remains  of  the  pine 
branch  were  dropping  from  my  hand,  I  saw, 
outatretching  towards  me  into  the  water,  a  light 
-iouble  balustrade,  with  a  flight  of  steps  between, 
fcs<M.r.ding,  almost  perpendicularly,  from  the 
ware,  till  they  seemed  lost  in  a  dense  mass  of 
clouds  above.  This  glimpse  —  for  it  was  noth- 
ing more,  as  my  light  expired  in  giving  it  — 
lent  new  spring  to  my  courage.  Having  now 
both  hands  at  liberty,  so  desperate  were  my 
efforts,  that,  after  a  few  minutes'  struggle,  I  felt 
my  brow  strike  against  the  stairway,  and,  in  an 
instant,  my  feet  were  on  the  steps. 

Kejoiicd  at  my  escape  from  that  perilous 
flood,  though  I  knew  not  whither  the  stairway 
led,  I  promptly  ascended  the  steps.  But  this 
feeling  of  confidence  was  of  short  duration.  I 
had  not  mounted  far,  when,  to  my  horror,  I  per- 
ceived, that  each  successive  step,  as  my  foot  left 
it,  broke  away  from  beneath  me,  leaving  me  in 
mid  air,  with  no  other  alternative  than  that  of 
still  mounting  by  the  same  momentary  footing, 
and  with  the  appalling  doubt  whether  it  would 
even  endure  my  tread. 

Ajid  thus  did  I,  for  a  few  seconds,  continue 
to  ascend,  with  nothing  beneath  rae  but  that 
awful  river,  in  which  —  so  tranquil  had  it  now 
become  —  1  could  hear  the  plash  of  the  falling 
fragments,  as  every  step  in  succession  gave  way 
from  under  my  feet.  It  was  a  most  fearful  mo- 
ment —  but  even  still  worse  remained.  I  now 
found  the  balustrade,  by  which  I  hftd  held  dur- 
ing my  a.scent,  and  which  had  hitherto  appeared 
to  be  firm,  growing  tremulous  in  my  hand,  while 
the  step,  to  which  I  was  about  to  trust  myself, 
tottered  under  my  foot.  Just  then,  a  momentary 
flash,  as  if  of  lightning,  broke  around  me,  and 
I  saw,  hanging  out  of  the  clouds,  so  as  to  be 
barelj  "o^ithin  my  reach,  a  huge  brazen  ring. 
I'^»tinc*.r"l3  I  stretched  forth  my  arm  to  seize 
il,  Hiu\,  at  the  aame  instant,  both  balustrade  and 
ittps  gave  way  beneath  me,  and  I  was  left 
•  winging  by  my  hands  in  the  dark  void.  As  if, 
too,  this  massy  ring,  which  I  grasped,  was  by 
tome  magic  power  linked  with  all  the  winds  in 
heaven,  no  sooner  had  I  seized  it  than,  like  the 
touching  of  a  spring,  it  seemed  to  give  loose  to 

jant  pliimeum  joun,  i  travener,  k  la  nage.  une  ^nde  Men- 
iuo  d'eaii.  On  les  y  Jeltoit  pt  ce  n'itnit  qii'avec  peine  qu'iU 
'en  retir.iieiiL  Un  appliqiioit  le  (ft  ct  le  feu  sur  leiin  roem- 
wen     Un  le»  Taisuit  pait>«r  i.  traven  Im  flanim— ■" 


every  variety  of  gusts  and  temi>e8ts,  that  em 
strewed  the  sea  shore  wth  wrecks  or  dead  ;  and 
as  I  swung  about,  the  sport  of  this  element- 
strife,  every  new  burst  of  iu  fury  threatened  to 
shiver  me,  like  a  storm  sail,  Vi  atoms  I 

Nor  was  even  this  the  worst ;  —  for  still  hold- 
ing, I  know  not  how,  by  the  ring,  I  felt  myscll 
caught  up,  as  if  by  a  thousand  whirlwinds,  and 
then  round  and  round,  like  a  stone  shot  in  n 
sling,  continued  to  be  whirled  in  the  midit  <.f 
all  this  deafening  chaos,  till  my  brain  grew 
dizzy,  my  recollection  became  confused,  and  ] 
almost  fancied  myself  on  that  wheel  of  the  in 
femal  world,  whose  rotations  Eternity  alone  can 
number ! 

Human  strength  could  no  longer  sustain  such 
a  trial.  I  was  on  the  point,  at  last,  of  loosing 
my  hold,  when  suddenly  the  violence  of  th* 
storm  moderated  ;  —  my  whirl  through  the  air 
gradually  ceased,  and  I  felt  the  ring  slowly  de- 
scend with  me,  till  —  happy  as  a  shipwrecked 
I  mariner  at  the  first  touch  of  land  —  I  found  mt 
feet  once  more  upon  firm  ground. 

At  the  same  moment,  a  light  of  the  most  de- 
licious softness  filled  the  whole  air.  Music, 
such  as  i|  heard  in  dreams,  came  floating  at  a 
distance ;  and  as  my  eyes  gradually  recovered 
their  powers  of  vision,  a  scene  Of  glory  was  re- 
vealed to  them,  almost  too  bright  for  imagina- 
tion, and  yet  living  and  real.  As  far  as  the 
sight  could  reach,  enchanting  gardens  wev 
seen,  opening  away  through  long  tracts  of  light 
and  verdure,  and  sparkling  every  where  with 
fountains,  that  circulated,  like  streams  of  life, 
among  the  flowers.  Not  a  charm  was  here 
wanting,  that  the  fancy  of  poet  or  prophet,  in 
their  warmest  pictures  of  Elysium,  have  ever 
yet  dreamed  or  promised.  Vistas,  opening  into 
scenes  of  indistinct  grandeur  —  streams,  shining 
out  at  intervals,  in  their  shadowy  course  —  and 
labyrinths  of  flowers,  leading,  by  mysterious 
windings,  to  green,  spacious  glades  full  of 
splendor  and  repose.  Over  all  this,  too,  thii» 
fell  a  light,  from  some  unseen  source,  rescr. 
bling  nothing  that  illumines  our  upper  worl  i  - 
a  sort  of  golden  moonlight,  mingling  the  warn, 
radiance  of  day  with  the  calm  and  niclanchrU 
lustre  of  night. 

Norwere  there  wanting  inhabitants  for  this 
sunless  Paradise.  Through  all  the  bright  gar- 
dens were  seen  wandering,  with  the  serene  aii 

The  aapiranl*  were  often  in  cnnaideralila  ilanfer,  um 
PytfaaflOtM,  we  are  (old,  neariy  UhH  hi«  lifs  n  tli'>  tnaW 
Vide  tUdurtkei  nr  U*  Inttiaioiu,  par  Mobim 


704 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


and  step  of  happy  spirits,  groups  both  of  young 
and  old,  of  yenerable  and  of  lovely  forms,  bear- 
ing most  of  them,  the  Nile's  white  flowers  on 
their  heads,  and  branches  of  the  eternal  palm  in 
their  hands  ;  while,  over  the  verdant  turf,  fair 
children  and  maidens  went  dancing  to  aerial 
music,  wh5se  source  was,  like  that  of  the  light, 
invisible,  but  which  filled  the  whole  air  with  its 
mystic  sweetness. 

Exhausted  as  I  was  by  the  painful  trials  I  had 
undergone,  no  sooner  did  I  perceive  those  fair 
groups  in  the  distance,  than  my  weariness,  both 
•if  frame  and  spirit,  was  forgotten.  A  thought 
rosscd  me  that  she,  whom  I  sought,  might 
naply  be  among  them ;  and  notwithstanding 
,he  feeling  of  awe,  with  which  that  unearthly 
scene  inspired  me,  I  was  about  to  fly,  on  the 
instant,  to  ascertain  my  hope.  But  while  in 
the  act  of  making  the  effort,  I  felt  my  robe 
gently  pulled,  and  turning  round,  beheld  an 
aged  man  before  me,  whom,  by  the  sacred  hue 
of  his  garb,  I  knew  at  once  to  be  a  Hierophant. 
Placing  a  branch  of  the  consecrated  palm  in  my 
hand,  he  said,  in  a  solemn  voice,  "  Aspirant  of 
the  Mysteries,  welcome  !  "  —  then,  regarding 
me  for  a  few  seconds  with  grave  attention, 
added,  in  a  tone  of  courteousness  and  interest, 
*'  The  victory  over  the  body  hath  been  gained  ! 
—  Follow  me,  young  Greek,  to  thy  resting- 
place." 

I  obeyed  the  command  in  silence  —  and  the 
Priest,  turning  away  from  this  scene  of  splen- 
dor, into  a  secluded  pathway,  where  the  light 
gradually  faded  as  we  advanced,  led  mo  to  a 
small  pavilion,  by  the  side  of  a  whispering 
stream,  where  the  very  spirit  of  slumber  seemed 
to  preside,  and,  pointing  silently  to  a  bed  of 
dried  poppy  leaves,  left  me  to  repose. 


CHAPTER  Vin. 

Though  the  sight  of   that    splendid  scene 
whose  glories  opened  upon  me,  like  a  moment- 


1  "  Enfln  Harpocrates  repr^sentoit  aussi  le  Soleil.  H  est 
rrai  yie  c'^tnit  aussi  le  Dieu  du  Silence  ;  il  mettoit  le  doigt 
•ur  la  bouclie  parcequ'on  adoroit  le  Soleil  avec  un  respec- 
tueiix  silence  ;  et  c'est  de  Ik  qu'est  venu  le  Sig6  des  Basili- 

diens,  qui  tirnient  leur  origine  de  I'Europe Enfin 

Harpocrates  etoit  assis  sur  le  lotus,  qui  est  la  plante  du  So- 
.eil."    Hist,  des  Jutfa. 

«  For  tlie  two  cups  used  in  the  mysteries,  see  L'Histoire 
1$s  Jnifsy  liv.  ix.  c.  16. 

>  Osiris,  under  the  name  of  Serapis,  was  lupposed  to  rule 


ary  glimpse  into  another  world,  had,  for  an 
instant,  reanimated  my  strength  and  spirit,  yet, 
so  completely  was  my  whole  frame  subdued  by 
fatigue,  that,  even  had  the  form  of  the  young 
Priestess  herself  then  stood  before  me,  mv 
limbs  would  have  sunk  in  the  eff"ort  to  reach 
her.  No  sooner  had  I  fallen  on  myles'.fy  couch 
than  sleep,  like  a  sudden  death,  came  over  roe  ; 
and  I  lay,  for  hours,  in  that  deep  and  motioples* 
rest,  which  not  even  a  shadow  of  life  distur'.s. 

On  awaking  I  saw,  beside  me,  the  same  -  *«- 
erable  personage,  who  had  welcomed  me  tt.  this 
subterranean  world  on  the  preceding  night.  Af 
the  foot  of  my  couch  stood  a  statue,  of  Grecian 
workmanship,  representing  a  boy,  with  -wings, 
seated  gracefully  on  a  lotus  flower,  and  having 
the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  pressed  to  his 
lips.  This  action,  together  with  the  glory  round 
his  brows,  denoted,  as  I  already  knew,  the  God 
of  Silence  and  Light.' 

Impatient  to  know  what  further  trials  awaited 
me,  I  v/as  about  to  speak,  when  the  Priest  ex- 
claimed, anxiously,  "  Hush  !  "  —  and,  pointing 
to  the  statue  at  the  foot  of  the  couch,  said,  — 
«'  Let  the  spell  of  that  Spirit  be  upon  thy  lips, 
young  stranger,  till  the  wisdom  of  thy  instruct- 
ors shall  think  fit  to  remove  it.  Not  unaptly  doth 
the  same  deity  preside  over  Silence  and  Light ; 
since  it  is  only  out  of  the  depth  of  contem- 
plative silence,  that  the  great  light  of  the  soul, 
Truth,  can  arise  !  " 

Little  used  to  the  language  of  dictation  or  in- 
struction, I  was  now  preparing  to  rise,  when  the 
Priest  again  restrained  me ;  and,  at  the  same 
moment,   two    boys,    beautiful    as    the   young 
Genii  of  the  stars,  entered  the  pavilion.     They 
were  habited    in  long   garments  of  the  purest 
white,   and   bore   each   a  email  golden  chalico 
in  his  hand.'    Advancing    towards    me,   they 
stopped  on  opposite  sides  of  the  couch,  and  onfl 
of  them,  presenting  to  me  his  chalice  of  gold 
said,  in  a  tone  between  singing  and  speaking,  -♦ 
"Drink  of  this  cup — Osiris^  sips 
The  same  in  his  halls  below  ; 
And  the  same  he  gives,  to  cool  the  lip* 
Of  the  Dead  <  who  downward  go. 


over  the  subterranean  world  ;  and  performed  the  offie*  n 
Pluto,  in  the  mythology  of  the  Egyptians.  "  They  be> 
lieved,"  says  Dr.  Pritchard,  "  that  Serapis  presided  over  thw 
region  of  departed  souls,  during  the  period  of  their  absence, 
when  languishing  without  bodies,  and  that  the  dead  were 
deposited  in  his  palace."  Analysis  of  the  Egyptian  My 
thology. 

*  "  Frigidam  illam  aquam  post  mortem,  tanquam  Hebe* 
poculum,  expetitam."  Zoega.  —  The  Lethe  of  the  Egyp 
tians  was  called  Ameles.    See  Vupuis,  torn.  viii.  p.  651. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


7M 


•'  Dri]ik  of  this  ciip —  the  water  witbiu 
Is  fresh  from  Lethe's  stream  ; 
Twill  make  the  past,  with  all  its  sin, 
\nd  all  its  pain  and  sorrows,  seem 
Like  a  lung-furgotten  ilreuiii ' 

'  Tlie  pleasure,  whose  charmi 
Are  steep'd  in  woe  j 
The  knowledge,  that  harnM 
The  soul  to  know ; 

»*  The  hope,  that,  bright 

As  the  lake  of  the  waste. 
Allures  the  sight. 
But  mocks  the  taste  ; 

"The  love  that  binds 
Its  innocent  wreath. 
Where  the  serpent  winds, 
In  venom,  beneath  ;  — 

'*  All  tJiar,  of  evil  or  false,  by  thee 
Hath  ever  been  known  or  seen, 
6hall  melt  away  in  this  cup,  and  be 
l-'orgot,  as  it  never  had  been  !  " 

Unwilling  to  throw  a  slight  on  this  strange 
^reii\ony,  I  leaped  forward,  with  all  due 
gidvity,  and  tasted  the  cup  ;  which  I  had  no 
•ountf  done  than  the  young  cupbearer,  on  the 
oth^f  iide,'  invited  my  attention  ;  and,  in  his 
turn,  presenting  the  chalice  which  he  held, 
•ung,  ynth  a  voice  still  sweeter  than  that  of  his 
companion,  the  following  strain  :  — 

"Dnnk  of  this  rup  —  when  Isis  led 
iler  boy,  u*'olJ,  to  the  l>eaming  sky, 
She  ntingL-d  a  irajghi  divme,*  and  said  — 
'  Drink  of  this  .'up,  thou 'It  never  die ! ' 

°  I'huB  do  I  say  and  sir.5  ti  thee, 

Heir  of  that  boiniJIest  heav'n  on  high, 

rhuugh  frail,  and  fnll'!i,  a^nd  lost  thou  be. 

Drink  of  this  cup  thou'It  i^ev^r  die !  •' 

Well  aa  I  had  hitherto  kept  my  philosophy  on 
Its  guard,  against  the  illusion^  with  wliL^h,  I 
knew,  this  region  abounded,  the  yoong  cup- 
bearer had  here  touched  a  spring  of  irvjaginhJion, 
over  which  my  philosophy,  as  has  been  seen, 
had  but  little  control.  No  sooner  had  the  wtjds, 
"thou  shalt  never  die,"  struck  on  my  ear,  than 
the  dream  of  the  Garden  came  fully  to  mj 
mind,  and,  starting  half  way  from  the  couch,  I 
atretched   forth  my  hands  to   the   cup.     But, 

1  "  Enfin  on  disoit  qii'il  y  avoit  deux  coupes,  I'une  en 
baut  et  I'autre  en  bas.  Celui  qui  beuvnit  de  la  coupe  d'en 
bas,  avoit  toujoun  soif,  scs  desirs  s'augmentoit  au  lieu  de 
«'itrindre,  mau  celui  qui  beuvoit  de  la  coupe  en  haut  iloit 
rernpli  et  content.  Celte  premiere  coupe  itoit  la  connois- 
sance  de  la  nature  qui  ne  sati.ifail  jamais  picinement  ceux 
qui  en  sondent  Ics  mystires  ;  et  la  seconde  aiupe,  dans  1«- 
luelle  on  devoit  b.  ire  pour  n-avoir  Jamais  soif,  <V)it  la  cr>o- 
89 


recollecting  myself  instantly,  and  fcwing  that  1 
had  betrayed  to  others  a  weakness  fit  only  foi 
my  own  secret  indulgence,  I  sunk  back  again, 
with  a  smile  of  affected  indifference  on  mr 
couch  —  while  the  young  minstrel,  but  little 
interrupted  by  my  movement,  still  continued 
his  strain,  of  which  I  heard  but  the^  concluding 
words  :  — 

"  And  Memory,  too,  with  her  dreams  shall  cnnM. 
Dreams  of  a  former,  happier  day. 
When  Heaven  was  still  the  Spirit's  hooM, 
And  her  wings  had  not  yet  fallen  awaf  } 

"Glimpses  of  glory,  ne'er  forgot. 

That  tell,  like  gleams  on  a  sunset  sea. 

What  once  hath  lieen,  what  now  is  not. 

But,  O,  what  again  shall  brightly  be." 

Though  the  assurances  of  immortality  con 
tained  in  these  verses  would  at  any  other  mo- 
ment—  vain  and  visionary  as  I  thought  them  — 
have  sent  my  fancy  wandering  into  reveries  of 
the  future,  the  effort  of  self-control  I  had  just 
made  enabled  me  to  hear  them  with  indiffcrenco. 

Having  gone  through  the  form  of  tasting  his 
second  cup,  I  again  looked  anxiously  to  the 
Hierophant,  to  ascertain  whether  I  might  b« 
permitted  to  rise.  His  assent  having  been  given, 
the  young  pages  brought  to  my  couch  a  robe 
and  tunic,  which,  like  their  own,  were  of  linen 
of  the  purest  white  ;  and  having  assisted  to 
clothe  me  in  this  sacred  garb,  they  then  placed 
upon  my  head  a  chaplet  of  myrtle,  in  which 
the  symbol  of  Initiation,  a  golden  grasshopper,* 
was  seen  shining  out  from  among  the  dark 
leaves. 

Though  sleep  had  done  much  to  refresh  my 
frame,  something  more  was  still  wanting  to 
restore  its  strength  ;  and  it  was  not  without  a 
smile  at  my  own  reveries  I  reflected,  how  much 
more  welcome  than  even  the  young  page's  cup 
of  immortality  was  the  unpretending,  but  real, 
repast  now  set  before  me  —  fresh  fruits  from  the 
Isle  of  Gardens  *  in  the  Nile,  the  delicate  flesl 
of  the  desert  antelope,  and  wine  from  the  Vine 
/ard  of  the  Queens  at  Anthylla,*  wliich  one  of 
the  pa^^es  fanned  with  a  palm  leafi  to  Veep  it 
coo„ 


noiss^nc*  1,^  ./lystJree  du  Clel."    Hut  dt»  Ju\fi,  Ht   Xj 
chap.  li\ 

«  The  -n(  i9»j<ria{  ^ap^acoi',  which,  •ecofdinf  to  r«i» 
donis  Siculus,  r».s  ,repared  for  her  son  Onis.  —  Lib.  I. 

»  Hot.  ApolU—  7U»  grasshopper  was  also  consecrated 
the  sun  as  being  mi.si.s). 

«  The  isle  Antirrhv4l»i    tear  Alewndria.    MmiUm 

t  Vide  AUien.  Viiptat 


;o<! 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


Having  done  justice  to  these  dainties,  it  was 
with  pleasure  I  heard  the  pi'oposal  of  the  Priest, 
that  we  should  walk  forth  together  and  medi- 
tate among  the  scenes  without.  I  had  not  for- 
gotten the  splendid  Elysium  that  last  night 
welcomed  me  —  those  rich  gardens,  that  soft 
unearthly  music  and  light,  and,  above  all,  those 
fair  forms  I  had  seen  wandering  about  —  as  if, 
in  the  very  midst  of  happiness,  still  seeking  it. 
The  hope,  Avhich  had  then  occurred  to  me,  that, 
among  those  bright  groups  might  haply  be 
found  the  young  maiden  I  sought,  now  returned 
with  increased  strength.  I  had  little  doubt 
that  my  guide  was  leading  me  to  the  same 
Elj'sian  scene,  and  that  the  form,  so  fit  to  in- 
habit it,  would  again  appear  before  my  eyes. 

But  far  different,  I  found,  was  the  region  to 
which  he  now  conducted  me  ;  —  nor  could  the 
whole  world  have  produced  a  scene  more 
gloomy,  or  more  strange.  It  wore  the  appear- 
ance of  a  small,  solitary  valley,  enclosed,  on 
every  side,  by  rocks,  which  seemed  to  rise, 
almost  perpendicularly,  till  they  reached  the 
very  sky ;  —  for  it  was,  indeed,  the  blue  sky  that 
I  saw  shiring  between  their  summits,  and  whose 
light,  dimmed  thus  and  nearly  lost  in  its  long 
descent,  formed  the  melancholy  daylight  of  this 
nether  world.'  Down  the  side  of  these  rocky 
walls  descended  a  cataract,  whose  source  was 
upon  earth,  and  on  whose  waters,  as  they  rolled 
glassily  over  the  edge  above,  a  gleam  of  radiance 
rested,  showing  how  brilliant  and  pure  was  the 
Bunshine  they  had  left  behind.  From  thence, 
gradually  growing  darker  and  frequently  broken 
by  alternate  chasms  and  projections,  the  stream 
fell,  at  last,  in  a  pale  and  thin  mist  —  the  phan- 
tom of  what  it  had  been  on  earth  —  into  a 
small  lake  that  lay  at  the  base  of  the  rock  to 
receive  it. 

Nothing  was  ever  sc  bleak  and  saddening  as 
the  appearance  of  this  lake.  The  usiial  orna- 
m flits  "^f  the  waters  o'  Egypt  were  not  wanting 
tu  it :  the  tall  lotus  nere  uplifted  her  silvery 
fiovsers,  and  the  crimson  flamingo  floated  over 


1  "On  8'6tait  m6me  avis6.  depuis  la  preniiAre  construc- 
tion deces  demeiires,  de  percer  en  plusieurs  endroits  jns- 
qu'au'haiit  les  terres  qui  les  couvroient ;  non  pas  ^  la  v6rit4, 
pour  tirer  iin  jour  qui  n'aurnit  jamais  ^te  suftisant,  mais 
pour  recevoir  i;n  air  sal;itare,"  &c.     Sethoa. 

s  "  On  voyoit  en  plain  jour  par  ces  ouvermres  les  ^toiles, 
Bi  m£mo  (juelques  planfetes  en  leiir  plus  grande  latitude  sep- 
tentrionale  ;  ct  Ic»  prctres  avoient  bientSt  profits  de  ce  ph6- 
liomcne,  pour  observer  i  diverses  lieures  le  passage  des 
♦toiles."  ^etkns.  —  Strabo  mentions  certain  caves  or  pits, 
tonKfurtsd  for  the  purpose  of  astronomical  observations, 
wtaicli  lay  in  the  Hcliopolitan  prefecture,  beyond  U  >liopolis. 


I  the  tide.  But  they  looked  not  the  stune  a"  in 
the  world  above  ;  —  the  flower  had  exchanged 
its  Avhiteness  for  a  livid  hue,  and  the  wings  of 
the  bird  hung  heavy  and  colorless.  Every 
thing  wore  the  same  half-living  aspect ;  and 
the  only  sounds  that  distur1>ed  ^he  mournful 
stillness  were  the  wailing  cry  of  a  heron  amor  g 
the  sedges,  and  that  din  of  the  falling  water?, 
in  their  midway  strugglR,  f.bove. 

There  was,  indeed,  a'l  unearthly  sadness  ir 
the  whole  scene,  of  w>ich  no  heart,  howevei 
light,  could  resist  the  influence.  Perceiving 
how  much  I  was  affer  <;ra  by  it,  "  Such  scenes," 
remarked  the  Priest,  '  are  best  suited  to  that 
solemn  complexion  oi  .nind,  which  becomes  him 
who  approaches  the  oreat  Mystery  of  futurity. 
Behold  "  —  and,  in  saying  thus,  he  pointed  to 
the  opening  over  our  heads,  through  which, 
though  the  sun  had  but  just  passed  his  me- 
ridian, I  could  perceive  a  star  or  two  twinkling 
in  the  heavens  —  "  in  the  same  manner  as 
from  this  gloomy  depth  we  can  see  those 
faxed  stars,'  which  are  invisible  now  to  the 
dwellers  on  the  bright  earth,  even  so,  to  the  sad 
and  self-humbled  spirit,  doth  many  a  mystery 
of  heaven  reveal  itself,  of  which  they,  who 
walk  in  the  light  of  the  proud  world,  know- 
not  !  " 

He  now  led  me  towards  a  rustic  seat  or  alcove, 
beside  which  stood  an  image  of  that  dark  Deity, 
that  God  without  a  smile,  who  presides  over  the 
silent  kingdom  of  the  Dead.*  The  same  livid 
and  lifeless  hue  was  upon  his  features  that  hung 
over  every  thing  in  this  dim  valley  ;  and,  with 
his  right  hand,  he  pointed  directly  downwards, 
to  denote  that  his  melancholy  kingdom  lay  there. 
A  plantain  *  —  that  faf  orite  tree  of  the  genii  of 
Death  —  stood  behind  the  statue,  and  spread  its 
branches  over  the  alcove,  in  which  tht  Priest 
now  seated  himself,  and  made  a  sign  that  I 
should  take  my  place  by  his  side. 

After  a  long  pause,  as  if  of  thought  and  prep- 
aration, —  "  Nobly,"  said  he,  "  young  Greek, 
hast  thou  sustained  the  first  trials  of  Initiation 


3  Serapis,  Sol  Inferus.  —  Atlienodorus,  scriptor  vetusnuf, 
npud  Clementum  Alexandrinum  in  Protreptico,  ah  "simu- 
lacra Serapidis  conspicua  esse  colore  ca;ruleo  et  nigrirante." 
Macrobius,  in  verbis  descriptis,  $  6,  docet  nos  apud  ^gyp 
tios  "simulacra  solis  infera  fingi  colore  caeruleo." — Ja 
blonski, 

<  Osiris. 

6  This  tree  was  dedicated  to  the  Genii  of  the  Shades,  froit 
its  being  an  emblem  of  repose  and  cooling  airs.  "  Cui  im- 
minet  muss  folium,  quod  ab  Iside  infera  geniisque  ei  addic- 
tis  manu  geri  solitum,  umbram  roquiemque  et  auras  fri^ida* 
BUbindigitare  videtur."    Zoega 


What  81  ill  remains,  though  of  vital  import  to 
4ie  80ul,  brings  with  it  neither  pain  nor  peril  to 
the  body.  Having  now  proved  and  chastened 
tliy  mortal  frame,  by  the  three  ordeals  of  Fire, 
of  Water,  and  of  Air,  the  next  task  to  which 
we  are  called  is  the  purification  of  thy  spirit  — 
the  effectual  cleansing  of  that  inward  and  im- 
mortal part,  80  as  to  render  it  fit  for  the  recep- 
tion of  the  last  luminous  revealment,  when  the 
Vsils  of  the  Sanctuary  shall  be  thrown  aside, 
»nd  the  Great  Secret  of  Secrets  unfolded  to  thy 
view  !  —  Towards  this  object,  the  primary  and 
most  important  step  is,  instruction.  What  the 
three  purifying  elements  thou  hait  passed 
through  have  done  for  thy  body,  instruction 
will  effect  for " 

*'  But  that  lovely  maiden  !  "  I  exclaimed, 
bursting  from  my  silence,  having  fallen,  during 
his  speech,  into  a  deep  revory.  in  which  I  had 
forgotten  him,  myself,  the  Great  Secret,  every 
thing  — but  her. 

Startled  by  this  profane  interruption,  he  cast 
a  look  of  alarm  towards  the  statue,  as  if  fearful 
lest  the  God  should  have  heard  my  words. 
Then,  turning  to  mc,  in  a  tone  of  mild  solem- 
nity, "  It  is  but  too  plain,"  said  he,  ••  that 
thoughts  of  the  upper  world,  and  of  its  vain, 
shadowy  delights,  still  engross  thee  far  too 
.nuch,  to  allow  the  lessons  of  Truth  to  sink 
profitably  into  thy  heart.  A  few  hours  of  med- 
itation amid  this  solemn  scenery  —  of  that 
wholesome  meditation,  which  purifies,  by  sad- 
dening —  may  haply  dispose  thee  to  receive, 
with  due  feelings  of  reverence,  the  holy  and 
imperishable  knowledge  we  have  in  store  for 
thee.  With  this  hope  1  now  leave  thee  to  thy 
own  thoughts,  and  to  that  God,  before  whose 
cahu  and  mournful  eye  all  the  vanities  of  the 
world,  from  which  thou  comest,  wither  !  " 

Thus  saying,  he  turned  slowly  away,  and 
passing  behind  the  statue,  towards  which  he 
Had  pointed  during  the  last  sentence,  suddenly, 
ts  if  by  enchantment,  disappeared  from  my 
light. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Beixo  now  left  to  my  own  solitary  thoughts, 
I  was  fully  at  leisure  to  reflect,  with  some  degree 
of  coolness,  upon  the  inconveniences,  if  not 
dangers,  of  the  situation  into  which  my  love  of 
adventure  had  hurried  me.  However  prompt 
my  unagination  was  always  to  kindle,  in  its  own 
deal   sphere,  I  have   ever  fouad  that,   when 


brought  into  contact  with  reality,  it  as  suddealj 
cooled  ,  —  like  those  meteors,  that  appear  to  hi 
stars,  while  in  the  air,  but,  the  moment  thej 
touch  earth,  are  extinguished.  And  such  wai 
the  feeling  of  disenchantment  that  now  suc- 
ceeded to  the  wild  dreams  in  which  I  had  beer 
indulging.  As  long  as  Fancy  had  the  field  of 
the  future  to  herself,  even  immortality  did  ncl 
seem  too  distant  a  race  for  her.  Bui  when  hn« 
man  instruments  interposed,  the  illusion  aQ 
I  vanished.  From  mortal  lips  the  promi.se  of 
immortality  seemed  a  mockery,  and  even  ima^- 
nation  had  no  wings  that  could  carry  beyond 
the  grave. 

Nor  was  this  disappointment  the  only  feeling 
that  pained  and  haunted  me  ;  —  the  impru- 
dence of  the  step,  on  which  I  had  ventured, 
now  appeared  in  its  full  extent  before  my  eyes. 
I  had  here  thrown  myself  into  the  power  of  tha 
most  artful  priesthood  in  the  world,  without 
even  a  chance  of  being  able  to  escape  from  theif 
toils,  or  to  resist  any  machinations  with  which 
they  might  beset  me.  It  appeared  evident,  from 
the  state  of  preparation  in  which  I  had  found 
all  that  wonderful  apparatus,  by  which  the  ter 
rors  and  splendors  of  Initiation  are  produced, 
that  my  descent  into  the  pyramid  was  not  un- 
expected. Numerous,  indeed,  and  active  as 
were  the  spies  of  the  Sacred  College  of  Memphis 
it  could  little  be  doubted  that  all  my  move- 
ments, since  my  arrival,  had  been  watchfully 
tracked  ;  and  the  many  hours  I  had  employed 
in  wandering  and  exploring  around  the  pyra- 
mid, betrayed  a  curiosity  and  spirit  of  adventure 
which  might  well  suggest  to  these  wily  priests 
the  hope  of  inveigling  an  Epicurean  into  their 
toils. 

I  was  well  aware  of  their  hatred  to  the  sect 
of  which  I  was  Chief ;  —  that  they  considered 
the  Epicureans  as,  next  to  the  Christians,  the 
most  formidable  enemies  of  their  craft  and 
power.  "  How  thoughtless,  then,"  I  exclaimed, 
"  to  have  placed  myself  in  a  situation,  where  I 
am  equally  helpless  against  fraud  and  violence, 
and  must  either  pretend  to  be  the  dupe  of  their 
impostures,  or  else  submit  to  become  the  victim 
of  their  vengeance  !  "  Of  these  tltomatives, 
bitter  as  they  both  were,  the  latter  appeared  by 
far  the  more  welcome.  It  was  with  a  blush 
that  I  even  looked  back  upon  the  mockeries  I 
had  already  yielded  to ;  and  the  prospect  of 
being  put  through  still  further  ceremonials,  and 
of  being  tutored  and  preached  to  by  hypocrite* 
I  so  much  despised,  appeared  to  me,  in  my  pres- 
ent mood  of  mind,  a  trial  of  patience,  compared 


to  which  the  flames  and  -whirlwinds  I  had  al- 
ready encountered  were  pastime. 

Often  and  impatiently  did  I  look  up,  between 
those  rocky  walls,  to  the  bright  sky  that  ap- 
peared to  rest  upon  their  summits,  as  pacing 
round  and  round,  through  every  part  of  the 
vaUey,  I  endeavored  to  find  some  outlet  from 
its  gloomy  precincts.  But  vain  were  all  my 
endeavors  ;  —  that  rocky  barrier,  which  seemed 
to  end  but  in  heaven,  interposed  itself  every 
where.  Neither  did  the  image  of  the  young 
maiden,  though  constantly  in  my  mind,  now 
bring  with  it  the  least  consolation  or  hope.  Of 
what  avail  was  it  that  she,  perhaps,  was  an  in- 
habitant of  this  region,  if  I  could  neither  be- 
hold her  smile,  nor  catch  the  sound  of  her  voice 
—  if,  while  among  preaching  priests  I  wasted 
Rway  my  hours,  her  presence  was,  alas,  diffus- 
ing its  enchpntment  elsewhere. 

At  length  exhausted,  I  lay  down  by  the  brink 
of  the  lake,  and  gave  myself  up  to  all  the  mel- 
ancholy of  my  fancy.  The  pale  semblance  of 
daylight,  which  had  hitherto  glimmered  around, 
grew,  every  moment,  more  dim  and  dismal. 
Even  the  rich  gleam,  at  the  summit  of  the  cas- 
cade, had  faded ;  and  the  sunshine,  like  the 
water,  exhausted  in  its  descent,  had  now  dwin- 
dled into  a  ghostly  glimmer,  far  worse  than 
darkness.  The  birds  upon  the  lake,  as  if  about 
to  die  with  the  dying  light,  sunk  down  their 
heads ;  and  as  I  looked  to  the  statue,  the  deep- 
ening shadows  gave  such  an  expression  to  its 
mournful  features  as  chilled  my  very  soul. 

The  thought  of  death,  ever  ready  to  present 
itself  to  my  imagination,  now  came,  with  a  dis- 
heartening weight,  such  as  I  had  never  before 
folt.  I  almost  fancied  myself  already  in  the 
dark  vestibule  of  the  grave  —  removed,  forever, 
from  the  world  above,  and  with  nothing  but  the 
blank  of  an  eternal  sleep  before  me.  It  had  hap- 
pened. I  knew,  frequently,  that  the  visitants  of 
this  mysterious  realm  were,  after  their  descent 
from  earth,  never  seen  or  heard  of;  —  being 
condemned,  lor  some  failure  in  their  initiatory 
trials,  to  pine  away  their  lives  in  those  dark 
iungeons,  with  which,  as  well  as  with  altars, 
this  region  abounded.     Such,  I  shuddered  to 


1  For  a  full  account  of  the  doctrines  which  are  here  repre- 
lented  as  having  been  taught  to  tlie  initiated  in  the  Egyp- 
tian mysteries,  the  reader  may  consult  Dujiuis,  Pritchard's 
Analysis  of  the  Eg^iptian  Mythology,  Sec.  &c.  "  L'on  d6- 
Xjuvroit  I'origine  de  I'ame,  sa  chute  siir  la  terre,  i  travers 
les  spheres  et  lea  6I6mens,  et  son  retonr  au  lieu  de  son  ori- 
gine  ....  c'6toit  ici  la  partie  la  plus  m^taphysiqiie,  et  que 
ne  potirroit  guer«  ?ntendre  le  commun  des  Initios,  mais 


think,  might  probablj  be  my  own  destiny;  and 
so  appalling  was  the  thought,  that  even  th« 
courage  by  which  I  had  been  hitherto  sustained 
died  within  me,  and  I  was  already  giving  my- 
self up  to  helplessness  and  despair. 

At  length,  after  some  hours  of  this  gloomy 
musing,  I  heard  a  rustling  in  the  sacred  grove 
behind  the  statue  ;  and,  soon  after,  the  sour  d 
of  the  Priest's  A'oice  —  more  welcome  than  I  had 
ever  thought  such  voice  could  be —  brought  the 
assurance  that  I  was  not  yet  wholly  abandoned 
Finding  his  way  to  me  through  the  gloom,  he 
now  led  me  to  the  same  spot,  on  which  we  had 
parted  so  manj'  hours  before  ;  and,  addressing 
me  in  a  voice  that  retail! ed  no  trace  of  displeas- 
ure, bespoke  my  attention,  while  he  should  re- 
veal to  me  some  of  those  divine  truths,  by  whose 
infusion,  he  said,  into  the  soul  of  man,  its  puri- 
fication can  alone  be  effected. 

The  valley  had  now  become  so  dark,  that  we 
could  no  longer,  as  we  sat,  discern  each  other's 
faces.  There  was  a  melancholy  in  the  voice  of 
my  instructor  that  well  accorded  with  the  gloom 
around  us  :  and,  saddened  and  subdued,  I  now 
listened  with  resignation,  if  not  with  interest, 
to  those  sublime,  but,  alas,  I  thought,  vain 
tenets,  which,  with  all  the  warmth  of  a  true 
believer,  this  Hierophant  expounded  to  me. 

He  spoke  of  the  pretixistence  of  the  soul '  — 
of  its  abode,  from  all  eternity,  in  a  place  of 
splendor  and  bliss,  of  which  whatever  we  have 
most  beautiful  in  our  conceptions  here  is  but  a 
dim  transcript,  a  clouded  remembrance.  In  the 
blue  depths  of  ether,  he  said,  lay  that  "  Coun- 
try of  the  Soul"  —  its  boundary  alone  visible  in 
the  Lne  of  milky  light,  which,  as  by  a  barrier 
of  stars,  separates  it  from  the  dark  earth.  "  0, 
realm  of  purity  !  Home  of  the  yet  unfallen 
Spirit !  —  where,  in  the  days  of  her  first  inno- 
cence, she  wandered  ;  ere  yet  her  beauty  was 
soiled  by  the  touch  of  earth,  or  her  resplendent 
wings  had  withered  away.  Methinks  I  see,  ' 
he  cried,  "at  this  moment,  those  fields  of  ra 
diance'  —  I  look  back,  through  the  mists  of 
life,  into  that  luminous  world,  where  the  soub 
that  have  never  lost  their  high,  heavenly  rank, 
still  soar,  without  a  stain,  above  the  shadowless 


dont  on  lui  donnoit  le  spectacle  par  des  figures  et  nes  spec- 
tres all^goriques."     Dupuis. 

2  See  Beausobre,  lib.  iii.  c.  4,  for  the  "  terre  bicnheureusc 
et  lumineiise,"  wliich  the  Manicheans  supposed  G<<d  to  in- 
habit. Plato,  too,  speaks  (in  Phied.;  of  a  pure  land  lying  ii 
the  pure  sky  {Tt]v  yriv  KaOapav  ev  KaOapi.)  KCtaSat  c«/)aio)J 
the  al>ode  of  divinity,  of  innocence,  and  of  life. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


;»k 


Itars,  and  there  dwell  together  in  iuiinite  per- 
fection and  bliss !  " 

As  he  spoke  these  words,  a  burst  of  pure, 
brilliant  light,'  like  a  sudden  opening  of  heaven, 
broke  through  the  valley ;  and,  as  soon  as  my 
eyes  were  able  to  endure  the  splendor,  such  a 
vision  of  glory  and  loveliness  opened  upon  them, 
as  took  even  my  Bceptical  spirit  by  surprise,  and 
madd  it  yield,  at  once,  to  the  potency  of  the 
ipell. 

Suspended,  as  I  thought,  in  air,  and  occupy- 
ing the  whole  of  the  opposite  region  of  the  val- 
ley, there  appeared  an  immense  orb  of  light, 
nitnin  which,  through  a  haae  of  radiance,  I 
could  see  distinctly  fair  groups  of  young  female 
•pirits,  who,  in  silent,  but  harmonious  move- 
ment, like  that  of  the  stars,  wound  slowly 
through  a  variety  of  fanciful  evolutions ;  seem- 
ing, as  they  linked  and  unlinked  each  other's 
arms,  to  form  a  living  labyrinth  of  beauty  and 
grace.  Though  their  feet  appeared  to  glide 
along  a  field  of  light,  they  had  also  wings,  of 
the  most  brilliant  hue,  whidi,  like  rainbows 
over  waterfalls,  when  played  wittx  by  the  breeze, 
reflected,  every  moment,  a  new  variety  of  glory. 

As  I  stood,  gazing  with  wonder,  the  orb,  with 
all  its  ethereal  inmates,  began  gradually  to  re- 
cede into  the  dark  void,  lessening,  as  it  went, 
and  becoming  more  bright,  as  it  lessened ;  — 
till,  at  length,  distant,  to  all  appearance,  as  a 
retiring  comet,  this  little  world  of  Spirits,  in 
one  small  point  of  intense  radiance,  shone  its 
last  and  vanished.  "  Go,"  exclaimed  the  rapt 
Priest,  "ye  happy  souls,  of  whose  dwelling  a 
glimpse  is  thus  given  to  our  eyes,  go,  wander, 
in  your  orb,  through  the  boundless  heaven,  nor 
ever  let  a  thought  of  this  perishable  world  come 
to  mingle  its  dross  with  your  divine  nature,  or 
allure  you  down  earthward  to  that  mortal  fall 
by  which  spirits,  no  less  bright  and  admirable, 
have  been  ruined  !  " 

A  pause  ensued,  during  which,  still  under 
the  influence  of  wonder,  I  sent  my  fancy  wan- 
dering after  the  inhabitants  of  that  orb  —  almost 
Mishlng  myself  credulous  enough  to  believe  in 


1  The  power  of  prodiicinf;  a  n  Men  and  dazzling  efTiision 
ef  light,  which  wa«  one  of  the  art*  employed  by  the  coiitri- 
renof  tlie  ancient  Mysteric*,  is  thus  described  in  a  few  wurtto 
»y  Apiilciin,  who  was  himself  adinilled  to  wiliie*.«  the  I»iac 
;erenionie»  at  Corinth  :  —  "  Nocto  medid  vidi  loleni  candi- 
io  conifscanlcm  hiinine." 

*  In  the  original  construction  of  thii  work,  there  was  an 
tpiiHXle  introduced  here  (which  I  have  aince  published  in  a 
rwre  extended  Uirm),  illustrating  the  doctrine  of  the  fall  of 
le  aoul  by  ibe  unental  taltle  of  tUe  Loves  of  Um  Angels 


a  heaven,  of  which  creatures,  so  much  dke  thoM 
I  bad  worshipped  on  earth,  M'ere  inmates. 

At  length,  tlie  Priest,  with  a  mournful  sigh  •* 
the  sad  contrast  ho  was  about  to  draw  between 
the  happy  spirits  we  had  just  seen  and  the  fallen 
ones  of  earth,  resumed  again  his  melancholy 
History  of  the  Soul.  Tracir.g  it  graduall)  fr"m 
the  first  moment  of  earthward  desire*  to  iti 
final  eclipse  in  the  shadows  of  this  world,  ai 
dwelt  upon  every  stage  of  iu  darkening  acsci  nt 
with  a  pathos  that  sent  sadness  into  the  verj 
depths  of  tlie  heart.  The  first  downwaid  look 
of  the  Spirit  towards  earth  —  the  trembld  of 
her  wings  on  the  edge  of  Heaven  —  the  giddj 
slide,  at  length,  down  that  fatal  descent,  and 
the  Lethean  cup,  midway  in  the  sky,  of  which 
when  she  has  once  tasted,  Heaven  is  forgot -- 
through  all  these  gradations  he  traced  mourn- 
fully her  fall,  to  that  last  stage  of  darknes:,. 
when,  wholly  immersed  in  this  world,  her  ce- 
lestial nature  becomes  changed,  she  no  longer 
con  rise  above  earth,  nor  even  remember  her 
former  home,  except  by  glimpes  so  vague,  that, 
at  length,  mistaking  for  hope  what  is  only,  alaa, 
recollection,  she  believes  those  gleams  to  be  • 
light  from  the  Future,  not  the  Past. 

"  To  retrieve  this  ruin  of  this  once  blessed  Soul 
—  to  clear  away  from  around  her  the  clouds  of 
earth,  and,  restoring  her  lost  wings,'  facilitate 
their  return  to  Heaven  —  such,"  said  the  rev- 
erend man,  "  is  the  great  task  of  our  religion, 
and  such  the  triumph  of  those  divine  Mysteries, 
in  whose  inmost  depths  the  life  and  essence  ol 
that  holy  religion  lie  treasured.  However  sunk 
and  changed  and  clouded  may  be  the  Spirit,  yet 
as  long  as  a  single  trace  of  her  original  light 
remains,  there  is  still  hope  that " 

Here  the  voice  of  the  Priest  was  interrupted 
by  a  strain  of  mournful  music,  of  which  the 
low,  distant  breathings  had  been,  for  some  min- 
utes, audible,  but  which  now  gained  upon  the 
ear  too  thrillingly  to  let  it  listen  to  any  mora 
earthly  sound.  A  faint  light,  too,  at  that  in« 
stant  broke  through  the  valley  —  and  I  cculc 
perceive,  not  far  from  the  spot  wliere  we  sat  t 


»  In  the  language  of  Plato,  Hiemctea,  let,  to  "  rflorr  « 
the  soul  iu  wingK,"  is  tlie  main  object  boili  of  relifioii  an4 
philosophy. 

Damateiut,  in  his  Life  of  Isidorua,  says,  "  Ex  anilqiiiest. 
mis  Phikaophis  Pyihagoram  et  Platunem  Isidonis  iil  Oeoi 
coluil,  et  tor.m  animat  alatas  t*M  dixit  quu  in  luciiii-  super- 
oelestem  inqiie  ranipum  veritalis  et  pratutn  el«i;itia,dl 
viiiis  putavit  ideis  paacL"    JtfwL  PkM  BMitUtM. 


710 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


ferr.ale  figure,  veiled,  and  crouching  to  earth,  as 
if  subdued  by  sorrow,  or  under  the  influence  of 
shame. 

The  feeble  light,  by  which  I  saw  her,  came 
from  a  pale,  moon-like  meteor  which  had  grad- 
ually formed  itself  in  the  air  as  the  music  ap- 
proached, and  now  shed  over  the  rocks  and  the 
lake  a  glimmer  as  cold  as  that  by  which  the 
Dead,  in  their  own  kingdom,  gaze  upon  each 
other.  The  music,  too,  which  appeared  to  rise 
from  out  of  the  lake,  full  of  the  breath  of  its 
dark  waters,  spoke  a  despondency  in  every  note 
which  no  language  could  express  ;  —  and,  as  I 
listened  to  its  tones,  and  looked  upon  that  fallen 
Spirit,  (for  such,  the  holy  man  whispered,  was 
the  form  before  us,)  so  entirely  did  the  illusion 
of  the  scene  take  possession  of  me,'  that,  with 
almost  painful  anxiety,  I  now  awaited  the  result. 

Nor  had  I  gaz-^d  long  before  that  form  rose 
slowly  from  its  drooping  position ;  —  the  air 
around  it  grew  bright,  and  the  pale  meteor 
overhead  assumed  a  more  cheerful  and  living 
light.  The  veU,  which  had  before  shrouded  the 
face  of  the  figure,  became  every  minute  more 
transparent,  and  the  features,  one  by  one,  grad- 
ually disclosed  themselves.  Having  tremblingly 
watched  the  progress  of  the  apparition,  I  now 
started  from  my  scat,  and  half  exclaimed,  "  It 
is  she  !  "  In  another  minute,  this  veil  had,  like 
a  thin  mist,  melted  away,  and  the  young  Priest- 
ess of  the  Moon  stood,  for  the  third  time,  re- 
vealed before  my  eyes  ! 

To  rush  instantly  towards  her  was  my  first 
impulse  —  but  the  arm  of  the  Priest  held  me 
firmly  back.  The  fresh  light,  which  had  begun 
to  flow  in  from  all  sides,  collected  itself  in  a 
flood  of  glory  around  the  sjjot  where  she  stood. 
Instead  of  melancholy  music,  strains  of  the  most 
exalted  rapture  were  heard ;  and  the  young 
maiden,  buoyant  as  the  inhabitants  of  the  fairy 
Drb,  amid  a  blaze  of  light  like  that  which  fell 
ipon  her  in  the  Temple,  ascended  slowly  into 
;he  air. 

"  Stay,  beautiful  vision,  stay  !  "  I  exclaimed, 
as,  breaking  from  the  hold  of  the  Priest,  I  flung 
myself  prostrate  on  the  ground  —  the  only  mode 
by  which  I  could  express  the  admiration,  even 

1  In  tracing  the  early  connection  of  spectacles  with  the 
jerenionies  of  religion,  Voltaire  says,  "  II  y  a  bien  plus  ;  les 
^^ritahles  grandes  tragedies,  les  represeiitatidns  iinpusantes 
et  terrilileti,  ^toient  les  mysteres  sacres,  qu'un  celebroit  dans 
les  plus  vastes  temples  du  monde,  en  presence  des  seals  Ini- 
ties  ;  c'etoit  Ik  que  les  habits,  les  decorations,  les  machines 
»toi*nt  propres  au  sujet ;  et  le  sujet  6toit  la  vie  presente  et 
'^a  vie.  future."  Dcs  divers  Oiaiijremens  arrives  d  I'Art  tra- 
fupte. 


to  worship,  with  which  I  was  filled.  But  th« 
vanishing  spirit  heard  me  not :  —  receding  into 
the  darkness,  like  that  orb,  whose  heavenward 
track  she  seemed  to  follow,  her  form  lessened 
by  degrees  away,  till  she  was  seen  no  more ; 
while,  gazing,  till  the  last  luminous  speck  had 
disappeared,  I  allowed  myself  unconsciously  to 
be  led  away  by  my  reverend  guide,  who,  placing 
me  once  more  on  my  bed  of  poppy  leaves,  left 
me  there  to  such  repose  as  it  was  possible,  oftei 
such  a  scene,  to  enjoy. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  apparition  with  which  I  had  been  blessed 
in  that  Valley  of  Visions  —  for  so  the  place  where 
I  had  witnessed  these  wonders  was  called  — 
brought  back  to  my  heart  all  the  hopes  and 
fancies,  in  which  during  my  descent  from  earth 
I  had  indulged.  I  had  now  seen  once  more  that 
matchless  creature,  who  had  been  my  guiding 
star  into  this  mysterious  realm ;  and  that  she 
was  destined  to  be,  in  some  way,  connected  with 
the  further  revelations  that  awaited  me,  I  saw 
no  reason  to  doubt.  There  was  a  sublimity, 
too,  in  the  doctrines  of  my  reverend  teacher, 
and  even  a  hope  in  the  promises  of  immortality 
held  out  by  him,  which,  in  spite  of  reason,  won 
insensiblj'  both  uj^on  my  fancy  and  my  pride. 

The  Future,  however,  was  now  but  of  sec- 
ondary consideration  ;  —  the  Present,  and  that 
deity  of  the  Present,  woman,  were  the  objects 
that  engrossed  my  whole  soul.  It  was,  indeed, 
for  the  sake  of  such  beings  alone  that  I  consid- 
ered immortality  desirable,  nor,  without  them, 
would  eternal  life  have  appeared  to  me  worth 
a  single  prayer.  To  every  further  trial  of  my 
patience  and  faith,  I  now  made  up  my  mind  to 
submit  without  a  murmur.  Some  kind  chance, 
I  fondly  persuaded  myself,  might  yet  bring  me 
nearer  to  the  object  of  my  adoration,  and  enuble 
me  to  address,  as  mortal  woman,  one  vho  hac 
hitherto  been  to  me  but  as  a  vision,  a  shade. 

The  period  of  my  probation,  however,  wiu> 
nearly  at  an  end.     Both  frame  and  spirit  Y  ad 

To  these  scenic  representations  in  the  Egyptian  mystf  ries 
there  is  evidently  an  allusion  in  the  vision  of  Ezekiel  vhern 
the  Spirit  shows  him  the  abominations  which  the  Ir^raelitel 
learned  in  Egypt :  —  "  Then  said  he  unto  me,  '  Son  of  man 
hast  thou  seen  what  the  ancients  of  the  house  of  Israel  (1( 
in  the  dark,  every  man  in  tht  chambers  of  his  imagtry  I  • 
Chap.  viii. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


7ii 


aDw  stood  the  trial ;  and,  as  the  crowning  test 
nf  the  purification  of  the  latter  was  that  power 
of  seeing  into  the  world  of  spirits,  with  which 
I  had  proved  mj  self,  in  the  Valley  of  Visions, 
to  be  endowed,  there  now  remained,  to  complete 
my  Initiation,  but  this  one  night  more,  when,  in 
the  Temp  ;  of  Isis,  and  in  the  presence  of  her 
unveiled  image,  the  last  grand  revelation  of  the 
Se(  ret  of  .Secrets  was  to  be  laid  open  to  me. 

I  passed  the  morning  of  this  day  in  company 
Hith  the  same  venerable  personage,  who  had, 
ftrom  the  first,  presided  over  the  ceremonies  of 
my  instruction  ;  and  who,  to  inspire  me  with 
due  reverence  for  the  power  and  magnificence 
of  his  religion,  now  conducted  me  through  the 
'ong  range  of  illuminated  galleries  and  shrines, 
•hat  extend  under  the  site  upon  which  Memphis 
*nd  the  Pyramids  stand,  and  form  a  counterpart 
nnder  ground  to  that  mighty  city  of  temples 
upon  earth. 

lie  then  descended  with  me,  still  lower,  into 
•Jiose  winding  crypti,  where  lay  the  Seven  Ta- 
bles of  stone,*  found  by  Hermes  in  the  valley 
af  Hebron.  '♦  On  these  tables,"  said  he,  •'  is 
written  all  the  knowledge  of  the  antediluvian 
lace  —  the  decrees  of  the  stars  from  the  begin- 
ning of  time,  the  annals  of  a  still  earlier  world, 
Bnd  all  the  mar^-ellous  secrets,  both  of  heaven 
*nd  earth,  which  would  have  been, 

'  but  for  this  key, 
Ixist  in  the  Universal  Sea." 

Returning  to  the  region,  from  which  we  had 
"descended,  we  next  visited,  in  succession,  a  se- 
ries of  small  shrines  representing  the  various 
objects  of  adoration  through  Egypt,  and  thus 
furnishing  to  the  Priest  an  occasion  for  explain- 
ing the  mysterious  nature  of  animal  worship, 
and  the  refined  doctrines  of  theology  that  lay 
veiled  under  its  forms.  Every  shrine  was  con- 
»%:rated  to  a  particular  faith,  and  contained  a 
livi^c  image  of  the  deity  which  it  adored.  Be- 
ndc  tne  goat  of  Mendes,'  with  his  refulgent  star 
upon  his  breast,  I  saw  the  crocodile,  as  presented 
tc  the  eyes  of  its  idolaters  at  ArsinoC,  with  costly 
gems  *  in  its  loathsome  cars,  and  rich  bracelets  of 


•  *'  Bemai  •,  Conito  d-j  la  Marche  Tr6vi»ane,  inxtniit  par 
la  lecture  dcs  l!ire«  ancienH,  dit,  qii'Herinen  tronva  sept  ta- 
bic* dans  la  v.illc*  d'lleliron,  siir  Ipsqiielles  itoient  gravis 
Ips  prinri|)e3  des  artu  libiraux."  Fables  F.gypUenna.  See 
Jablontki  dt  ttelU  Hcrm, 

>  Fur  nil  arcoiiiit  of  the  animal  worship  of  the  Egyptians, 
lee  Df  Paum,  toni.  I. 

*  Herodiitii!)  (Eutfrp.)  triln  us  that  the  (irople  ahniit 
fhebea  and  Lake  MoerU  kep  a  number  or  tame  crocodiles. 


gold  encircling  its  feet.  Here,  floating  througk 
a  tank  in  the  centre  of  a  temple,  the  sacred  carf 
of  Lepidotura  showed  its  silvery  scales  ;  \%  hile, 
there,  the  Isiac  serpents  *  trailed  languidly  ovei 
the  altar.'with  that  sort  of  movement  which  i* 
thought  most  favorable  to  the  aspirations  ot  theii 
votaries.  In  one  of  the  small  chapels  we  iouni 
a  beautiful  child,  employed  in  feeding  and  watch  • 
ing  over  tho.se  golden  beetles,  which  are  adorec 
for  their  brightness,  as  emblems  of  the  sun  ; 
while,  in  another,  stood  a  sacred  ibis  upon  it» 
pedestal,  so  like,  in  plumage  and  attitude,  to  th« 
bird  of  the  young  Priestess,  that  .most  gladly 
would  I  have  knelt  down  and  worshipped  it  for 
her  sake. 

After  visiting  all  these  various  shrines,  and 
hearing  the  reflections  which  they  suggested,  I 
was  next  led  by  my  guide  to  the  Great  Hall  of 
the  Zodiac,  on  whose  ceiling  was  delineated,  in 
bright  and  undying  colors,  the  map  of  the  fir- 
mament, as  it  appeared  at  the  first  dawn  of  time. 
Hero,  in  pointing  out  the  track  of  the  sun  among 
the  spheres,  he  spoke  of  the  analogy  that  exi»t« 
between  moral  and  physical  darkness  —  of  the 
sympathy  with  which  all  spiritual  creatures  re- 
gard the  sun,  so  as  to  sadden  and  decline  when 
he  sinks  into  his  wintry  hemisphere,  and  to  re- 
joice when  he  resumes  his  own  empire  of  light. 
Hence,  the  festivals  and  hymns,  with  which 
most  of  the  nations  of  the  earth  are  wont  to 
welcome  the  resurrection  of  his  orb -in  spring, 
as  an  emblem  and  pledge  of  the  reascent  of  the 
soul  to  heaven.  Hence,  the  songs  of  sorrow, 
the  mournful  ceremonies  *  —  like  those  Myste- 
ries of  the  Night,®  upon  the  Lake  of  SaTs  —  in 
which  they  brood  over  his  autumnal  descent 
into  the  shades,  as  a  type  of  the  Spirit's  fall 
into  this  world  of  death. 

In  discourses  such  as  these  the  hours  passed 
away  ;  and  though  there  was  nothing  in  the 
light  of  this  sunless  region  to  mark  to  the  eye 
the  decline  of  day,  my  own  feelings  told  me 
that  the  night  drew  near ;  —  nor,  in  sinte  of  my 
incredulity,  could  I  refrain  from  a  slight  fliittei 
of  hope,  as  that  promised  moment  of  revclatio* 
drew  nigh,  when  the  Mystery  of  Mysteries  wtj 


which  they  worshipped,  and  dressed  then*   ""Ut  with  gem 
and  golden  omaiiientH  in  their  ears. 

*  "  On  augiiruit  bien  de  serpens  Isiaque*  lorsqu'lls  goA 
toient  I'dfTrande  et  se  trainoient  lenlement  auUMir  de  I'au 
tel."    De  Pauw. 

*  For  an  account  of  the  various  festivals  at  the  differia 
periods  of  the  sun's  progress,  in  the  spring,  and  in  llie  n 
tumn,  see  Dupuit  and  Pritehard.- 

«  Vide  Atktnag.  Leg.  pro  Chrut  p.  ISA 


/12 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


to  be  made  all  my  own.  This  consummation, 
however,  was  less  near  than  I  expected.  My 
patience  had  still  further  trials  to  encounter. 
It  was  necessary,  I  now  found,  that,  during  the 
greater  part  of  the  night,  I  should  keep  watch 
in  the  Sanctuary  of  the  Temple,  alone  and  in 
itter  darkness  —  thus  preparing  myself,  by 
aieditalion,  for  the  awful  moment,  when  the 
irradiation  from  behind  the  sacred  Veils  was  to 
{ tirst  upon  me. 

At  the  appointed  hour,  we  left  the  Hall  of 
the  Zodiac,  and  proceeded  through  a  long  line 
of  marble  galleries,  where  the  lamps  were  more 
thinly  scattered  as  we  advanced,  till,  at  length, 
we  found  ourselves  in  total  darkness.  Here  the 
Priest,  taking  me  by  the  hand,  and  leading  me 
down  a  flight  of  steps,  into  a  place  where  the 
same  deep  gloom  prevailed,  said,  with  a  voice 
trembling,  as  if  from  excess  of  awe,  —  "  Thou 
art  now  within  the  Sanctuary  of  our  goddess, 
Isis,  and  the  veils,  that  conceal  her  sacred 
jnage,  are  before  thee  !  " 

After  exhorting  me  earnestly  to  that  train  of 
thought,  which  best  accorded  with  the  spirit  of 
the  place  where  I  stood,  and,  above  all,  to  that 
full  and  unhesitating  faith,  with  which  alone, 
ho  said,  the  manifestation  of  such  mysteries 
should  be  approached,  the  holy  man  took  leave 
of  me,  and  reascended  the  steps ;  —  while,  so 
Bpell-bound  did  I  feel  by  that  deep  darkness, 
that  the  last  sound  of  his  footsteps  died  upon 
my  ear,  before  I  ventured  to  stir  a  limb  from  the 
position  in  which  he  had  left  me. 

The  prospect  of  the  long  watch  I  had  now  to 
look  forward  to  was  dreadful.  Even  danger 
itself,  if  in  an  active  form,  would  have  been  far 
preferable  to  this  sort  of  safe,  but  dull,  proba- 
tion, by  which  patience  was  the  only  virtue  put 
to  the  proof.  Having  ascertained  how  far  the 
space  around  me  was  free  from  obstacles,  I  en- 
deavored to  beguile  the  time  by  pacing  up  and 
down  within  those  limits,  till  I  became  tired 
ii  the  monotonous  echoes  of  my  own  tread. 
Finding  my  way,  then,  to  what  I  felt  to  be  a 
aiassivo  j  illar,  and,  learing  wearily  against  it,  I 
surrendeied  myself  to  a  train  of  thoughts  and 
feciings,  far  different  from  those  with  which  the 
good  Ilierophant  had  hoped  to  inspire  me. 

"  K  these  priests,"  thought  I,  "  possess  really 
the  secret  of  life,  why  are  they  themselves  the 
victims  of  death  !  why  sink  into  the  grave  with 
the   cup  of  immortality  in   their   hands  ?    But 


1  See,  for  some  curious  remarks  on  the  mode  of  imitating 
Ihi  nder  and  hghming'in  the  ancient  mysteries.  t>e  Pauw, 


no,  safe  boasters,  the  eternity  they  so  lavishlj 
promise  is  reserved  for  another,  a  future  world  — 
that  ready  resource  of  all  priestly  promises  —i- 
that  depository  of  the  airy  pledges  of  all  creeds 
Another  Avorld  !  —  alas,  where  doth  it  lie  ?  or, 
what  spirit  hath  ever  come  to  say  that  Life  \i 
there  ? " 

The  conclusion  at  which,  half  sadly,  half  pas- 
sionately, I  arrived,  was  that,  life  being  but  a 
dream  of  the  moment  never  to  come  again, 
every  bliss  so  vaguely  promised  for  hereafter 
ought  to  be  secured  by  the  wise  man  here.  And, 
as  no  heaven  I  had  ever  heard  of  from  these 
visionary  priests  opened  half  such  certainty  of 
happiness  as  that  smile  which  I  beheld  last 
night  —  "  Let  me,"  I  exclaimed,  impatiently, 
striking  the  massy  pillar  till  it  rung,  "  let  me 
but  make  that  beautiful  Priestess  my  own,  and  I 
here  willingly  exchange  for  her  every  chance  of 
immortality,  that  the  combined  wisdom  of 
Egypt's  Twelve  Temples  can  offer  me  !  " 

No  sooner  had  I  uttered  these  words,  than  a 
tremendous  peal,  like  that  of  thunder,'  rolled 
over  the  Sanctuary,  and  seemed  to  shake  its  very 
walls.  On  every  side,  too,  a  succession  of  blue, 
vivid  flashes  pierced,  like  lances  of  light, 
through  the  gloom,  revealing  to  me,  at  inter- 
vals, the  mighty  dome  in  which  I  stood  —  ita 
ceiling  of  azure,  studded  with  stars  —  its  colos- 
sal columns,  towering  aloft,  and  those  dark, 
awful  veils,  whose  massy  drapery  hung  from  the 
roof  to  the  floor,  covering  the  rich  glories  of 
the  Shrine  beneath  their  folds. 

So  weary  had  I  grown  of  mj-  tedious  watch, 
that  this  stormy  and  fitful  illumination,  during 
which  the  Sanctuary  seemed  to  rock  to  its  base, 
was  by  no  means  an  unwelcome  interruption  of 
the  monotonous  trial  my  patience  had  to  suffer. 
After  a  short  interval,  however,  the  flashes 
ceased  ;  —  the  sounds  died  away,  like  exhausted 
thunder,  through  the  abyss,  and  darkness  and 
silence,  like  that  of  the  grave,  succeeded. 

Resting  my  back  once  more  against  the  p?llar, 
and  fixing  my  eyes  upon  that  side  of  the  Sanc- 
tuary, from  which  the  promised  irradiation  was 
to  burst,  I  now  resolved  to  await  the  awful 
moment  in  patience.  Resigned  and  almost  im- 
movable, I  had  remained  thus,  for  nearb  another 
hour,  when  suddenly,  along  the  edges  of  the 
mighty  Veils,  I  perceived  a  thin  rim  of  light,  as 
if  from  S(mie  brilliant  object  under  them  ;  —  re 
serabling  that  border  which  encircles  a  cloud  at 


torn.  i.  p.  3:J3.    The  machine  with  which  these  effects  wef 
produced  on  tt  e  stage  was  called  a  ceraunoscope. 


J 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


711 


lunset,  when  the  rich  radiance  from  behind  is 
escaping  at  its  edges. 

This  indication  of  concealed  glories  grew 
every  instant  more  strong ;  till,  at  last,  vividly 
•narked  as  it  was  upon  the  darkness,  the  narrow 
iringe  of  lustre  almost  pained  the  eye  —  giving 
promise  of  a  fulness  of  splendor  too  bright  to 
t-v  endured.  My  expectations  were  now  wound 
U)  the  highest  pitch,  and  all  the  scepticism,  into 
which  I  had  been  cooling  down  my  mind,  was 
forgotten.  The  wonders  that  had  been  pre- 
sented to  me  since  my  descent  from  earth  — 
•-hat  glimpse  into  Elysium  on  the  first  night  of 
■ny  coming  —  those  visitants  from  the  Land  of 
Spirits  in  the  mysterious  valley  —  all  led  mo  to 
expect,  in  this  last  and  brightest  revelation,  such 
visions  of  glory  and  knowledge  as  might  tran- 
scend even  fancy  itself,  nor  leave  a  doubt  that 
they  belonged  less  to  earth  than  heaven. 

While,  with  an  imagination  thus  excited,  I 
■toed  waiting  the  result,  an  increased  gush  of 
light  still  more  awakened  my  attention  ;  and  I 
saw,  with  an  intcnseness  of  interest,  which 
made  my  heart  beat  aloud,  one  of  the  corners 
of  the  mighty  Veil  raised  slowly  from  the  floor. 
I  now  felt  that  the  Great  Secret,  whatever  it 
might  be,  was  at  hand.  A  vague  hope  even 
crossed  my  mind  —  so  wholly  had  imagination 
now  resumed  her  empire  —  that  the  splendid 
promise  of  my  dream  v.as  on  the  very  point  of 
being  realized  ! 

With  surprise,  however,  and,  for  the  moment, 
w;th  some  disappointment,  I  perceived,  that  the 
mossy  corner  of  the  Veil  was  but  lifted  suffi- 
ciently from  the  ground  to  allow  a  female  figure 
to  emerge  from  under  it  —  and  then  fell  over  its 
mystic  splendors  as  utterly  dark  as  before.  By 
the  strong  light,  too,  that  issued  when  the  dra- 
pery ^»  13  laiscd,  and  illuminated  the  profile  of 
the  emerging  figure,  I  either  saw,  or  fancied 
that  I  saw,  the  same  bright  features,  that  had 
»lrea  Jy  so  often  mocked  me  with  their  moment- 
try  charm,  and  seemed  destined,  indeed,  to 
haunt  my  fancy  as  unavailingly  as  even  the  fond, 
mn  dream  of  Immortality  itself. 

Dazzled  us  I  had  been  by  that  short  gush  of 
splendor,  and  distrusting  even  my  senses,  when 
3nder  the  influence  of  so  much  excitement,  I 
(  had  but  just  begun  to  question  myself  as  to 
the  reality  of  my  impression,  when  I  heard  the 
lounds  of  light  footsteps  approaching  me  through 
the  gloom.     In  a  second  or  two  more,  the  figure 


t  In  addition  to  tlie  aceounta  which  th«t  ancienta  have  l«ft 
ol  i^e  prodigious  cxca.ationa  in  all  parts  of  Egypt—  tba 
90 


stopped  before  me,  and,  placing  the  end  of  ■ 
ribbon  gently  in  my  hand,  said,  in  a  tremuloua 
whisper,  **  Follow,  and  be  silent." 

So  sudden  and  strange  was  the  adventure, 
that,  for  a  moment,  I  hesitated  —  fearing  th«t 
my  eyes  might  possibly  have  been  deceived  as 
to  the  object  they  had  seen.  Casting  a  lOok 
towards  the  Veil,  which  seemed  bursting  with 
its  luminous  secret,  I  was  almost  doubting  to 
which  of  the  two  chances  I  should  commit  my  • 
self,  when  I  felt  the  ribbon  in  my  hand  puUp  '. 
softly  at  the  other  extremity.  This  movement 
like  a  touch  of  magic,  at  once  decided  me 
Without  any  further  deliberation,  I  yieldea  V 
the  silent  summons,  and  following  my  guide 
who  was  already  at  some  distance  before  me 
found  myself  led  up  the  same  flight  of  marblr 
steps,  by  which  the  Priest  had  conducted  mf 
into  the  Sanctuary.  Arrived  at  their  summit,  I 
felt  the  pace  of  my  conductress  quicken,  and 
giving  one  more  look  to  the  Veiled  Shrine, 
whose  glories  we  left  burning  uselessly  bcluna 
us,  hastened  onward  into  the  gloom,  full  of  con- 
fidence in  the  belief,  that  she,  who  now  held  tha 
other  end  of  that  clew,  was  one  whom  I  wat 
ready  to  follow  devotedly  through  the  world 


CHAPTER  XL 

With  such  rapidity  was  I  hurried  along  bjr 
my  unseen  guide,  full  of  wonder  at  the  speed 
with  which  she  ventured  through  these  laby- 
rinths, that  I  had  but  little  time  for  reflection 
upon  the  strangeness  of  the  adventure  to  which 
I  had  committed  myself.  My  knowledge  of  the 
character  of  the  Memphian  priests,  as  well  as 
some  fearful  rumors  that  had  reached  me,  con- 
cerning the  fate  that  often  attended  unbelievers 
in  their  hands,  awakened  a  momentary  suspi- 
cion of  treachery  in  my  mind.  But,  when  I 
recalled  the  face  of  my  guide,  as  I  had  seen  it 
in  the  small  chapel,  with  that  divine  look,  tlio 
very  memory  of  which  brought  purity  into  the 
heart,  I  found  my  suspicions  all  vanish,  and 
felt  shame  at  having  harbored  them  but  an 
instant. 

In  the  mean  while,  our  rapid  course  continued 
without  any  interruption,  through  windings 
even  more  capriciously  intricate  '  than  any  1 
had  yet  passed,  and  whoso  thick  ; loom  scpme^ 

fifteen  hundred  chamber*  under  the  labyrinth  — tt»  wblar. 
niMan  atablea  of  the  Tliebaid,  c«>nuiniiic  a  tbousutd  I 


never  to  have  been  broke!  by  a  single  glimmer 
af  light.  My  unseen  coi.ductress  was  still  at 
some  distance  before  me,  and  the  slight  clew,  to 
which  I  clurg  as  if  it  were  Destiny's  own 
thread,  was  still  kept,  by  the  speed  of  her 
course,  at  full  stretch  between  us.  At  length, 
sudden'^y  stopping,  she  said,  ir  a  breathless 
whisper,  "  Seat  thyself  here  ;  "  and,  at  the  same 
•noment,  led  me  by  the  hand  to  a  sort  of  low 
3ar,  in  which,  obeying  her  brief  command,  I 
?Mt  not  a  moment  in  placing  myself,  while  the 
aiaiden,  no  less  promptly,  took  her  seat  by  my 
side. 

A  sudden  click,  like  the  touching  of  a  spring, 
was  then  heard,  and  the  car  —  which,  as  I  had 
felt  in  entering  it,  leaned  half  way  over  a  steep 
descent  —  on  being  let  loose  from  its  station, 
shot  down,  almost  perpendicularly,  into  the 
darkness,  with  a  rapidity  which,  at  first,  nearly 
deprived  me  of  breath.  The  wheels  slid 
smoothly  and  noiselessly  in  grooves,  and  the 
impetus,  -which  the  car  acquired  in  descending, 
was  sufficient,  I  perceived,  to  carry  it  up  an 
eminence  that  succeeded  —  from  the  summit 
of  which  it  again  rushed  down  another  decliv- 
ity, even  still  more  long  and  ^precipitous  than 
the  former.  In  this  manner  we  proceeded,  by 
alternate  falls  and  rises,  till,  at  length,  from  the 
last  and  steepest  elevation,  the  car  descended 
upon  a  level  of  deep  sand,  where,  after  run- 
ning for  a  few  yards,  it  by  degrees  lost  its  mo- 
tion and  stopped. 

Here,  the  maiden  alighting  again  placed  the 
ribbon  in  my  hands  —  and  again  I  followed  her, 
though  with  more  slowness  and  difficulty  than 
before,  as  our  way  now  led  up  a  flight  of  damp 
and  time-worn  steps,  whose  ascent  seemed  to 
the  wearied  and  insecure  foot  interminable. 
Perceiving  with  what  languor  my  guide  ad- 
vanced, I  was  on  the  point  of  making  an  effort 
to  assist  her  progress,  when  the  creak  of  an 
opening  door  above,  and  a  faint  gleam  of  light 
Vyhich,  at  the  same  moment,  shone  upon  her 


— ths  cr  ^ts  of  Upper  Egypt  passing  under  the  bed  of  the 
Hilfc  ifec  <fc^  —  the  stories  and  traditions  current  among  the 
Arabs  stil)  preserve  the  memory  of  those  wonderful  sub- 
itructions.  "  Un  Arabe,"  says  Paul  Lucas,  "  qui  etoit  avec 
nous,  m'assura  qu'etant  entre  autrefois  dans  de  Labyrinthe, 
0  avoit  inarch6  dans  les  clianibres  souterraines  jusqu'en  un 
lieu  oil  il  7  iToit  une  grande  place  environnee  de  plusieurs 
niches  ]u;  Tjasembloit  4  de  petites  boutiques,  d'oii  I'on  en- 
troit  dans  d'autres  allees  et  dans  chauibr'^s,  sans  pouvoir  en 
trouver  la  fin."  In  spealiing,  ton,  of  the  arcades  along  the 
Nile,  near  Cosseir,  "  lis  me  dirent  menie  que  ces  souter- 
nines  Violent  si  profondes  qu'il  y  en  avoient  qui  alloient  i 
ttoia  Joum^es  de  Ik,  et  ru'ils  condi  isoient  dans  un  pays  ou 


figure,  apprised  me  that  we  were  at  last  axri^ed 
within  reach  of  sunshine. 

Joyfulh'  I  followed  through  this  opening,  and, 
by  the  dim  light,  could  discern,  that  we  were 
now  in  the  sanctuary  of  a  vast,  ruined  temple 
—  having  entered  by  a  secret  passage  under  the 
pedestal,  upon  which  an  image  of  the  idol  of 
the  place  once  stood.  The  first  movement  of 
the  young  maiden,  after  closing  agiin  the  portal 
under  the  pedestal,  was,  without  even  a  single 
look  towards  me,  to  cast  herself  down  upon  her 
knees,  with  her  hands  clasped  and  uplifted,  as 
if  in  thanksgiving  or  praj'er.  But  she  was  un- 
able, evidently,  to  sustain  herself  in  this  posi^ 
tion  ;  —  her  strength  could  hold  out  no  longer 
Overcome  by  agitation  and  fatigue,  she  %unk 
senseless  upon  the  pavement. 

Bewildered  as  I  was  myself,  by  the  strange 
events  of  the  night,  I  stood  for  some  minutes 
looking  upon  her  in  a  state  of  helplessness  and 
alarm.  But,  reminded,  by  my  own  feverish 
sensations,  of  the  reviving  effects  of  the  air,  I 
raised  her  gently  in  my  arms,  and  crossing  the 
corridor  that  surrounded  the  sanctuary,  found 
my  way  to  the  outer  vestibule  of  the  temple. 
Here,  shading  her  eyes  from  the  sun,  I  placed 
her,  reclining,  upon  the  steps,  where  the  cool 
north  wind,  then  blowing  freshly  between  the 
pillars,  might  play,  with  free  draught,  over  her 
brow. 

It  was,  indeed  —  as  I  now  saw,  with  certain- 
ty —  the  same  beautiful  and  mysterious  girl, 
who  had  been  the  cause  of  my  descent  into  that 
subterranean  world,  and  who  now,  under  such 
strange  and  unaccountable  circumstances,  was 
my  guide  back  again  to  the  realms  of  day.  I 
looked  around  to  discover  where  we  Avere,  and 
beheld  such  a  scene  of  grandeur,  as,  could  my 
eyes  have  been  then  attracted  to  any  object  but 
the  pale  form  reclining  at  my  side,  might  well 
have  induced  them  to  dwell  on  its  splendid 
beauties. 

I  was  now  standing,  I  found,  on  the  sraBll 


I'on  voyoit  de  beaux  jardins,  qu'on  y  trouvoit  do  belles  mai 
sons,"  &c.  &c. 

See  also  in  Jil.  Quatremire's  Mcmoires  sur  I'F.gypte,  tom 
i.  p.  142,  an  account  of  a  subterranean  reservoir,  said  to  hav 
been  discovered  at  Kais,  and  of  the  expedition  undertaken 
by  a  party  of  persons,  in  a  long  narrow  boat,  for  the  purposi 
of  exploring  it.  "  Leur  voyage  avoit  ete  de  six  jours,  donl 
jes  quutre  premiers  furent  employes  k  pdn^tccr  les  bords 
les  deux  autres  k  revenir  au  lieu  d'oCi  its  etiiienl  partis 
Fendant  tout  cet  intervalle  lis  ne  purent  attci»'ire  i'extr* 
mite  du  bassin.  L'euiir  Ala-eddin-Tambnga,  gouvcrneur  di 
Behnesa,  6crivit  ces  d^taila  au  sultan,  qui  en  fut  extreme 
ment  surpris  " 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


71A 


idand  in  the  centre  of  Lake  Ma?ris ; '  and  that 
iinnctuary,  where  ■ne  had  just  emerged  from 
darkness,  formed  part  of  the  ruins  of  an  ancient 
temjile,  which  was  (as  I  have  since  learned),  in 
the  {grander  days  of  Memphis,  a  place  of  pil- 
(jrimage  for  worshippers  from  all  parts  of  Egypt. 
ilie  fail  Lake,  itself,  out  of  whose  waters  once 
»<".He  pavilions,  palaces,  and  even  lofty  pyra- 
Diids,  was  still,  though  divested  of  many  of 
these  wonders,  a  scene  of  interest  and  splen- 
dor such  as  the  whole  world  could  not  equaL 
Whils  the  shores  still  sparkled  with  mansions 
and  temples  that  bore  testimony  to  the  luxury 
of  a  living  race,  the  voice  of  the  Past,  speaking 
out  of  uimumbercd  ruins,  whose  summits,  here 
and  there,  rose  blackly  above  the  wave,*  told 
of  times  long  fled,  and  generations  long  swept 
away,  before  whose  giant  remains  all  the  glory 
of  the  present  stood  humbled.  Over  the  south- 
em  bank  of  the  Lake  hung  the  dark  relics  of 
ihe  Labyrinth  ;  —  its  twelve  Royal  Palaces,  rcp- 
lesenthig  the  mansions  of  the  Zodiac  —  its  thun- 
dering portals'  and  constellated  halls,  having 
left  nothing  now  behind  but  a  few  frowning 
ruins,  wliich,  contrasted  with  the  soft  groves  of 
acacia  and  olive  around  them,  seemed  to  rebuke 
the  luxuriant  smiles  of  nature,  ^nd  threw  a 
melancholy  grandeur  over  the  whole  scene. 

The  effects  of  the  air,  in  reanimating  the 
young  Priestess,  were  less  speedy  than  1  had 
expected  ;  —  her  eyes  were  still  closed,  and  she 
remained  pale  and  inscn-ible.  Alarmed,  I  now 
rested  her  head  (which  had  been,  for  some  time, 
supported  by  my  arm)  against  the  base  of  one 
of  the  columns,  with  ray  cloak  for  its  pillow, 
while  I  hastened  to  j^ocure  some  water  from 
the  Lake.  The  temple  stood  high,  and  the 
descent  to  the  shore  was  precipitous.  But,  my 
Epicurean  habits  having  but  little  impaired  my 
activity,  I  soon  descended,  with  the  lightness 
of  a  desert  deer,  to  the  bottom.  Here,  pluck- 
ing from  a  lofty  bean  tree,  whose  flowers  stood, 
shining  like  gold,  above  the  water,  one  of  those 
large  hollowed  leaves  that  serve  as  cups  *  for 
the  Ilebcs  of  the  Nile,  I  filled  it  from  the  Lake, 
tad  hurried  back  with  the  cool  draught  towards 

>  The  iMsition  here  given  to  Lake  Marin,  in  niakinii  it 
(be  inmiecliato  boiinUary  of  the  city  nf  Memphis  tii  the  south, 
yirrexpoiid:'  exactly  tvith  iho  site  a-ssigiied  lu  il  by  Maillet :  — 

*  Meiiip.'iis  avuit  encote  4  8on  niitli  iin  vaste  reservoir,  par 
oil  tout  ce  qui  peut  servir  k  la  coinmuditi  et  &  I'agreinent  de 

•  vie  lui  ituit  vuituri  abcndainment  de  toutes  led  partie*  de 
'Eg>'pte.  Ce  lac  qui  la  terininuit  de  c«  c6ti-U,"  &r.  Itc 
I'om.  ii.  p.  7. 

•  "  On  voit  Dur  la  rive  orienule  dee  antiquitte  qui  aoot 
vof^e  e'to'difineut  emu  leseaux."    Bdmi. 


the  temple.  It  was  not,  however,  without  »om 
difficulty  that  I  at  last  succeeded  in  bearing  mj 
rustic  chalice  steadily  up  the  steep  ;  more  thai 
once  did  an  unlucky  slip  waste  all  ita  eontenU 
and  as  often  did  I  return  impatiently  to  rotll  it 

During  this  time,  the  young  maiden  was  fut 
recovering  her  animation  and  consciousntMS 
and,  at  the  moment  when  I  appeared  above  the 
edge  of  the  steep,  was  just  rising  from  the  BteiM, 
with  her  hand  pressed  to  her  forehead,  as  if 
confusedly  recalling  the  recollection  of  wha 
had  occurred.  No  sooner  did  she  observe  me. 
than  a  short  cry  of  alarm  broke  from  her  lips. 
Looking  anxiously  round,  as  though  she  sought 
for  protection,  and  half  audibly  uttering  the 
words,  *•  Where  is  he  ?  "  she  made  an  cfTort,  afl 
I  approached,  to  retreat  into  the  temple. 

Already,  however,  I  was  by  her  side,  and 
taking  her  hand,  as  she  turned  away  from  me, 
gently  in  mine,  asked,  "  Whom  dost  thou  seek, 
fair  Priestess  ? "  —  thus,  for  the  first  time,  break- 
ing the  silence  she  had  enjoined,  and  in  a  tone 
that  might  have  reassured  the  most  timid 
spirit.  But  my  words  had  no  effect  in  calming 
her  apprehension.  Trembling,  and  with  hei 
eyes  still  averted  towards  the  Tcmjile,  she 
continued  in  a  voice  of  suppressed  alarm,  - 
"  Where  can  he  be  ?  —  that  venerable  Athenian« 
that  philosopher,  who " 

"  Here,  here,"  I  exclaimed,  anxiou.sly,  inter- 
rupting her  —  "  behold  him  still  by  thy  side 
the  same,  the  very  same,  who  saw  thee  steal 
from  under  the  Veils  of  the  Sanctuary,  whom 
thou  hast  guided  by  a  clew  through  those  laby- 
rinths below,  and  who  now  only  waits  his  com- 
mand from  those  lips,  to  devote  himself  through 
life  and  death  to  thy  ser\'ice."  As  I  spoke  thc8« 
words,  she  turned  slowly  round,  and  looking 
timidly  in  my  face,  while  her  own  burned  with 
blushes,  said,  in  a  tone  of  doubt  and  wonder, 
«•  Thou  !  "  and  then  hid  her  eyes  in  her  hands. 

I  knew  not  how  to  interjiret  a  reception  so 
unexpected.     That  some  mistake  or  disappoint* 
mcnt  had  occurred  was  evident ;  but  so  incx 
plicablc  did  the  whole  adventure  appear  to  m«, 
that  it  wa-s  in  vain  to  think  of  unravelling  an^ 

*  *■  Uuonindam  autem  domonim  (in  Lnbyrintho)  t.ili«  M 
■itUH,  ut  adaperientibus  fores  tonitruuin  int.ii  lorrihile  ai 
istat."     Pliny. 

*  Strabo.  According  to  the  French  trandator  uf  Ptirtw, 
it  wa«  (he  fniit  of  the/a»a^^|f^uea,  not  the  leaf,  that  was 
used  for  thii  purpose.  "  Le  tiSuptoii,"  he  *ay«,  "dsvoH 
■'entendre  de  la  capsule  ou  fruit  de  cette  plant*,  dont  las 
Egyptieni  *e  Nervoient  couiine  d*un  vaaa,  ijat|ii  an  rm 
I'eau  du  Nil  y  devenoit  d4ticjeus«u" 


fU 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


part  of  it.  Weak  and  agitated,  she  now  tottered 
to  the  steps  of  the  Temple,  and  there  seating 
herself,  with  her  forehead  against  the  cold 
marble,  seemed  for  some  moments  absorbed  in 
the  most  anxious  thought ;  while  silent  and 
watchful  I  awaited  her  decision,  though,  at  the 
tamo  time,  with  a  feeling  which  the  result  proved 
to  be  prophetic  —  that  my  destiny  was,  from 
thenceforth,  linked  inseparably  with  hers. 

The  inward  struggle  by  which  she  was  agi- 
tated, though  violent,  was  not  of  long  continu- 
ance. Starting  suddenly  from  her  seat,  with  a 
look  of  terror  towards  the  Temple,  as  if  the  fear 
of  immediate  pursuit  had  alone  decided  her, 
she  pointed  eagerly  towards  the  East,  and  ex- 
claimed, "  To  the  Nile,  without  delay  !  "  — 
clasping  her  hands,  after  she  had  thus  spoken, 
with  the  most  suppliant  fervor,  as  if  to  soften 
tne  abruptness  of  the  mandate  she  had  given, 
and  appealing  to  me  at  the  same  time,  with  a 
look  that  would  have  taught  Stoics  themselves 
tenderness. 

I  lust  not  a  moment  in  obeying  the  welcome 
command.  With  a  thousand  wild  hopes  natu- 
rally crowding  upon  my  fancy,  at  the  thoughts 
of  a  voj'age,  under  such  auspices,  I  descended 
rapidly  to  the  shore,  and  haiHng  one  of  those 
boats  that  ply  upon  the  Lake  for  hire,  arranged 
speedily  for  a  passage  down  the  canal  to  the 
Nile.  Having  learned,  too,  from  the  boatmen, 
a  more  easy  path  up  the  rock,  I  hastened  back 
to  the  Temple  for  my  fair  charge  ;  and  without 
a  word  or  look,  that  could  alarm,  even  by  its 
kindness,  or  disturb  the  innocent  confidence 
which  she  now  evidently  reposed  in  me,  led  her 
down  by  the  winding  path  to  the  boat. 

Every  thing  around  looked  sunny  and  smiling 
as  we  embarked.  The  morning  was  in  its  first 
freshness,  and  the  path  of  the  breeze  might 
clearly  be  traced  over  the  Lake,  as  it  went 
wakening  up  the  waters  from  their  sleep  of  the 
night.  The  gay,  golden- winged  birds  that  haunt 
these  shores,  were,  in  every  direction,  skimming 
along  the  Lake  ;  while,  with  a  graver  conscious- 
nrss  of  boauty,  the  swan  and  the  pelican  were 
tc-sn.  dressing  their  white  plumage  in  the  mirror 
of  ivs  ware.  To  add  to  the  liveliness  of  the 
scene,  there  came,  at  inter%'als,  on  the  breeze,  a 
vvcet  tinkling  of  musical  instruments  from 
oats  at  a  distance,  employed  thus  early  in 
•.\irsuuig  the  fish  of  these  waters,'  that  allow 


1  ^liai^  lib.  vi.  32. 

2  Called  Ttialameges,  from  the  pavilion  on  the  deck. 
A*  StraOo, 


themselves  to  be  decoyed  into  the  nets  bj 
music. 

The  vessel  I  had  selected  .or  our  voyage  -^u 
one  of  those  small  pleasure  boats  or  yachts '  — 
so  much  in  use  among  the  luxurious  navigators 
of  the  Nile — in  the  centre  of  which  rises  a 
pavilion  of  cedar  or  cypress  wood,  adorned 
richly  on  the  outside,  with  religious  emblemS; 
and  gayly  fitted  up,  within,  for  feasting  and 
repose.  To  the  door  of  this  pavilion  I  now  led 
my  companion,  and,  after  a  few  words  of  kind- 
ness—  tempered  cautiously  with  as  much  reserve 
as  the  deep  tenderness  of  my  feeling  towards 
her  would  admit  —  left  her  to  court  that  restor- 
ing rest,  which  the  agitation  of  her  spirits  so 
much  required. 

For  myself,  though  repose  was  hardly  less 
necessary  to  me,  the  state  of  ferment  in  which  I 
had  been  so  long  kept  appeared  to  render  it 
hopeless.  Having  thrown  myself  on  the  deck 
of  the  vessel,  under  an  awning  which  the  sailors 
had  raised  for  me,  I  continued,  for  some  hours, 
in  a  sort  of  vague  daydream  —  sometimes  pass- 
ing in  review  the  scenes  of  that  subterranean 
drama,  and  sometimes,  with  my  eyes  fixed  in 
drowsy  vacancy,  receiving  passively  the  impres- 
sions of  the  bright  scenerj'  through  which  we 
passed. 

The  banks  of  the  canal  were  then  luxuriantly 
wooded.  Under  the  tufts  of  the  light  and  tow- 
ering palm  were  seen  the  orange  and  the  citron, 
interlacing  their  boughs  ;  while,  here  and  there, 
huge  tamarisks  tliickened  the  shade,  and,  at  the 
very  edge  of  the  bank,  the  willow  of  Babylon 
stood  bending  its  graceful  branches  into  the 
water.  Occasionally,  out  of  the  depth  of  these 
groves,  there  shone  a  small  temple  or  pleasure 
house ;  —  while,  now  and  then,  an  opening  in 
their  line  of  foliage  allowed  the  eyt  to  wander 
over  extensive  iieids,  all  covered  with  beds  of 
those  pale,  sweet  roses,^  for  which  this  district 
of  Egypt  is  so  celebrated. 

The  activitj'  of  the  morning  hour  was  visible 
in  every  direction.  Flights  of  doves  and  lap- 
wings were  fluttering  among  the  leaves,  and  the 
white  heron,  which  had  been  roosting  all  night 
in  some  date  tree,  now  stood  sunning  its  wingo 
upon  the  green  bank,  or  floated,  like  living 
silver,  over  the  flood.  The  flowers,  too,  both 
of  land  and  water,  looked  all  just  fieshly 
awakened ;  —  and,  most  of  all,  the  superb  lotug. 


*  As  April  is  the  season  for  gathering  these  roses  'b«« 
Maltc-Bruii's  Economical  Calendar),  the  Epicurean  could  not 
of  cuur^e,  mean  to  say  tiiat  he  saw  them  actually  in  fluwei 


THE   EPICrUREA.'ff. 


ri. 


Ikhich,  having  risen  along  with  the  sun  from  the 
•rave,  was  now  holding  up  her  chalice  for  a  full 
iravght  of  his  light. 

Such  were  the  scenes  that  now  successively 
presented  themselves,  and  mingled  with  the 
vague  reveries  that  floated  through  my  mind,  as 
our  boat,  with  its  high,  capacious  sail,  swept 
ftlcng  the  flood.  Though  the  occurrences  of  the 
lost  few  days  could  not  hut  appear  to  me  one 
cor.tinucd  scries  of  wonders,  yet  by  fai  the 
greatest  marvel  of  all  was,  that  she,  whose  first 
look  had  sent  wildfire  into  my  heart  —  whom  I 
had  thought  of  ever  since  with  a  restlessness 
of  passion,  that  would  have  dared  all  danger 
and  wrong  to  obtain  its  object  —  she  was  now 
at  this  moment  resting  sacredly  within  that 
pavilion,  while  guarding  her,  even  from  myself, 
1  lay  motionless  at  its  threshold. 

Meanwhile,  the  sun  had  reached  his  meridian 
•eight.  The  busy  hum  of  the  morning  had 
died  gradually  away,  and  all  around  was  sleep- 
ing in  the  hot  stillness  of  noon.  The  Nile  goose, 
having  folded  up  her  splendid  wings,  was  lying 
motionless  on  the  shadow  of  the  sycamores  in 
the  water.  Even  the  nimble  lizards  upon  the 
bank '  appeared  to  move  less  nimbly,  as  the 
light  fell  on  their  gold  and  azure  hues.  Over- 
come as  I  was  with  watching,  and  weary  with 
thought,  it  was  not  long  before  I  yielded  to  the 
becalming  influence  of  the  hour.  Looking  fix- 
edly at  the  pavilion  —  as  if  once  more  to  assure 
myself  that  I  was  in  no  dream  or  trance,  but 
that  the  young  Egyptian  was  really  there  —  I 
felt  my  eyes  close  as  I  gazed,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes sunk  into  a  profound  sleep. 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

It  was  by  the  canal  through  which  we  now 
lailed,*  that,  in  the  more  prosperous  days  of 
Memphis,  the  commerce  of  Upper  Egypt  and 
Nubia  was  transported  to  her  magnificent  Lake, 
tnd  from  thence,  having  paid  tribute  to  the 
queen  of  cities,  was  poured  forth  again,  through 
the  Nile,  into  the  ocean.  The  course  of  this 
canal  to  the  river  was  not  direct,  but  ascending 
'n  a  south-easterly  direction  towards  the  SaTd  ; 
and  in  calms,  or  with  adverse  winds,  the  pas- 
jage  was  tedious.     But  as  the  breeze  was  now 


>  "  L'or  et  TnziiT  brill»iit  en  banden  lonpitudinalw  mir 
Inir  virps  entier,  »   leiir  queue  est  dii  plus  beau  bleu  e*- 


blowing  freshly  from  the  north,  there  was  everj 
prospect  oi  our  reaching  the  river  before  night- 
fall. Rapidly,  too,  as  our  galley  swept  along 
the  flood,  its  motion  was  bo  smooth  as  to  m 
hardly  felt ;  and  the  quiet  gurgle  of  the  water», 
and  the  drowsy  song  of  the  boatman  at  t> » 
prow,  were  the  only  sounds  that  disturhed  fr. ' 
deep  silence  which  prevailed. 

The  sun,  indeed,  had  nearly  sunk  behind  th? 
Libyan  hills,  before  the  sleep,  into  which  the«» 
sounds  had  contributed  to  lull  me,  was  Ijrokei: 
and  the  first  object  on  which  my  eyes  rested,  z 
waking,  was  that  fair  young  Priestess  —  statfri 
within  a  porch  which  shaded  the  door  of  the 
pavilion,  and  bending  intently  over  a  smaL 
volume  that  lay  unrolled  on  her  lap. 

Her  face  was  but  half  turned  towards  me; 
and  as  she,  once  or  twice,  raised  her  eyes  to  the 
warm  sky,  whose  light  fell,  softened  through 
the  trellis,  over  her  check,  I  found  all  those 
feelings  of  reverence,  which  she  had  inspired 
me  with  in  the  chapel,  return.  There  was  ever 
a  purer  and  holier  charm  around  her  counte- 
nance, thus  seen  by  the  natural  light  of  day 
than  in  those  dim  and  unhallowed  regions  be- 
low. She  was  now  looking,  too,  direct  to  the 
glorious  sky,  and  her  pure  eyes  and  that  heaven, 
so  worthy  of  each  other,  met. 

After  contemplating  her  for  a  few  moments, 
with  little  less  than  adoration,  I  rose  gently 
from  my  resting-place,  and  approached  the  pa- 
vilion. But  the  mere  movement  had  startled 
her  from  her  devotion,  and,  blushing  and  con 
fused,  she  covered  the  volume  with  the  folds  ol 
her  robe. 

In  the  art  of  winning  upon  female  confidence 
I  had  long,  of  course,  been  schooled ;  and,  now 
that  to  the  lessons  of  gallantry  the  inspiration 
of  love  was  added,  my  ambition  to  please  and 
to  interest  could  hardly  fail,  it  may  be  supposed, 
of  success.  I  soon  found,  however,  how  much 
less  fluent  is  the  heart  than  the  fancy,  and  how 
very  different  may  be  the  operations  of  making 
love  and  feeling  it.  In  the  few  words  of  greet- 
ing now  exchanged  between  us,  it  was  evident 
that  the  gay,  the  enterprising  Epicurean  was 
little  less  embarrassed  than  the  secluded  Priest- 
ess ;  —  and,  after  one  or  two  ineffectual  effort* 
to  converse,  the  eyes  of  both  turned  bashfully 
away,  and  we  relapsed  into  silence. 

From  this  situation  —  the  result  of  timiditj 


t  «  Un  Canal,"  njri  MaOUt,  "  UU  piofaod  a(  I 
voituroif  lea  «auz  du  ML" 


718 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


■)n  or.e  side,  and  of  a  feeling  altogether  new,  on 
the  other  —  we  were,  at  length,  relieved,  after 
an  interval  of  estrangement,  by  the  boatmen 
announcing  that  the  Nile  was  in  sight.  The 
countenance  of  the  young  Egyptian  brightened 
at  this  intelligence  ;  and  the  smile  with  which 
I  congratulated  her  upon  the  speed  of  our  voy- 
age was  responded  to  by  another  from  her,  so 
tiiil  of  gratitude,  that  already  an  instinctive 
•jfrnj^athy  seemed  established  between  us. 

We  were  now  on  the  point  of  entering  that 
sacred  river,  of  whose  sweet  waters  the  exile 
drinks  in  his  dreams  —  for  a  draught  of  whose 
flood  the  royal  daughters  of  the  Ptolemies,' 
when  far  away,  on  foreign  thrones,  have  been 
known  to  sigh  in  the  midst  of  their  splendor. 
As  our  boat,  with  slackened  sail,  was  gliding 
into  the  current,  an  inquirj^  from  the  boatmen, 
whether  they  should  anchor  for  the  night  in  the 
Nile,  first  reminded  me  of  the  ignorance  in 
which  I  still  remrined,  with  respect  to  the  mo- 
tive or  destination  of  our  voyage.  Embarrassed 
by  their  question,  I  directed  my  eyes  towards 
the  Priestess,  M'hom  I  saw  waiting  for  my  an- 
swer with  a  look  of  anxiety,  which  this  silent 
reference  to  her  wishes  at  once  dispelled.  Un- 
folding eagerly  the  volume  with  Avhich  I  had 
seen  her  so  much  occupied,  she  took  from  be- 
tween its  folds  a  small  leaf  of  papyrus,  on  which 
there  appeared  to  be  some  faint  lines  of  draw- 
ing, and  after  looking  upon  it  thoughtfully  for 
a  few  moments,  placed  it,  with  an  agitated  hand, 
in  mine. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  boatmen  had  taken  in 
their  sail,  and  the  yacht  drove  slowly  down  the 
river  with  the  current,  while,  by  a  light  which 
nad  been  kindled  at  sunset  on  the  deck,  I  stood 
examining  the  leaf  that  the  Priestess  had  given 
me  —  her  dark  eyes  iixed  anxiouslj'  on  my  coun- 
tenance all  the  while.  The  lines  traced  upon 
the  papyrus  were  so  faint  as  to  be  almost  invis- 
ible, and  I  was  for  some  time  wholly  unable  to 
form  a  conjecture  as  to  their  import.  At  length, 
Slow  ever,  I  succeeded  in  making  out  that  they 
t\cro  a  sort  of  map,  or  outlines  —  traced  slightly 
and  u.'- steadily  with  a  Memphian  reed  —  of  a 
oart  of  that  mountainous  ridge  by  which  Upper 
Kgyi)t  is  bounded  to  the  east,  together  with  the 

1  "  Anriennement  on  portoit  les  eaux  dii  Nil  jiisqu'i  des 
eontr6es  fort  6loign6cs,  et  surtout  cliez  les  princesses  du 
lang  dea  Ptolom^es,  marines  dans  des  families  etraiigires." 
De  VauxD 

Th«  water  tlius  conveyed  to  other  lands  was,  as  we  may 
•oUect  fi-im  Juvenal,  cliiefly  intended  for  the  use  of  the 
re:np'es  of  Isis,  established  in  those  countries. 


names,  or  rather  emblems,  of  the  chief  towna  it 
its  immediate  neighborhood. 

It  was  thither,  I  now  saw  clcar)y,  that  the 
young  Priestess  wished  to  pursue  her  course. 
Without  further  delay,  therefore,  I  ordered  th« 
boatmen  to  set  our  yacht  before  .,he  wind,  and 
ascend  the  current.  My  command  was  promj.t- 
ly  obeyed ;  the  white  sail  again  rose  into  th« 
region  of  the  breeze,  and  the  satisfu  a.on  that 
beamed  in  every  feature  of  the  fair  Egyptian 
showed  that  the  quickness  with  which  I  had 
attended  to  her  wishes  was  not  unfelt  by  her 
The  moon  had  now  risen  ;  and  though  the  cur 
rent  was  against  us,  the  Etesian  wind  of  the 
season  blew  strongly  up  the  river,  and  we  were 
soon  floating  before  it,  through  the  rich  plains 
and  groves  of  the  Said. 

The  love  with  which  this  simple  girl  had  in- 
spired me,  was  pardy,  perhaps,  from  the  mystic 
scenes  and  situations  in  -which  I  had  seen  her, 
not  unmingled  with  a  tinge  of  superstitious  awe, 
under  the  influence  of  which  I  felt  the  natural 
buoyancy  of  my  spirit  repressed.  The  few  words 
that  had  passed  between  us  on  the  subject  of 
our  route  had  somewhat  loosened  this  spell ; 
and  what  I  wanted  of  vivacity  and  confidence 
was  more  than  compensated  by  the  tone  of 
deep  sensibility  which  love  had  awakened  in 
their  place. 

We  had  not  proceeded  far  before  the  glitter- 
ing of  lights  at  a  distance,  and  the  shooting  up 
of  fireworks,  at  intervals,  into  the  air,  apprised 
us  that  we  were  then  approaching  one  of  those 
night  fairs,  or  marts,  which  it  is  the  custom,  at 
this  season,  to  hold  upon  the  Nile.  To  me 
the  scene  was  familiar  ;  but  to  my  young  com- 
panion it  was  evidently  a  new  world  ;  and  the 
mixture  of  alarm  and  delight  with  which  she 
gazed,  from  under  her  veil,  upon  the  busy  stjeno 
mto  which  we  now  sailed,  gave  an  air  of  inno- 
cence to  her  beaut}',  which  still  more  height- 
ened its  every  charm. 

It  was  one  <)f  the  widest  parts  of  the  river ; 
and  the  whole  surface,  from  one  bauk  to  th? 
other,  was  covered  with  boats.  Along  the  barik? 
of  a  greun  island,  in  the  middle  of  the  stream, 
lay  anchored  the  galleys  of  the  principal  traders 
—  largo  floating  bazaars,  bearing  each  the  nam* 


Si  Candida  jusseril  .'  , 
Ibit  ad  iEg>'pIi  finem,  calidaque  petitas 
A  Merofj  portabit  aquas,  ut  spargat  in  ende 
Isidis,  antique  quB  proxima  snrgit  ovilt. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


7U 


Df  its  owner,"  emblazoned  in  letters  of  flame,  i 
upon  the  stem.  Over  their  decks  were  spread  ; 
aut,  in  gay  confusion,  the  products  of  the  loom 
and  needle  of  Egypt  —  rich  carpets  of  Memphis, 
RT'd  likewise  thoBc  variegated  veils,  for  which 
the  female  embroiderers  of  the  Nile  are  so  ccle- 
orat^d,  and  to  which  the  name  of  Cleopatra 
lends  a  traditional  charm.  In  each  of  the  other 
galleys  was  exhibited  some  branch  of  Egyj)tian 
workmanship  —  vases  of  the  fragrai\,t  porcelain 
of  On  -  -  cups  of  that  frail  crystal,*  whoso  hues 
change  like  those  of  the  pigeon's  plumage  — 
enamelled  amulets  graven  with  the  head  of 
Anubis.  and  necklaces  and  bracelets  of  the  black 
beans  o*  Abyssinia.' 

While  Commerce  was  thus  displaying  her 
vaii'^us  luxuries  in  one  quarter,  in  every  other, 
th»"  spirit  of  pleasure,  in  all  its  countless  shapes, 
•warmed  over  the  waters.  Nor  was  the  festiv- 
ity confined  to  the  river  alone ;  as  along  the 
banks  of  the  island  and  on  the  shores,  illumi- 
nated mansions  were  seen  glittering  through  the 
trees,  from  whence  sounds  of  music  and  merri- 
ment came.  In  some  of  the  boats  were  bands 
of  minstrels,  wlio,  from  time  to  time,  answered 
each  other,  like  echoes,  across  the  wave  ;  and 
the  notes  of  the  lyre,  the  flageolet,  and  the 
Bwect  lotus-wood  flute,*  were  heard,  in  the 
pauses  of  revelry,  dying  along  the  waters. 

Meanwhile,  from  other  boats  stationed  in  the 
least-lighted  places,  tlie  workers  of  fire  sent 
forth  their  wonders  intn  the  air.  Bursting  out 
iudienly  from  time  to  time,  as  if  in  the  very 
exuberance  of  joy,  these  sallies  of  flame  ap- 
peared to  roach  the  sky,  and  there,  breaking 
into  a  shower  of  sparkles,  shed  such  a  splendor 
around,  as  brightened  even  the  white  Arabian 
hills  —  making  them  shine  as  doth  the  brow  of 
Mount  Atlas  at  night,*  when  the  fire  from  his 
Dwn  bosom  is  playing  around  its  snows. 

The  opportunity  this  mart  afforded  us,  of  pro- 
riding  ourselves  with  some  less  remarkable  ha- 


>  "  Le  nnm  riu  maitre  y  <toit  font,  pendant  la  nuft,  en 
•itre*  de  feu."    MmlleL 

'  iJhllcd  Alassoiitea.  For  Uieir  brittleneM  Martial  if  an 
<«i  'tk  r  «y  :  — 

Tollp,  piier,  caliceK,  tepidiqiie  toreuniata  Nili, 
Et  iiiilii  :i«curl.pH:iila  (raUe  maim. 

Sjia  jiarlor  ici  de»  coiipei  d'nn  verre  port*  Juvqa'A  la 
fHttti  du  cr)'K(al,  ni  de  CRiles  qn'oii  appelloit  Alamwnles,  et 
fi'on  •<»pp«!i«  avoir  repr4>cnl*  des  flguree  dont  le»  couletira 
•UiangoiiPiit  Kuivant  Paapeit  toin  Icqurl  on  le*  reganloit,  a 
«ii  i>re.'<  ci'iiiriie  en  qii'oii  nuiiiiiie  vulgaireinent  Gorgi  d» 
•t|«(»R,"  acr.     Pe  Pauw. 

Tiie  beaii  of  Die  U'-cyne,  which  w  no  beautiful  an  to  be 


bilimcnts  than  those  in  which  we  had  escaped 
from  that  nether  world,  was  too  seasonable  not 
to  be  gladly  taken  advantage  of  by  bovn.  Foi 
myselt  the  strange  mystic  garb  which  I  wor« 
was  sufficiently  concealed  by  my  Grecian  man- 
tle, which  I  had  fortunately  thrown  round  nu 
on  the  night  of  my  watch.  But  the  thin  Tcil 
of  my  companion  was  a  far  lens  efficient  dis- 
guise. She  had,  indeed,  flung  away  the  golden 
beetles  from  her  hair  ;  but  the  sacred  robe  ol 
her  order  was  still  too  visible,  and  the  start  of 
the  bandelet  shone  brightly  through  her  veil. 

Most  gladly,  therefore,  did  she  avail  honelf 
of  this  opportunity  of  a  change ;  and,  as  she 
took  from  out  a  casket  —  which,  with  the  vol- 
ume I  had  seen  her  reading,  appeared  to  be  hcf 
only  treasure  —  a  smidl  jewel,  to  give  in  ex- 
change for  the  simple  garments  she  had  chosen, 
there  fell  out,  at  the  same  time,  the  very  croM 
of  silver  which  I  had  seen  her  kiss,  as  may  be 
remembered,  in  the  monumental  chapel,  and 
which  was  afterwards  pressed  to  my  own  lip*. 
This  link  between  us  (for  such  it  now  appeared 
to  my  imagination)  called  up  again  in  my  heart 
all  the  burning  feelings  of  that  moment ;  —  ami 
had  I  not  abruptly  turned  away,  my  agitatioi. 
would  have  but  too  plainly  betrayed  itself 

The  object,  for  which  we  had  delayed  in  thiii 
gay  scene,  having  been  accomplished,  the  sail 
was  again  spreail,  and  we  proceeded  on  o»u 
course  up  the  river.  The  sounds  and  the  light* 
we  left  behind  died  graduidly  away,  and  we 
now  floated  along  in  moonlight  and  silence  once 
more.  Sweet  dews,  worthy  of  lieing  called 
"  the  tears  of  Isis,"  •  fell  refreshingly  through 
the  air,  and  every  plant  and  flower  sent  its  fra- 
grance to  meet  them.  The  wind,  just  strong 
enough  to  bear  us  smoothly  against  the  current, 
scarce  stirred  the  shadow  of  the  tamarisks  on 
the  water.  As  the  inhabitants  from  all  quar- 
ters were  collected  at  the  night  fiur,  the  Nile 
was  more  than  usually  still  and  solitary.     Sucl 


Rtrung  intn  nrcklac«a  and  brareleta,  M  generally  aihur  .  I  • 
the  name  of  ihe  black  bean  of  Abyiwlnla.    A" «•*«*' 

*  SeeJU.  t^dUUmu  w*  the  mmtital  uulrumemu  nf  (^  f^rt 
timn*. 

»  Minus  iipcaka  of  the  mawjr  mmoilit  of  Mount  AtlM 
Blilterin«  with  tlamr*  at  nishl.  In  the  arnnint  of  Uie  Pen 
plui  of  Hanno,  a«  well  an  in  that  of  (^iidoxu*.  we  read  Iha 
as  thoee  navigator*  were  coaating  thta  pan  ul  AlrHa,  k« 
renta  of  light  were  teen  tu  fall  on  the  wa. 

•  "  Per  lacrjniax,  vero,  I-idl"  iniplJiB"  effluvia  qitvdaa 
Lunc,  quibim  lantam  vii:i  ridenlur  trib(.*«e  ^.typti."    ./•• 

Uaiuki. Ho  it  of  opinion  that  the  »iper»lilion  of  tJie  Jtiu 

to,  or  roiraculou*  drop,  ia  a  relic  of  tile  venerstktfc  pem  ¥ 
Ibe  dew*,  an  tiie  team  uf  Itia. 


120 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


siJpnce,  indeed,  prevailed,  that,  as  we  glided 
Rear  the  shore,  we  could  hear  the  rustling  of 
the  acacias,'  as  the  chameleons  ran  up  their 
Btems.  It  was,  altogether,  such  a  night  as  only 
the  climate  of  Egypt  can  boast,  when  the  whole 
scene  around  lies  lulled  in  that  sort  of  bright 
tranquillity,  which  maybe  imagined  to  light  the 
slumbers  of  those  happy  spirits,  who  are  said  to 
r»8t  in  the  Valley  of  the  Moon,*  on  their  way 
to  heavrn. 

By  such  a  light,  and  at  such  an  hour,  seated, 
side  by  side,  on  the  deck  of  that  bark,  did  we 
pursue  our  course  up  the  lonely  Nile  —  each  a 
mystery  to  the  other  —  our  thoughts,  our  ob- 
jects, our  very  names  a  secret ;  —  separated,  too, 
till  now,  by  destinies  so  different ;  the  one,  a 
gay  voluptuary  of  the  Garden  of  Athens,  the 
other,  a  secluded  Priestess  of  the  Temples  of 
Memphis  ;  —  and  the  only  relation  yet  estab- 
lished between  us  being  that  dangerous  one  of 
love,  passionate  love,  on  one  side,  and  the  most 
feminine  and  confiding  dependence  on  the  other. 

The  passing  adventure  of  the  night  fair  had 
not  only  dispelled  a  little  our  mutual  reserve, 
but  had  luckily  furnished  us  with  a  subject  on 
which  we  could  converse  without  embarrass- 
ment. From  this  topic  I  took  care  to  lead  her, 
without  any  interruption,  to  others  —  being  fear- 
ful lest  our  former  silence  should  return,  and 
the  music  of  her  voice  again  be  lost  to  me.  It 
was  only,  indeed,  by  thus  indirectly  unburden- 
ing my  heart  that  I  was  enabled  to  avoid  the 
disclosure  of  all  I  thought  and  felt;  and  the 
restless  rapidity  with  which  I  flew  from  subject 
to  subject  was  but  an  effort  to  escape  from  the 
only  one  in  which  my  heart  was  really  interested. 

"How  bright  and  happy,"  said  I — pointing 
up  to  Sothis,  the  fair  Star  of  the  Waters,'  which 
was  just  then  shining  brilliantly  over  our  heads 
—  "  How  bright  and  happy  this  world  ought  to 
be,  if,  as  your  Egyptian  sages  assert,  yon  pure 
and  beautiful  luminary  was  its  birthstar  !  "  * 
Then,  still  leaning  back,  and  letting  my  eyes 
wander  over  the  firmament,  as  if  seeking  to 
disengage  them  from  the  fascination  which  they 
dreaded  —  •'  Tb  the  study,"  I  exclaimed,  "  for 
ages,  of  skies  like  this,  may  the  pensiA'e  and  mys- 
tic character  of  your  nation  be  traced.  That 
mixture  of  pride  and  melancholy  which  natu- 
rally arises,  at  the  sight  of  those  eternal  lights 


1  Travels  of  Captain  Mangles. 

•  Plutarch     Dupuis,  torn.  Xi    The  Manicheans  held  the 
■une  belief.    See  Beausobre,  p.  565. 


shining  out  of  darkness ;  —  that  sublime,  but 
saddened,  anticipation  of  a  Future,  which  sleals 
sometimes  over  the  soul  in  the  silence  of  such 
an  hour,  when,  though  Death  appears  to  reigi? 
in  the  deep  stillness  of  earth,  there  are  yet  those 
beacons  of  Immortality  burning  in  the  sky." 

Pausing,  as  I  uttered  the  word  "immortality," 
with  a  sigh  to  think  how  little  my  heart  echoed 
to  my  lips,  I  looked  in  the  face  of  my  compan- 
ion, and  saw  that  it  had  lighted  up,  as  I  spoke, 
into  a  glow  of  holy  animation,  such  as  Faith 
alone  gives ;  —  such  as  Hope  herself  wears,  when 
she  is  dreaming  of  heaven.  Touched  by  the 
contrast,  and  gazing  upon  her  with  mournful 
tenderness,  I  found  my  arms  half  opened,  to 
clasp  her  to  my  heart,  while  the  words  died 
away  inaudibly  upon  my  lips,  —  "  Thou,  too, 
beautiful  maiden  !  must  thou,  too,  die  forever  ? " 

My  self-command,  I  felt,  had  nearly  deserted 
me.  Rising  abruptly  from  my  seat,  I  walked 
to  the  middle  of  the  deck,  and  stood,  for  some 
moments,  unconsciously  gazing  upon  one  of 
those  fires,  which  —  according  to  the  custom  of 
all  who  travel  by  night  on  the  Nile  —  our  boat- 
men had  kindled,  to  scare  away  the  crocodiles 
from  the  vessel.  But  it  was  in  vain  that  I  en- 
deavored to  compose  my  sjnrit.  Every  effort  I 
made  but  more  deeply  convinced  me,  that,  till  the 
mystery  which  hung  around  that  maiden  should 
be  solved  —  till  the  secret,  with  which  my  own 
bosom  labored,  should  be  disclosed  —  it  was  fruit- 
less to  attempt  even  a  semblance  of  tranquillity. 

My  resolution  was  therefore  taken ;  —  to  lay 
open,  at  once,  the  feelings  of  my  own  heart,  as 
far  as  such  revealment  might  be  hazarded,  with- 
out startling  the  timid  innocence  of  my  com- 
panion. Thus  resolved,  I  resumed  my  seat, 
with  more  composure,  by  her  side,  and  taking 
from  my  bosom  the  small  mirror  which  she  had 
dropped  in  the  Temple,  and  which  I  had-  ever 
since  worn  suspended  round  my  neck,  presented 
it  with  a  trembling  hand  to  her  view.  The 
boatmen  had  just  kindled  one  of  their  night 
fires  near  us,  and  its  light,  as  she  leaned  for- 
ward to  look  at  the  mirror,  fell  upon  her  face. 

The  quick  blush  of  surprise  with  which  she 
recognized  it  to  be  hers,  and  her  look  of  bashful 
yet  eager  inquiry,  in  raising  her  eyes  to  mine, 
were  appeals  to  which  I  was  not,  of  course, 
tardy  in  answering.     Beginning  with  the  first 


*  'Xipayoyyov  is  the  epithet  applied  to  this  star  by  Pitt- 
tareh.  de  Isid. 

*  'H  DtoSfws  avaroXri  yevtacwi  Karapxovaa  ttk  ei;  rot 
Koa/iov.     Porpkifr.  de  Antra  M^pnpk. 


THE  EPICUREAJJ. 


7i. 


nora<»nt  'vKen  I  saw  her  in  the  Temple,  and 
passing  hastily,  but  with  words  that  burned,  as 
chey  went,  over  the  impression  which  she  had 
then  left  upon  my  heart  and  fancy,  I  proceeded 
to  describe  the  particulars  of  my  descent  into 
the  pyramid  —  my  surprise  and  adoration  at 
the  door  of  the  chapel  —  my  encounter  with 
the  Trials  n'  '-"itiation,  so  mysteriously  pre- 
pared for  nio,  and  all  che  various  visionary 
Ttonders  I  had  witnessed  in  that  region,  till  the 
moment  when  I  had  seen  her  stealing  from 
under  the  Veils  to  approach  me. 

1  hough,  in  detailing  these  events,  I  had  said 
b'lt  little  of  the  feelings  they  had  awakened  in 
me  —  though  my  lips  had  sent  back  many  a 
•entence,  unuttered,  there  was  still  enough  that 
could  neither  be  subdued  nor  disguised,  and 
which,  like  that  light  from  under  the  veils  of 
S.cr  own  Isis,  glowed  through  every  word  that  I 
■poke.  When  I  told  of  the  scene  in  the  chapel 
—  of  the  silent  inter\'iew  which  I  had  witnessed 
between  the  dead  and  the  living  —  the  maiden 
leaned  down  her  head  and  wept,  as  from  a  heart 
full  of  tears.  It  seemed  a  pleasure  to  her,  how- 
ever, to  listen  ;  and,  when  she  looked  at  me 
again,  there  was  an  earnest  and  affectionate 
cordiality  in  her  eyes,  as  if  the  knowledge  of 
niy  having  been  present  at  that  mournful  scene 
had  opened  a  new  source  of  sympathy  and  in- 
telligence between  us.  So  neighboring  are  the 
fountains  of  Ix)ve  and  of  Sorrow,  and  so  im- 
perceptibly do  they  often  mingle  their  streams. 

Little,  indeed,  as  I  was  guided  by  art  or  de- 
sign, in  my  manner  and  conduct  towards  this 
innocent  girl,  not  all  the  most  experienced  gal- 
lantry of  the  Garden  could  have  dictated  a 
policy  half  so  seductive  as  that  which  my  new 
master.  Love,  now  taught  me.  The  same  ardor 
•which,  if  shown  at  once,  and  without  reser\*e, 
might  probably  have  startled  a  heart  so  little 
prepared  for  it,  being  now  checked  and  aoft- 
encd  by  the  timidity  of  real  love,  won  its  way 
M'ithout  alarm,  and,  when  most  diffident  of 
Bucccfs,  was  then  most  surely  on  its  way  to 
triumph.  Like  one  whose  slumbers  arc  grad- 
ually broken  by  sweet  music,  the  maiden's 
heart  was  awakened  without  being  disturbed. 
She  followed  the  course  of  the  charm,  uncon- 
scious whither  it  led,  nor  was  even  aware  of  the 
fiame  she  had  lighted  in  another's  bosom,  till  star- 
tled by  tne  reflection  of  it  glimmering  in  her  own. 

Impatient  as  I  was  to  appeal  to  her  gener- 


1  Vi«1«  miford  en  Egypt  and  Uu  JVt{<,  Aiiatic  HcMUchM. 
*  "  A  l'4poque  4e  la  cni«  l«  Nil  Vert  charrie  Im  olanrJie* 


osity  and  sympathy,  for  a  similar  proof  of  con- 
fidence to  that  which  I  had  just  given,  thf 
night  was  now  too  far  advanced  for  me  to  im- 
pose upon  her  such  a  task.  After  exchanging 
a  few  words,  in  which,  though  little  met  the 
ear,  there  was,  on  both  sides,  a  tone  and  man- 
ner  that  spoke  far  more  than  lan^ajre.  we  tori 
a  lingering  leave  of  each  other  for  the  night, 
with  every*  prospect,  I  fondly  hoped,  ol  being 
still  together  in  our  dreams. 


CHAPTER  Xm. 

It  was  so  near  the  dawn  of  day  when  we 
parted,  that  v^e  found  the  sun  sinking  west- 
ward when  we  rejoined  each  other.  The  smile, 
so  frankly  cordial,  with  which  she  met  mc, 
might  have  been  taken  for  the  greeting  of  a  lon^ 
mellowed  friendship,  did  not  the  blush  and  the 
cast-down  eyelid  that  followed  betray  S3rmptoma 
of  a  feeling  newer  and  less  calm.  For  mysclii 
lightened  as  I  was,  in  some  degree,  by  the 
avowal  which  I  had  made,  I  was  yj-t  too  con- 
scious of  the  new  aspect  thxis  given  to  our  in 
tercourse,  not  to  feel  some  httle  alarm  at  the  pro* 
pect  of  returning  to  the  theme.  We  were  both, 
therefore,  alike  willing  to  allow  our  attention  tr 
be  diverted,  by  the  variety  of  strange  objects 
that  presented  themselves  on  the  way,  from  a 
subject  that  evidently  both  were  alike  unwill- 
ing to  approach. 

The  river  was  now  all  stirring  with  commerr* 
and  life.  Every  instant  we  met  with  boata 
descending  the  current,  so  wholly  independeni 
of  aid  from  sail  or  oar,  that  the  mariners  sat  idly 
on  the  deck  as  they  shot  along,  either  siniring 
or  playing  upon  their  double-reeded  pipes, 
llie  greater  number  of  these  boats  came  ladtsu 
with  those  large  emeralds,  from  the  n><ni>  in 
the  desert,  whose  colors,  it  is  said,  arc  brightest 
at  the  full  of  the  moon ;  while  some  brougu: 
cargoes  of  frankincense  from  the  acacia  gr>i  w 
near  the  Red  Sea.  On  the  decks  of  othcra, 
that  had  been,  as  we  learned,  to  the  Golden 
Mountains  '  beyond  Syenc,  were  heaped  blockr 
and  fragments  of  that  sweet-smelling  wood,* 
which  is  yearly  washed  down,  by  the  Green 
Nile  of  Nubia.  *t  the  season  of  the  floods. 

Our  companions  up  the  stream  were  far  \em 
numerous.    Occasionally  a  boat,  returning  Ught- 


d'un  bnis  qui  r  nne  odmtr  wmblsbto  i  mUs  Cs  l^wews ' 
QiMlrcauVik 


m 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


*ned  frcm  the  fair  of  last  night,  shot  rapidly 
past  us,  with  those  high  sails  that  catch  every 
breeze  from  over  the  hills  ;  —  while,  now  and 
then,  we  overtook  one  of  those  harges  fuU  of 
bees,'  that  are  sent  at  this  season  to  colonize  the 
gardens  of  the  south,  and  take  advantage  of  the 
first  flowers  after  the  inundation  has  passed 
away. 

For  a  sh  irt  time,  this  constant  variety  of  objects 
enabled  u*  to  divert  so  far  our  conversation  as 
tr>  keep  it  from  lighting  upon  the  one,  sole  sub- 
ject, round  which  it  constantly  hovered.  But 
the  effort,  as  might  be  expected,  was  not  long 
successful.  As  evening  advanced,  the  whole 
Bcene  became  more  solitary.  We  less  frequently 
ventured  to  look  upon  each  other,  and  our  in- 
tervals of  silence  grew  more  long. 

It  was  near  sunset,  when,  in  passing  a  small 
temple  on  the  shore,  whose  porticoes  were  now 
full  of  the  evening  light,  we  saw  issuing  from  a 
thicket  of  acanthus  near  it,  a  train  of  young 
maidens  gracefully  linked  together  in  the  dance 
by  stems  of  the  lotus  held  at  arms'  length  be- 
tween them.  Their  tresses  were  also  wreathed 
with  this  gay  emblem  of  the  season,  and  in  such 
profusion  were  its  white  flowers  twisted  around 
their  waists  and  arms,'  that  they  might  have 
been  taken,  as  they  lightly  bounded  along  the 
bank,  for  Nymphs  of  the  Nile,  then  freshly 
risen  from  their  bright  gardens  under  the  wave. 

After  looking  for  a  few  minutes  at  this  sacred 
dance,  the  maiden  turned  away  her  eyes,  with  a 
look  of  pain,  as  if  the  remembrances  it  recalled 
were  of  no  welcome  nature.  This  momentary 
retrospect,  this  glimpse  into  the  past,  appeared 
to  offer  a  sort  of  clew  to  the  secret  for  which  I 
panted  ;  —  and  accordingly  I  proceeded,  as  grad- 
ually and  delicately  as  my  impatience  would 
allow,  to  avail  myself  of  the  opening.  Her 
OAvn  frankness,  however,  relieved  me  from  the 
embarrassment  of  much  questioning.  She  ap- 
peared even  to  feel  that  the  confidence  I  sought 
was  due  to  me ;  and  beyond  the  natural  hesita- 
tion of  maidenly  modesty,  not  a  shade  of  reserve 
or  evasion  appeared. 

To  attempt  to  repeat,  in  her  own  touching 
'^  .irds,  the  simple  story  which  she  now  related 
to  me,  would  be  like  endeavoring  to  note  down 
»om:e  unpremeditated  strain  of  music,  with  all 
those  fugitive  graces,  those  felicities  of  the  mo- 


i  MatUet 

i  "  On  les  voit  comnie  Jadls  cueillir  dans  lea  champs  des 
Bpes  (111  lotus,  sigiies  du  d6bordement  et  presages  de  I'abon- 
Au ;«   ils  s'enveloppent  les  bras  et  lo  corps  avec  les  tongues 


ment,  which  no  art  can  restore ,  as  they  first  mel 
the  ear.  From  a  feeling,  too,  of  humility,  she 
had  omitted  in  hei  short  narrative  several  par- 
ticulars relating  to  herself,  which  I  afterwardt 
learned  ;  —  while  others,  not  less  important 
she  but  slightly  passed  over,  from  a  fear  of 
offending  the  prejudices  of  her  heathen  hearer 
I  shall,  therefore,  give  her  story,  not  a:*  she, 
herself,  sketched  it,  but  as  it  was  afterwards 
filled  up  by  a  pious  and  venerable  hand  —  far, 
far  more  worthy  than  mine  of  oeing  associated 
with  the  memory  of  such  purity. 

STORY  OP  ALIITHE. 

"  The  mother  of  this  maiden  was  the  beauti- 
ful Theora  of  Alexandria,  who,  though  a  native 
of  that  city,  was  descended  from  Grecian  parents. 
When  very  young,  Theora  was  one  of  the  seven 
maidens  selected  to  note  down  the  discourses  of 
the  eloquent  Origen,  who,  at  that  period,  pre- 
sided over  the  School  of  Alexandria,  and  Avas  in 
all  the  fulness  of  his  fame  both  among  Pagans 
and  Christians.  Endowed  richly  with  the  learn- 
ing of  both  creeds,  he  brought  the  natural  light 
of  philosophy  to  illustrate  the  mysteries  of  faith, 
and  was  then  only  proud  of  his  knowledge  of 
the  wisdom  of  this  world,  when  he  found  it  min- 
ister usefully  to  the  triumph  of  divine  truth. 

"  Although  he  had  courted  in  vain  the  crown 
of  martyrdom,  it  was  held,  through  his  whole 
life,  suspended  over  his  head,  and,  in  more  than 
one  persecution,  he  had  shown  himself  cheer- 
fully ready  to  die  for  that  holy  faith  which  h< 
lived  but  to  testify  and  upiiold.  On  one  of 
these  occasions,  his  tormentors,  having  habited 
him  like  an  Egyptian  priest,  placed  him  upon 
the  steps  of  the  Temple  of  Serapis,  and  com- 
manded that  he  should,  in  the  manner  of  the 
Pagan  ministers,. present  palm  branches  ^o  the 
multitude  who  went  up  into  the  shrine.  But 
the  courageous  Christian  disappointed  their 
views.  Holding  forth  the  branches  with  an 
unshrinking  hand,  he  cried  aloud,  '  Come  hithei 
and  take  the  branch,  not  of  an  Idol  Temple,  but 
of  Christ.' 

*'  So  indefatigable  was  this  learned  Father  ir 
his  studies,  that,  while  composing  his  Com- 
mentary on  the  Scriptures  '  he  was  attended  bj 
seven  scribes  or  notaries,   who   relievf-d   each 


tiges  fleunes,  et  parcoureut  les  rues,"  &.c.    Dtseriptiim  tits 
Tombtaux  des  Rois  par  M-  Costai. 

3  It  was  during  the  c  omposition  of  his  great  eriiical  work 
'\ie  Hexapla,  that  Orig(  n  employed  these  female  scribes 


J 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


72< 


•ther  in  recording  the  dictates  of  his  eloquent 
tongue ;  while  the  same  number  of  young 
'emales,  selected  for  the  beauty  of  their  pen- 
aanship,  were  employed  in  arranging  and 
transcribing  the  precious  leaves. 

•*  Among  the  scribes  so  selected,  was  the  fair 
young  Theora,  whose  parents,  though  attached 
to  the  Pagan  worship,  were  not  unwilling  to 
profit  by  the  accomplishments  of  their  daughter, 
htis  occupied  in  a  task,  which  they  looked  on 
as  jiurely  mechanical.  To  the  maid  herself, 
howcTcr,  her  employment  brought  far  other 
feelings  and  consequences.  She  read  anxiously 
fcs  she  >«Tote,  and  the  divine  truths,  so  eloquently 
Illustrated,  found  their  way,  by  degrees,  from 
the  page  to  her  heart.  Deeply,  too,  as  the 
written  words  affected  her,  the  discourses  from 
the  lips  of  the  great  teacher  himself,  which  she 
had  frequent  opportunities  of  hearing,  sunk 
itill  more  deeply  into  her  mind.  There  was,  at 
once,  a  sublimity  and  gentleness  in  his  views  of 
religion,  which  to  the  tender  hearts  and  lively 
imaginations  of  women,  never  failed  to  appeal 
with  convincing  power.  Accordingly,  the  list 
•>!  his  female  pupils  was  numerous ;  and  the 
names  of  Barbara,  Juliana,  HcraTs,  and  others, 
bear  honorable  testimony  to  his  influence  over 
that  sex. 

•'  To  Theora  the  feeling,  with  which  his  dis- 
courses inspired  her,  was  like  a  new  soul  —  a 
consciousness  of  spiritual  existence,  never  before 
felt.  By  the  eloquence  of  the  comment  she  was 
awakened  into  admiration  of  the  text ;  and 
trhen,  by  the  kindness  of  a  Catechumen  of  the 
eoliool,  who  had  been  struck  by  her  innocent 
teal,  she,  for  the  first  time,  became  possessor  of 
ft  copy  of  the  Scriptures,  she  could  not  sleep  for 
thinking  of  her  sacred  treasure.  With  a  mix- 
ture of  pleasure  and  fear  she  hid  it  from  all 
eyej.'  and  was  like  one  who  had  received  a  divine 
guest  under  her  roof,  and  felt  fearful  of  betray- 
ing its  divinity  to  the  world. 

"  A  heart  so  awake  would  have  been  with 
ea^e  secured  to  the  faith,  had  her  opportunities 
of  hearing  the  sacred  word  continued.  But 
circumstances  arose  to  deprive  her  of  this  ad- 
vantage. The  mild  Origen,  long  harassed  and 
thwarted  in  his  labors  by  the  tyranny  of  Deme- 
trius, Bishop  of  Alexandria,  was  obliged  to 
relinquish  his  school  and  fiy  from  Egpyt.  The 
sccupation  of  the  fair  scribe  was,  therefore,  at 
%a  end  :  her  intercourse  with  the  followers  of 
ihe  new  faith  ceased;  and  the  growing  eitthu- 
liasm  of  her  J'.eart  fftve  way  to  more  w<  rldly 
ro^tressioa) 


"  Among  other  earthly  feelings,  love  con- 
duced not  a  little  to  wean  her  thoughts  fron 
the  true  religion.  While  still  very  young,  sht 
became  the  wife  of  a  Greek  adventurer,  who 
had  come  to  Egypt  as  a  purchaser  of  that  rich 
tapestry,'  in  which  the  needles  of  Persia  are 
rivalled  by  the  looms  of  the  Nile.  Having 
taken  his  young  bride  to  Memphis,  which  was 
still  the  great  mart  of  this  merchandise,  l.i 
there,  in  the  midst  of  his  speculations,  died  — 
leaving  his  widow  on  the  point  of  becoming  a 
mother,  while,  as  yet,  but  in  her  nineteenth 
year. 

••  For  single  and  unprotected  females,  it  has 
been,  at  all  times,  a  favorite  resource,  to  seek 
for  employment  in  the  service  of  some  of  those 
great  temples  by  which  so  large  a  portion  of  the 
wealth  and  power  of  Egypt  is  absorbed.  In 
most  of  these  institutions  there  exists  an  order 
of  Priestesses,  which,  though  not  hereditary, 
like  that  of  the  Priests,  is  provided  for  by  am- 
ple endowments,  and  confers  that  dignity  and 
station,  with  which,  in  a  government  so  theo- 
cratic. Religion  is  sure  to  invest  even  her  hum- 
blest handmaids.  From  the  general  polic)'  ot 
the  Sacred  College  of  Memphis,  we  may  ;o 
for  granted,  that  an  accomplished  female,  -• 
Theora,  fount'  but  little  difficulty  in  being 
elected  one  of  the  Priestesses  of  Isis ;  and  it 
was  in  the  service  of  the  subtenanean  shrines 
that  her  ministry  chiefly  lay. 

«'  Here,  a  month  or  two  after  her  admission, 
she  gave  birth  to  Alethe,  who  first  opened  hei 
eyes  among  the  unholy  pomps  and  specious 
miracles  of  this  mysterious  region.  Though 
Theora,  as  we  have  seen,  had  been  diverted  by 
other  feelings  &om  her  first  enthusiasm  for  the 
Christian  faith,  she  had  never  wholly  forgot  the 
impression  then  made  upon  her.  The  sacred 
volume,  which  the  pious  Catechumen  had  given 
her,  was  still  treasured  with  care  ;  and,  though 
she  seldom  opened  its  pages,  there  was  always 
an  idea  of  sanctity  associated  with  it  in  her 
memory,  and  often  would  she  sit  to  look  upcn 
it  with  reverential  pleasure,  recalling  the  hap- 
piness she  had  felt  when  it  was  first  made  her 
own. 

"  The  leisure  of  her  new  retreat,  and  the  lont 
melancholy  of  widowhood,  led  her  still  more 
frequently  to  indulge  in  such  thoughts,  and  to 
recur  to  those  consoling  truths  which  she  had 
heard  in  the  school  of  Alexandria.     She  now 


Non  tfo  pnetul«rini  Babjrionica  pkta  MpMM 


m 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


began  to  peruse  eagerly  the  sacred  volume, 
drinking  deep  of  the  fountain  of  which  she 
before  but  tasted,  and  feeling  —  what  thousands 
pf  mourners,  since  her,  have  felt  —  that  Chris- 
tianity is  the  true  and  only  religion  of  the  sor- 
rowful. 

"  This  study  of  her  secret  hours  became  still 
more  dear  to  her,  as  well  from  the  peril  with 
which,  at  that  period,  it  was  attended,  as  from 
the  necessity  she  felt  herself  under  of  conceal- 
ing from  those  around  her  the  precious  light 
that  had  been  thus  kindled  in  her  own  heart. 
Too  timid  to  encounter  the  fierce  persecution, 
which  awaited  all  who  were  suspected  of  a  lean- 
ing to  Christianity,  she  continued  to  officiate  in 
the  pomps  and  ceremonies  of  the  Temple ;  — 
though,  often,  with  such  remorse  of  soul,  that 
she  would  pause,  in  the  midst  of  the  rites,  and 
pray  inwardly  to  God,  that  he  would  forgive 
this  profanation  of  his  Spirit. 

"  In  thp  mean  time  her  daughter,  the  young 
Alethe,  grew  up  still  lovelier  than  herself,  and 
added,  every  hour,  both  to  her  happiness  and 
her  fears.  When  arrived  at  a  sufficient  age,  she 
was  taught,  like  the  other  children  of  the  priest- 
esses, to  take  a  share  in  the  service  and  cere- 
monies of  the  shrines.  The  duty  of  some  of 
these  young  servitors '  was  to  look  after  the 
flowers  for  the  altar  ;  —  of  others  to  take  care 
that  the  sacrea  vases  were  filled  every  day  with 
fresh  water  from  the  Nile.  The  task  of  some 
was  to  preserve,  in  perfect  polish,  those  silver 
images  of  the  Moon  which  the  priests  carried 
in  processions  ;  while  others  were,  as  we  have 
Been,  employed  in  feeding  the  consecrated  ani- 
mals, and  in  keeping  their  plumes  and  scales 
bright  for  the  admiring  eyes  of  their  wor- 
Bhippers. 

"  The  office  allotted  to  Alethe  —  the  most 
honorable  of  these  minor  ministries  —  was  to 
wait  upon  the  sacred  birds  of  the  Moon,  to  feed 
them  daily  with  those  eggs  from  the  Nile  which 
they  loved,  and  provide  for  their  use  that  purest 
water,  which  alone  these  delicate  birds  will 
touch.  This  employment  was  the  delight  of 
her  childish  hours ;  and  that  ibis,  which  Alci- 
phron  (the  Epicurean)  saw  her  dance  rouhd  in 
the  temple,  was,  of  all  the  sacred  flock,  her 
especial  favorite,  and  had  been  daily  fondled  and 
fed  by  her  from  infancy. 

'  Music,  as  being  one  of  the .  chief  spells  of 

1  De  Pauw,  who  differs  in  opinion  from  those  who  sup- 
posed women  to  be  eligible  to  the  higher  sacerdotal  offices  in 
Egypt,  thus  enumerates  the  tasks  to  which  their  superin- 
Iwdenre  wa«  as  he  thinks,  confined :  —  "  Les  femmes  n'ont 


this  enchanted  region,  was  an  nccomplishment 
required  of  all  its  ministrants  and  the  harp, 
the  lyre,  and  the  sacred  flute,  st  unded  nowhere 
so  sweetly  as  through  these  subterranean  gar- 
dens. The  chief  object,  indeed,  in  the  educa- 
tion of  the  youth  of  the  Temple,  was  to  fit 
them,  by  every  grace  of  art  and  nature,  to  give 
effect  to  the  illusion  of  thofe  shows  and  phan- 
tasms, in  which  the  entire  charm  and  secret  Pi 
Initiation  lay. 

"  Among  the  rfieans  employed  to  support  the 
old  system  of  superstition,  against  the  infidelity 
and,  still  more,  the  new  Faith  that  menaced  it, 
was  an  increased  display  of  splendor  and  mar- 
vels in  those  Mysteries  for  which  Egypt  has  so 
long  been  celebrated.  Of  these  ceremonies  so 
many  imitations  had,  under  various  names,  mul- 
tiplied throughout  Europe,  that  at  length  the 
parent  superstition  ran  a  risk  of  being  eclipsed 
by  its  progeny  ;  and,  in  order  still  to  rank  as 
the  first  Priesthood  in  the  world,  it  became 
necessary  for  those  of  Egj'pt  to  remain  still  the 
best  impostors. 

"  Accordingly,  every  contrivance  that  art 
could  devise,  or  labor  execute  —  every  resource 
that  the  wonderful  knowledge  of  the  Priests, 
in  pyrotechny,  mechanics,  and  dioptrics,  could 
command  —  was  brought  into  action  to  heighten 
the  effect  of  their  Mysteries,  and  give  an  air  of 
enchantment  to  every  thing  connected  with 
them. 

"  The  final  scene  of  beatification  —  the  Elys- 
ium, into  which  the  Initiate  was  received  — 
formed,  of  course,  the  leading  attraction  of  these 
ceremonies ;  and  to  render  it^  captivating  alike 
to  the  senses  of  the  man  of  pleasure,  and  the 
imagination  of  the  spiritualist,  was  the  great 
object  to  which  the  attention  of  the  Sacred  Col- 
lege was  devoted.  By  the  influence  of  the 
Priests  of  Memphis  over  those  of  the  other 
Temples  they  had  succeeded  in  extending  their 
subterranean  frontier,  both  to  the  north  and 
south,  so  as  to  include,  within  their  ever-lighted 
Paradise,  some  of  the  gardens  excavated  for  the 
use  of  the  other  Twelve  Shrines. 

'•  The  beauty  of  the  young  Alethe,  the  touch- 
ing sweetness  of  her  voice,  and  the  sensibility 
that  breathed  throughout  her  every  look  and 
movement,  rendered  her  a  powerful  auxiliary 
in  such  appeals  to  the  imagination.  She  had 
been,  accordingly,  in  her  very   childhood,  se- 

pu  tout  au  plus  dans  I'ordre  secondaire  s'acquitter  que  d« 
quelques  eraplois  sans  consequence  ;  comme  de  nourrir  del 
scarab^es,  des  musaraignes  et  d'autres  petits  animaui  sa 
cr6s."    Tom.  i.  sect  '> 


ected  from  among  her  fair  companions,  as  the 
nost  worthy  representative  of  spiritual  loveli- 
pess,  in  those  pictures  of  Elysium  —  those  scenes 
of  another  world  —  by  which  not  only  the  fan- 
cy, but  the  reason,  of  the  excited  Aspirants 
was  dazzled, 

•♦  To  the  innocent  child  herself  these  shows 
were  pastime.  But  to  Thcora,  who  knew  too 
well  the  imposition  to  which  they  were  sub- 
servient, this  profanation  of  all  that  she  loved 
was  a  perpetual  source  of  horror  and  remorse. 
Often  would  she  —  when  Alethe  stood  smiling 
before  her,  arrayed,  perhaps,  as  a  spirit  of  the 
Elysian  world  —  turn  away,  with  a  shudder, 
from  the  happy  child,  almost  fancying  sh'  saw 
already  the  shadows  of  sin  descending  ov  that 
mnocent  brow,  as  she  gazed  upon  it. 

«'  As  the  intellect  of  the  young  maid  became 
more  active  and  inquiring,  the  apprehensions 
and  difficulties  of  the  mother  increased.  Afraid 
to  communicate  her  own  precious  secret,  lest 
■he  should  involve  her  child  in  the  dangers  that 
encompassed  it,  she  yet  felt  it  to  be  no  less  a 
cruelty  than  a  crime  to  leave  her  wholly  im- 
mersed in  the  darkness  of  Paganism.  In  this 
dilemma,  the  only  resource  that  remained  to  her 
was  to  select,  and  disengage  from  the  dross  that 
surrounded  them,  those  pure  particles  of  truth 
which  lie  at  the  bottom  of  all  religions  ;  —  those 
feelings,  rather  than  doctrines,  of  which  God 
has  never  left  his  creatures  destitute,  and  which, 
in  all  ages,  have  furnished,  to  those  who  sought 
after  it,  some  clew  to  his  glory. 

"  The  unity  and  perfect  goodness  of  the  Crea- 
tor; the  fall  of  the  human  soul  into  corruption  ; 
its  struggles  with  the  darkness  of  this  world, 
and  its  final  redemption  and  reascent  to  the 
source  of  all  spirit;  —  these  natural  solutions 
of  the  problem  of  our  existence,  these  element- 
ary grounds  of  all  religion  and  virtue,  which 
Theora  had  heard  illustrated  by  her  Christian 
teacher,  lay  also,  she  knew,  veiled  under  the 
theology  of  Egypt;  and  to  impress  them,  in 
their  abstract  purity,  upon  the  mind  of  her  sus- 
jeptible  pujjil,  was,  in  default  of  more  heaven- 
'.V  lights,  her  sole  ambition  and  care. 

"  It  was  generally  their  habit,  after  devoting 
their  mornings  to  the  service  of  the  Temjile,  to 
pass  their  evenings  and  nights  in  one  of  those 
(mail  mansions  above  ground,  allotted,  within 
the  precincts  of  the  Sacred  College,  to  some  of 
the  most  favored  Priestesses.  Here,  out  of  the 
reach  of  those  gross  superstitions,  which  pur- 
•  led  them,  at  ev^r    step,  below,  ij  \e  endeavored 


to  inform,  as  far  as  she  oould  venture,  the  miud 
of  her  beloved  girl ;  and  found  it  lean  as  natu« 
rally  and  instinctively  to  truth,  as  plants  long 
shut  up  in  darkness  will,  when  light  is  let  i» 
upon  them,  incline  themselves  to  its  rays. 

"  Frequently,  as  they  sat  together  on  the  ter- 
race at  night,  admiring  that  glorious  assemble 
of  stars,  whose  beauty  first  misled  mankind  inU- 
idolatry,  she  would  explain  to  the  young  Ustcnu 
by  what  gradations  of  error  it  was  that  tl  a 
worship,  thus  transferred  from  the  Creator  to 
the  creature,  sunk  still  lower  and  lowci  in  th« 
scale  of  being,  till  man,  at  length,  presumed  to 
deify  man,  and  by  the  most  monstrous  of  inver- 
sions, heaven  was  made  the  mere  mirror  of 
earth,  reflecting  back  all  its  most  earthly 
features. 

•'  Even  in  the  Temple  itself,  the  anxious 
mother  would  endeavor  to  interpose  her  purer 
lessons  among  the  idolatrous  ceremonies  in 
which  they  were  engaged.  AVhcn  the  favorit« 
ibis  of  Alethe  took  its  station  upon  the  shrine, 
and  the  young  maiden  was  seen  approaching, 
with  all  the  gravity  of  worship,  the  very  bird 
which  she  had  played  with  but  an  hour  before 
—  when  the  acacia  bough,  which  the  herself 
had  plucked,  seemed  to  acquire  a  sudden  sa- 
crcdness  in  her  eyes,  as  soon  as  the  priest  had 
breathed  upon  it  —  on  all  such  occasions  Tlieo- 
ra,  though  with  fear  and  trembling,  would  ven- 
ture to  suggest  to  the  youthful  worshipper  the 
distinction  that  should  be  drawn  between  the 
sensible  object  of  adoration,  and  "that  spiritual 
unseen  Deity,  of  which  it  was  but  the  remem- 
brancer or  type. 

"  With  sorrow,  however,  she  soon  discovered 
that,  in  thus  but  partially  letting  in  light  upon  t 
mind  far  too  ardent  to  rest  satisfied  with  such 
glimmerings,  she  but  bewildered  the  heart  whic>» 
she  meant  to  guide,  and  cut  down  the  feeble 
hope  around  which  its  faith  twined,  without 
substituting  any  other  support  in  its  place.  As 
the  beauty,  too,  of  Alethe  began  to  attract  all 
eyes,  new  fears  crowded  upon  the  mother's 
heart ;  —  fears,  in  which  she  was  but  too  xniLU 
justified  by  the  characters  of  some  of  tho« 
aroimd  her. 

••  In  this  sacred  abode,  as  may  easily  be  con- 
ceived, morality  did  not  always  go  hand  in  han^ 
with  religion.  The  hj'pocritical  and  ambitious 
Orcus,  who  was,  at  this  period  High  Priest  of 
Memphis,  was  a  man,  in  every  ri-spect,  qualified 
to  preside  over  a  system  of  such  splendid  fraud. 
He  had  reached  that  effective  time  of  life,  wiiet 


r2« 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


enough  of  the  warmth  and  vigor  of  youth  re- 
mains to  give  animation  to  the  counsels  of  age. 
But,  in  his  instance,  youth  had  left  only  the 
fiaser  passions  behind,  while  age  but  brought 
with  it  a  more  refined  maturity  of  mischief. 
The  advantages  of  a  faith  appealing  almost 
wholly  to  the  senses,  were  well  understood  by 
him  ;  nor  liad  he  failed  either  to  discover  that, 
in  order  to  render  religion  subservient  to  his 
own  interests,  he  must  shape  it  adroitly  to  the 
interests  and  passions  of  others. 

"The  state  of  anxiety  and  remorse  in  which 
the  mini  of  the  hapless  Theora  was  kept  by  the 
scenes,  however  artfully  veiled,  which  she  daily 
witno«sed  around  her,  became  at  length  intoler- 
able. No  perils  that  the  cause  of  truth  could 
Dring  -with  it  would  be  half  so  dreadful  as  this 
endurance  o'  sinfulness  and  deceit.  Her  child 
was,  as  yet,  pure  and  innocent ;  but,  without 
that  sentinel  of  the  soul.  Religion,  how  long 
might  she  continue  so  ? 

"  This  thought  at  once  decided  her :  all  other 
fears  vanished  before  it.  S^•  resolved  instantly 
to  lay  open  to  Alethe  -j^e  whole  secret  of  her 
Boul ;  to  make  this  child,  who  was  her  only  hope 
on  earth,  the  sharer  of  all  her  hopes  in  heaven, 
and  then  fly  with  her,  as  soon  as  possible,  from 
this  unhallowed  spot,  to  the  far  desert  —  to  the 
mountains — to  any  place,  however  desolate, 
where  God  and  the  consciousness  of  innocence 
might  be  with  them.  , 

"  The  promptitude  with  which  her  young  pu- 
pil caught  from  her  the  divine  truths  was  even 
beyond  what  she  expected.  It  was  like  the 
lighting  of  one  torch  at  another,  so  prepared 
was  Alethe's  mind  for  the  illumination.  Am- 
ply, indeed,  was  the  anxious  mother  now  repaid 
for  all  her  misery,  by  this  perfect  communion  of 
love  and  faith,  and  by  the  delight,  with  which 
she  saw  her  beloved  child  —  like  the  young 
antelope,  when  first  led  by  her  dam  to  the  well 
—  drink  thirstily  by  her  side,  at  the  source  of 
all  life  and  truth. 

'But  such  happiness  was  not  long  to  last. 
Vhs  anxieties  that  Theora  had  suff'ercd  began  to 
prey  upon  her  health.  She  felt  her  strength 
daily  decline ;  and  the  thoughts  of  leaving, 
alone  and  unguarded  in  the  world,  that  treasure 
which  she  had  just  devoted  to  Heaven,  gave  her 
R  feeling  of  despair  which  but  hastened  the  ebb 
♦f  life.  Had  she  put  in  practice  her  resolution 
oi  flying  from  this  place,  her  child  might  have 
neen  now  beyond  the  reach  of  all  she  dreaded, 
md  in  the  solitude  of  the  desert  would  have 


I  found  at  least  safety  from  wrong.     But  the  verj 
I  happiness  she  had  felt  in  her  new  task  diverted 
I  her  from  this  project ;  —  and  it  was  now  too  late, 
for  she  was  already  dpng. 

"  She  still  continued,  however,  to  conceal  the 
state  of  her  health  from  the  tender  and  sanguino 
girl,  who,  though  observing  the  traces  of  disease 
on  her  mother's  cheek,  little  Know  ihat  they  wer« 
the  hastening  footsteps  of  death,  nor  even  thought 
of  the  possibility  of  ever  losing  what  was  sc 
dear  to  her.  Too  soon,  however,  the  moment 
of  separation  arrived  ;  and  while  the  anguish 
and  dismay  of  Alethe  were  in  proportion  to  the 
security  in  which  she  had  indulged,  Theora, 
too,  Mt,  with  bitter  regret,  that  she  had  sacri- 
ficed t  her  fond  consideration  much  precious 
time,  a..  1  that  there  now  remained  but  a  few 
brief  and  painful  moments,  for  the  communica- 
tion of  all  those  wishes  and  instructions  on 
which  the  future  destiny  of  the  young  orphan 
depended. 

"  She  had,  indeed,  time  for  little  more  than 
to  place  the  sacred  volume  solemnly  in  hei 
hands,  to  implore  that  she  would,  at  all  risks, 
fly  from  this  unholy  place,  and  pointing  in  the 
direction  of  the  mountains  of  the  Said,  lo  name, 
with  her  last  breath,  the  venerable  man,  to 
whom,  under  Heaven,  she  looked  for  the  pro- 
tection and  salvation  of  her  child. 

"  The  first  violence  of  feeling  to  which  Alethe 
gave  way  was  succeeded  by  a  fixed  and  tearless 
grief,  which  rendered  her  incensible,  for  some 
time,  to  the  dangers  of  her  situation.  Her  sole 
comfort  consisted  in  visiting  that  monumental 
chapel  where  the  beautiful  nmains  of  Theora 
lay.  There,  night  after  night,  in  contemplation 
of  those  placid  features,  and  in  prayers  for  the 
peace  of  the  departed  sjjirit,  did  she  pass  her 
lonely,  and  —  however  sad  they  were  —  happiest 
hours.  Though  the  mystic  emblems  that  dec- 
orated that  chapel  were  but  ill  suited  to  the 
slumber  of  a  Christian,  there  wv"  one  among 
them,  the  Cross,  which,  by  a  remarkable  coin 
cidence,  is  an  emblem  alike  common  to  the 
GentUe  and  the  Christian  —  being,  tc  Iht 
former,  a  shadowy  type  of  that  immortality,  of 
which,  to  the  latter,  it  is  a  substantial  nnd  as- 
suring pledge. 

"  Nightly,  upon  this  cross,  which  she  had 
often  seen  her  lost  mother  kiss,  did  she  brei^thc 
forth  a  solemn  and  heartfelt  vow,  never  to  aban 
don  the  faith  which  that  departed  spirit  had 
bequeathed  to  her.  To  such  enthusiasm,  in- 
deed, did  her  heart  at  such  moments  rise,  th:;t 


THE  BPICUREAX. 


72- 


but  for  the  last  injunctions  from  those  pallid 
lips,  she  would,  at  once,  have  avowed  her  peril- 
ous secret,  and  boldly  pronounced  the  words, 
'I  am  a  Christian,'  ^mong  those  benighted 
•hrines  ! 

"  But  the  will  of  her,  to  whom  she  owed  more 
than  life,  was  to  be  obeyed.  To  escape  from 
this  haunt  of  superstition  must  now,  she  felt, 
bt  l.er  lirst  object ;  and,  in  planning  the  mcaiis 
zi  cffe*  ting  it,  her  mind,  day  and  night,  waa 
tmployed.  It  was  with  a  loathing  not  to  bo 
y~-  cealcd,  that  she  now  found  herself  compelled 
to  resume  her  idolatrous  services  at  the  shrine. 
To  some  of  the  offices  of  ITicora  she  succeeded, 
&•  is  the  custom,  by  inheritance  ;  and  in  the 
performance  of  these  tasks  —  sanctifted  as  they 
were  in  her  eyes  by  the  pure  spirit  she  had  seen 
engaged  in  them  —  there  waa  a  sort  of  melan- 
choly pleasure  in  which  her  sorrow  found  relief. 
But  the  part  she  was  again  forced  to  take,  in 
the  scenic  shows  of  the  Mysteries,  brought  with 
it  a  sense  of  degradation  and  wrong  which  she 
could  no  longer  endure. 

"  Alicady  had  she  formed,  in  her  own  mind,  a 
plan  of  escape,  in  which  her  acquaintance  with 
all  the  windings  of  this  mystic  realm  gave  her 
.jonfidence,  when  the  solemn  reception  of  Alci- 
phron,  as  an  Initiate,  took  place. 

"  From  the  moment  of  the  landing  of  that 
philosopher  at  Alexandria,  he  had*  become  an 
object  of  suspicion  and  watchfulness  to  the  in- 
quisitorial Orcus,  whom  philosophy,  in  any 
«hape,  naturally  alarmed,  but  to  whom  the  sect 
ever  which  the  young  Athenian  presided  was 
particularly  obnoxious.  The  accomplishments 
of  Alciphron,  his  popularity,  wherever  he  went. 
And  the  bold  freedom  with  which  he  indulged 
his  wit  at  the  expense  of  religion,  were  all  faith- 
fully reported  to  the  High  Priest  by  his  spies, 
■nd  awakened  in  his  mind  no  kindly  feelings 
toward*  the  stranger.  In  dealing  with  an  in- 
fidel such  a  personage  as  Orcus  could  know  no 
other  alternative  but  that  of  either  converting 
01  destroying  him ;  and  though  his  spite,  as  a 
IciA,  would  have  been  more  gratified  by  the 
latter  proceeding,  his  pride,  as  a  priest,  led  him 
lo  prnfcr  the  triumph  of  the  former. 

"  The  first  descent  of  the  Epicurean  into  the 
pyramid  became  speedily  known,  and  the  alarm 
was  immediately  given  to  the  priests  below.  As 
•oon  as  they  had  discovered  that  the  young  phi- 
losopher of  Athens  was  the  intruder,  and  that 
he  not  only  still  continued  to  linger  round  the 
oyramid,  but  wfts  observed  to  look  often  and 
iruttully  ^ov  ards  the  portal,  it  waa  concluded 


that  his  curiosity  would  impel  him  to  try  • 
second  descent ;  and  Orcus,  blessing  the  good 
chance  which  had  thus  brought  the  wild  bird 
into  his  net,  resolved  not  to  suflFer  an  oppor* 
tunity  so  precious  to  be  wasted. 

"  Instantly,  the  whole  of  that  wonderful  ma» 
chinery,  by  which  the  phantasms  and  iUunions  of 
Initiation  are  produced,  were  put  in  active  prep- 
aration throughout  that  subterranean  realm , 
and  the  increased  stir  and  vigilance  awikened 
among  its  inmates,  by  this  more  than  ordinarv 
display  of  the  resources  of  priestcraft,  rendered 
the  accomplishment  of  Alethe's  purpose,  at 
such  a  moment,  peculiarly  difficult.  Wholly 
ignorant  of  the  important  share  which  it  had 
been  her  own  fortune  to  take  in  attracting  the 
young  philosopher  down  to  this  region,  she  but 
heard  of  him  vaguely,  as  the  Chief  of  a  grca» 
Grecian  sect,  who  had  been  led,  by  either  cu- 
riosity or  accident,  to  expose  himself  to  the 
first  trials  of  Initiation  ;  and  whom  the  priests 
she  could  see,  were  endeavoring  to  insnare  in 
their  toils,  by  every  art  and  lure  with  which 
their  dark  science  had  gifted  them. 

"  To  her  mind,  the  image  of  a  philosopher, 
such  as  Alciphron  had  been  represented  to  her, 
came  associated  with  ideas  of  age  and  reverence ; 
and,  more  than  once,  the  possibility  of  his  being 
made  instrumental  to  her  deliverance  flashed  a 
hope  across  her  heart  in  which  she  could  not 
refrain  from,  indulging.  Often  had  she  been 
told  by  Theora  of  the  many  Gentile  sages,  who 
had  laid  their  wisdom  down  humbly  at  the  foot 
of  the  Cross ;  and  though  this  Initiate,  she  feared* 
could  hardly  be  among  the  number,  yet  th» 
rumors  which  she  had  gathered  from  the  ser 
vants  of  the  Temple,  of  his  undisguised  con 
tempt  for  the  errors  of  heathenism,  led  her  t«. 
hope  she  might  find  tolerance,  if  not  sympathy, 
in  her  appeal  to  him. 

'•  Nor  was  it  solely  with  a  view  to  her  ovn\ 
chance  of  deliverance  that  she  thus  connected 
him  in  her  thoughts  with  the  plan  which  «}•« 
meditated.  The  look  of  proud  and  self-gri»tu- 
lating  malice,  with  which  th«  High  Priest  had 
mentioned  this  •  infidel,"  as  he  styled  him,  wh»*». 
giving  her  instructions  in  the  scene  she  wut  'c 
act  before  the  philosopher  in  the  valley,  toe 
plainly  informed  her  of  the  dark  destiny  that 
hung  over  him.  She  knew  how  many  were  lh« 
hapless  candidates  for  Initiation,  who  had  been 
doomed  to  a  durance  worse  than  that  of  th« 
grave,  for  but  a  word,  a  whisper  breathed  againal 
the  sacred  absurdities  they  witnessed ;  and  ii 
was  evident  to  her  that  tho  venerable  Oree^ 


/2S 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


(for  such  her  frjicy  represented  Alciphron)  was 
i\o  less  interested  in  escaping  from  the  snares 
and  perils  of  this  region  than  herself. 

"  Her  own  resolution  was,  at  all  events,  fixed. 
That  visionary  scene,  in  which  she  had  appeared 
before  Alciphron — little  knowing  how  ardent 
vere  the  heart  and  imagination,  over  which  her 
oeauty.  at  that  moment,  exercised  its  influence  — 
teas,  she  solemnly  resolved,  the  very  last  unholy 
>ervice,  that  superstition  or  imposture  should 
p^E;   command  of  h-ar. 

•  On  the  following  nigjit  the  Aspirant  was  to 
B-ateh  in  the  Great  Temple  of  Isis.  Such  an 
opportunity  of  approaching  and  addressing  him 
might  never  come  again.  Should  he,  from  com- 
passion for  her  situation,  or  a  sense  of  the  dan- 
ger of  his  own,  consent  to  lend  his  aid  to  her 
flight,  most  gladly  would  she  accept  it — well 
assured  that  no  danger  or  treachery  she  might 
risk  could  oe  half  so  odious  and  fearful  as  those 
which  she  left  behind.  Should  he,  on  the  con- 
;.rary,  reject  the  proposal,  her  determination  was 
equally  fixed  —  to  trust  to  that  God  whose  eye 
A'atches  over  the  innocent,  and  go  forth  alone. 

"  To  reach  the  island  in  Lake  iloeris  was  her 
first  great  object ;  and  there  occurred  fortu- 
nately, at  this  time,  a  mode  of  effecting  her  pur- 
pose, by  which  both  the  difficulty  and  dangers 
of  the  attempt  would  be  much  diminished.  The 
day  of  the  annual  visitation  of  the  High  Priest 
to  the  Place  of  Weeping '  —  as  that  island  in 
the  centre  of  the  Lake  is  called  —  was  now  fast 
approaching ;  and  Alcthe  knew  that  the  self- 
moving  car,  by  which  the  High  Priest  and  one 
of  the  Hierophants  are  conveyed  down  to  the 
ihambers  under  the  Lake,  stood  then  waiting 
in  readiness.  By  availing  herself  of  this  expe- 
dient, she  would  gain  the  double  advantage 
both  of  facilitating  her  own  flight,  and  retard- 
ing the  speed  of  her  pursuers. 

"  Having  paid  a  last  visit  to  the  tomb  of  her 
Deloved  mother,  and  wept  there,  long  and  pas- 
sionately, till  her  heart  almost  failed  in  the 
s'Tuggle  —  having  paused,  too,  to  give  a  kiss  to 
tier  favorite  ibis,  which,  although  too  much  a 
Christian  to  worship,  she  was  still  child  enough 
to  love  -  •  she  went  early,  with  a  trembling  step, 
to  the  Sanctuary,  and  there  hid  herself  in  one 
nf  the  recesses  of  the  Shrine.  Her  intention 
was  to  steal  out  from  thence  to  Alcijjhron,  while 
it  was  yet  dark,  and  before  the  illumination  of 
the  groat  Statue  behind  the  Veils  had  begun. 
Bat  her  fears  delayed  her  till  it  was  almosi  to' 

Vide  Wilfora  Asiatic  Researches,  vol.  iii.  p.  340. 


late  ;  —  already  was  fat  image  lighted  up,  and 
still  she  remained  tumbling  in  her  hiding- jolaee 

"In  a  few  miiiutes  more  the  mighty  "VeiLi 
would  have  been  withdrawn,  and  the  glories 
of  that  scene  of  enchantment  laid  open  —  when, 
at  length,  summoning  all  her  courage,  and  tak- 
ing advantage  of  a  momentary  absence  of  thcs'S 
employed  in  preparing  this  splendid  mockery 
she  stole  from  under  the  Veil  and  found  hcj 
way,  through  the  gloom,  to  the  Epicurean 
There  was  then  no  time  for  explanation  ;  —  she 
had  but  to  trust  to  the  simple  words,  '  Follow, 
and  be  silent ; '  and  the  implicit  readiness  with 
which  she  found  them  obeyed  filled  her  with  no 
less  surprise  than  the  philosopher  himself  had 
felt  in  hearing  them. 

"  In  a  second  or  two  they  were  on  their  way 
through  the  subterranean  windings,  leaving  th» 
ministers  of  Isis  to  waste  their  splendors  on  va- 
cancy, through  a  long  series  of  miracles  and 
visions  which  they  now  exhibited —  unconscious 
that  he,  whom  they  were  taking  such  pains  to 
dazzle,  was  already,  under  the  guidance  of  the 
young  Christian,  far  removed  beyond  the  reach 
of  their  deceiving  spells." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Such  was  the  singular  story,  of  which  thie. 
i-'nocent  girl  now  gave  me,  in  her  own  touching 
lan^ur^ge  the  outline. 

The  Sim  was  just  rising  as  she  finished  her 
narrative.  Fearful  of  encountering  the  expres- 
sion of  those  feelings  with  which,  she  could  not 
but  observe,  I  was  affected  by  her  recital,  scarce- 
ly had  me  concluded  the  last  sentence,  when, 
rising  abruptly  fi  om  her  seat,  she  hurried  into 
the  pavilion,  leaving  me  with  the  words  fast 
crowding  for  utterance  to  my  lips. 

Oppressed  by  the  various  emotions  thus  sent 
back  upon  my  heart,  I  lay  down  on  the  dock  in 
a  state  of  agitation,  that  defisd  *ivon  the  most 
distant  approaches  of  sleep.  While  every  woro 
she  had  uttered,  every  feeling  she  txpr-^ssed,  but 
ministered  new  fuel  to  that  flan»e  which  con- 
sumed me,  and  to  describe  which,  passion  is  fw: 
too  w^ak  a  word,  there  was  also  mucii  of  h<!r 
recital  that  di£herTtc\ie:\  and  alarmed  me.  To 
find  a  Chri^tirn  thu*  u-^dcr  the  garb  of  a  Mera- 
phian  Priestess,  wa<«  »  di^ccery  that,  had  my 
heart  been  less  dfteplv  interes^.ed,  would  but 
I  have  more  powerfully  stimulated  my  imagina- 
1  tion  and  ^jriao.     But,  >»hfcn  i.  recollected  th» 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


7*1 


iusterity  of  the  faith  she  had  embraced  —  the 
lender  and  sacred  life,  associated  with  it  in  her 
memory,  and  the  devotion  of  woman's  heart  to 
objects  thus  consecrated  —  her  very  perfections 
but  widened  the  distance  between  us,  and  all 
t)  at  most  kindled  my  passion  at  th.p  same  time 
e  Lille  1  my  hopes. 

Were  we  to  be  left  to  each  other,  as  on  this 
ulei.t  river,  n  such  undisturbed  communion  of 
thoughts  and  feelings,  I  knew  too  well,  I 
thouj;ht.  both  her  sex's  nature  and  my  own,  to 
feel  a  doubt  that  love  would  ultimately  triumph. 
But  the  severity  of  the  guardianship  to  which 
I  must  resign  her  —  that  of  some  monk  of  the 
desert,  some  stern  Solitary  —  the  influence  such 
a  monitor  would  gain  over  her  mind  —  and  the 
horror  with  which,  ere  long,  he  might  teach  her 
to  regard  the  reprobate  infidel  upon  whom  she 
now  smiled  —  in  all  this  prospect  I  saw  nothing 
but  despair.  After  a  few  short  hours,  my  dream 
of  happiness  would  be  at  an  end,  and  such  a 
dark  chasm  must  then  open  between  our  fates, 
as  would  dissever  them,  wide  as  earth  from 
heaven,  asunder. 

It  was  true,  she  was  now  wholly  in  my  power. 
I  feared  no  witnesses  but  those  of  earth,  and 
the  solitude  of  the  desert  was  at  hand.  But 
though  I  acknowledged  not  a  heaven,  I  wor- 
shipped her  who  was,  to  me,  its  type  and  sub- 
•titute.  If,  at  any  moment,  a  single  thought 
of  wrong  or  deceit,  towards  one  so  sacred  arose 
in  my  mind,  one  look  from  her  innocent  eyes 
averted  the  sacrilcfje.  Even  passion  itself  felt  a 
holy  fear  in  her  presence  —  like  the  flame  trem- 
bling in  the  breeze  of  the  sanctuary  —  and  Love, 
pure  Love,  stood  in  place  of  Religion. 

As  long  as  I  knew  not  her  story,  I  could  in- 
dulge, at  least,  in  dreams  of  the  future.  But, 
now  —  what  expectation,  what  prospect  re- 
mained ?  My  single  chance  of  happiness  lay  in 
the  hope,  however  delusive,  of  being  able  to  di- 
vert her  thoughts  from  the  fatal  project  she 
meditated ;  of  m  caning  her,  by  persuasion  and 
tigument,  from  that  austere  faith,  which  I  had 
befcre  hated  and  now  feared,  and  of  attaching 
hei ,  perhaps,  alone  and  unlinked  as  she  was  in 
the  world,  to  my  own  fortunes  forever  ! 

Li  the  agitation  of  these  thoughts,  I  had 
fctartcd  from  my  resting-place,  and  continued  to 
pace  up  and  down,  under  a  burning  sun,  till, 
exhausted  t  ■)th  by  thought  and  feeling,  I  sunk 
lown,  amid  that  blaze  of  light,  into  a  sleep, 
whii  h  to  my  fevered  brain  seemed  a  sleep  of  fire. 

On  awaking,  I  found  the  veil  of  Alethe  laid 
•arefully  ovei  my  brov,  while  she,  herself,  sat 
92 


near  me,  under  the  shadow  of  the  «ail,  lookin| 
anxiously  upon  that  leaf,  which  her  mother  haJ 
given  her,  and  employed  apparently  in  com 
paring  its  outlines  with  the  course  of  the  river, 
as  well  as  with  the  forms  of  the  rocky  hills  by 
which  we  were  passing.  She  looked  pale  and 
troubled,  and  rose  eagerly  to  meet  me,  as  if  sbf 
had  long  and  impatiently  waited  for  my  waking. 

Her  heart,  it  was  plain,  had  been  di<tur))e<l 
from  its  security,  and  was  beginning  to  tnko 
alarm  at  its  own  feelings.  But,  though  vagucsly 
conscious  of  the  peril  to  which  slic  was  exposed* 
her  reliance,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  increased 
with  her  df.nger,  and  upon  me,  far  more  than 
on  herself,  did  she  seem  to  depend  for  saving 
her.  To  reach,  as  soon  as  possible,  her  asylum 
in  the  desert,  was  now  the  urgent  object  of  her 
entreaties  and  wishes ;  and  the  self-reproach 
which  she  expressed  at  having,  for  a  single  mo- 
ment, suffered  her  thoughts  to  bo  diverted  from 
this  sacred  purpose,  not  only  revealed  the  truth, 
that  she  had  forgotten  it,  but  betrayed  even  f 
glimmering  consciousness  of  the  ^ause. 

Her  sleep,  she  said,  had  been  broken  by  ill- 
omened  dreams.  Every  moment  the  shade  of 
her  mother  had  stood  before  her,  rebuking,  with 
mournful  looks,  her  delay,  and  pointing,  as  she 
had  done  in  death,  to  the  eastern  hills.  Burst- 
ing into  tears  at  this  accusing  recollection,  she 
hastily  placed  the  leaf,  which  she  had  been  ex- 
amining, in  my  hands,  and  implored  that  I  would 
ascertain,  without  a  moment's  delay,  what  por- 
tion of  our  voyage  was  still  unperformed,  and 
in  what  space  of  time  wo  might  hope  to  accom- 
plish it. 

I  had,  still  less  than  herself^  taken  note  of 
cither  place  or  distance ;  and,  could  we  haw 
been  left  to  glide  on  in  this  dream  of  happiness, 
should  never  have  thought  of  pausing  to  ask 
where  it  would  end.  But  such  confidence  waa 
far  too  sacred  to  be  deceived  ;  and,  reluctant  as 
I  naturally  felt,  to  enter  on  an  inquiry,  which 
might  soon  dissipate  even  ray  last  hope,  ha 
wish  was  sufficient  to  supersede  even  the  self- 
ishness of  love,  and  on  the  instant  1  proceeded 
to  obey  her  will. 

There  stands  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Nil*, 
to  the  north  of  Antinoe,  a  high  and  stoop  rock, 
impending  over  the  flood,  which  has  Iv^me,  for 
ages,  from  a  prodigy  connected  with  it,  tk* 
name  of  the  Mountain  of  the  Birds.  Ye.irly,  it 
is  said,  at  a  certain  season  and  hour,  large  flocks 
of  birds  assemble  in  the  ravine,  of  which  this 
rocky  mountain  forms  one  of  the  sides,  and  ar* 
there  observed  to  go  through  the  mysterioua 


idc 


THE  EPIJUREAN. 


ceremony  of  inserting  each  its  beak  into  a  par- 
ticular cleft  of  the  rock,  tUl  the  cleft  closes  upon 
one  of  their  number,  when  all  the  rest  of  the 
birds  take  wing,  and  leave  the  selected  victim 
to  die. 

Through  the  ravine,  rendered  famous  by  this 
eharm  —  for  such  the  multitude  consider  it  — 
tl.ere  ran,  in  ancient  times,  a  canal  from  the 
Nile,  to  some  great  and  forgotten  city,  now 
buried  in  the  desert.  To  a  short  distance  from 
the  river  this  canal  still  exists,  but,  after  having 
passed  through  the  defile,  its  scanty  waters 
disappear,  and  are  wholly  lost  under  the 
fiands. 

It  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  this  place,  as  I 
could  collect  from  the  delineations  on  the  leaf  — 
where  a  flight  of  birds  represented  the  name  of 
the  mountain  —  that  the  abode  of  the  Solitary, 
to  whom  Alethe  was  about  to  consign  herself, 
was  situated.  Little  as  I  knew  of  the  geogra- 
phy of  Egypt,  it  at  once  struck  me,  that  we 
had  long  sini  e  left  this  mountain  behind  ; '  and, 
on  inquiring  of  our  boatmen,  I  found  my  con- 
jecture confirmed.  We  had,  indeed,  passed  it, 
on  the  prece  ling  night ;  and,  as  the  wind  had 
been,  ever  since,  blowing  strongly  from  the 
north,  and  the  sun  -was  already  sinking  towards 
the  horizon,  we  must  be  now,  at  least,  a  day's 
sail  to  the  southward  of  the  spot. 

This  discovery,  I  confess,  filled  my  heart  with 
a  feeling  of  joy  which  I  found  it  difficult  to  con- 
ceal. It  seemed  as  if  fortune  was  conspiring 
with  love  in  my  behalf,  and,  by  thus  delaying 
the  moment  of  our  separation,  aff'orded  me  a 
shance  at  least  of  happiness.  Her  look  and 
manner,  too,  when,  informed  of  our  mistake, 
rather  encouraged  than  chilled  this  secret  hope. 
In  the  first  moment  of  astonishment,  her  eyes 
opened  upon  me  with  a  suddenness  of  splendor, 
under  which  I  felt  my  own  wink  as  though 
lightning  had  crossed  them.  But  she  again,  as 
Buddenl}',  let  their  lids  fall,  and,  after  a  quiver 
of  her  lip,  which  showed  the  conflict  of  feeling 
then  going  on  vithin,  crossed  her  arms  upon 
her  bosom,  and  locked  down  silently  upon  the 
deck  ;  her  whole  countenance  sinking  into  an 
expressioTi,  sad,  but  resigned,  as  if  she  now  felt 
that  fate  was  on  the  side  of  wrong,  and  saw 

1  The  voyaces  on  the  Nile  are,  under  favorable  circum- 
•tances,  perfonned  with  considerable  rapidity.  "  En  cinq 
3U  six  jours,"  says  Maillet,  "  on  pourroit  aisement  remonter 
ie  renibouchiire  du  Nil  k  ses  cataractes,  ou  descendre  des 
•-ataractes  jusqu'i.  la  nier."  The  great  uncertainty  of  the 
DnvigatHjn  is  prored  by  what  Belioni  tells  us:  —  "  Nous  ne 
kiLnes  certe  fois  one  deux  jours  et  demi  pour  faire  le  traiet 


Love  already  stealing  between  her  soul  ar.d 
h  iaven. 

I  was  not  slow,  of  coarse,  in  availing  myself 
oi  what  I  fancied  to  be  the  irresolution  of  hef 
mind.  But,  still,  fearful  of  exciting  alarm  oj 
any  appeal  to  feelings  of  regard  or  tenderness, 
I  but  addressed  myself  to  her  imarviuution,  avd 
to  that  love  of  noveltj'  and  wonders,  which  is 
ever  ready  to  be  awakened  within  the  youthlul 
breast.  We  were  now  approaching  that  region 
of  miracles,  Thebes.  "  In  a  day  or  two,"  said 
I,  "we  shall  see,  towering  above  the  wateis, 
the  colossal  Avenue  of  Sphinxes,  and  the  bright 
Obelisks  of  the  Sun.  We  shall  visit  the  jjlain 
of  Memnon,  and  behold  those  mighty  statues 
that  fling  their  shadows*  at  sunrise  over  the 
Libyan  hills.  We  shall  hear  the  imaj,e  of  the 
Son  of  the  Morning  responding  to  the  first  touch 
of  light.  From  thence,  in  a  few  hours,  a  breeze 
like  this  will  transport  us  to  those  sunny  islands 
near  the  cataracts  ;  there,  to  wander,  among  the 
sacred  palm  groves  of  Philae,  or  sit,  at  noontide 
hour,  in  those  cool  alcoves,'  whi'.h  the  waterfall 
of  Syene  shadows  under  its  arch.  O,  who  is 
there  that,  with  scenes  of  such  loveliness  within 
reach,  would  turn  coldly  away  to  the  bleak 
desert,  and  leave  this  fair  world,  with  all  its 
enchantments,  shining  unseen  and  unenjoyed  ? 
At  least"  —  I  added,  taking  tenderly  her  hand 
in  mine  —  "  let  a  few  more  days  be  stolen  from 
the  dreary  fate  to  which  thou  hast  devoted  thy- 
self, and  then " 

She  had  heard  but  the  last  few  words  —  the 
rest  had  been  lost  upon  her.  Startled  by  the 
tone  of  tenderness  into  which,  in  despite  of  all 
my  resolves,  I  had  suffered  my  voice  to  soften, 
she  looked  for  an  instant  with  passionate  car 
nestness  into  my  face  ;  —  then,  dropping  upon 
her  knees  with  her  clasped  hands  upraised,  ex- 
claimed,—  "  Tempt  me  not,  in  the  name  of  God 
I  implore  thee,  tempt  me  not  to  swerve  froir 
my  sacred  duty.  O.  take  me  instantly  to  that 
desert  mountain,  and  I  will  bless  thee  for- 
ever." 

This  appeal,  I  felt,  could  not  be  resisted  -  • 
even  though  my  heart  were  to  break  for  it, 
Having  silently  intimated  my  assent  to  hei 
prayer,  by  a  slight  pressure  of  her  hand  as  1 

du  Caire  &.  Melawi,  auquel,  dans  notre  second  voyage  noui 
avions  einp!oy#,s  dix-hnit  Jours." 

2  "  Ellcs  ont  pres  de  vingt  metres  (61  pleds)  d'el^vaticn  , 
et  au  lever  du  soleil,  leurs  ombres  immensos  s'6tendfciit  I'r 
loin  sur  la  chaine  Libyeiine."  Description  ginerxU  w 
Thtbta  par  Messrs.  JuUou  H  DetvUUfrt. 

i  Paul  Lueaa. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


!•> 


Aiaed  her  from  the  dock,  I  proceeded  immcdi- 
ttely^  as  we  were  still  in  full  career,  for  the 
Bouth,  to  give  orders  that  our  sail  should  be  in- 
Biai.ily  lowered,  and  not  a  moment  lost  in  re- 
tracing our  course- 
In  giving  these  directions,  however,  it,  for  the 
first  time  cccurred  to  me,  that,  as  I  had  hired 
ihis  yaclit  in  the  neighborhood  of  Memphis, 
where  it  was  probable  the  flight  of  the  young 
Priest  f*s  would  be  most  vigilantly  tracked,  we 
should  run  the  risk  of  betraying  to  the  boatmen 
the  place  of  her  retreat ;  —  and  there  was  now 
a  most  favorable  opiwrtunity  for  taking  precau- 
tions against  this  danger.  Desiring,  therefore, 
that  we  should  be  landed  at  a  small  village  on 
the  shore,  under  pretence  of  paying  a  visit  to 
tome  shrine  in  the  neighborhood,  I  there  dis- 
missed our  barge,  and  was  relieved  from  fear  of 
further  observation,  by  seeing  it  again  set  sail, 
und  resume  its  course  fleetly  up  the  current. 

From  the  boats  of  all  descriptions  that  lay 
Ac  beside  the  bank,  I  now  selected  one,  in 
•jvery  respect,  suited  to  my  purpose  —  being,  in 
.9  shape  and  accommodations,  a  miniature  of 
cur  former  vessel,  but,  at  the  same  time,  so  light 
and  small  as  to  be  manageable  by  myself  alone, 
and  re«iuiring,  with  the  advantage  of  the  cur- 
rent, little  more  than  a  hand  to  steer  it.  Hiia 
Hoat  I  succeeded,  without  much  difficulty,  in 
purchasing,  and,  after  a  short  delay,  wo  were 
again  afloat  down  the  current; — the  sim  just 
then  sinking,  in  conscious  glory,  over  his  own 
golden  shrines  in  the  Libyan  waste. 

The  evciung  was  calmer  and  more  lovely  than 
any  that  had  yet  smiled  upon  our  voyage  ;  and, 
as  we  left  the  shore,  a  strain  of  sweet  melody 
eame  soothingly  over  our  ears.  It  was  the  voice 
of  a  young  Nubian  girl,  whom  we  saw  kneeling 
before  an  acucia,  upon  the  bank,  and  singing, 
while  her  companions  stood  around,  the  wild 
song  of  invocation,  which,  in  her  country,  they 
•ddrf>8&  to  that  enchanted  tree  :  — 

*'0,  Abyninian  tree. 

We  pray,  we  pray  to  thee ; 
By  (lie  glow  of  lliy  golden  fruit. 
And  the  viulet  hue  uf  thy  tlower. 

And  the  greitipf  mute 

Oftliy  boiigl  *  salute 
To  tbe  stranger  wtiu  i>eeki  thy  bowwA 

"  O,  Abyvlniaii  troe, 
ilow  the  traveller  blewee  lh«e. 


>  8ee  an  account  of  tht*  eMiaitive  tree,  which  bendd  down 
ti  brancbea  to  ilH>«e  who  ap;in'ach  it,  io  M.  Joraard*!  D*- 
*■  'Option  of  3veae  and  I'M  CanracoL 


Wbm  llM  aifiM  m  aooa 
And  iba  mumm  kow  te  i 

Aad  Iboa  b*ad*M  \by  I 

Tu  ki«t  bia  bcowa. 
Baying, '  Cmm,  real  Hvm  ban.* 

O,  AbMaian  Ww, 

Thuabowlliy  baadtoiMl" 

In  the  burden  of  this  aong  the  companion*  of 
the  young  Nubian  joined;  and  we  heard  llu 
words,  ••  O,  Abyssinian  tree,"  d)'ing  away  ot 
the  breeze,  long  after  the  whole  group  had  beor 
lost  to  our  eyes. 

Whether,  in  the  new  arrangement  which  I  had 
made  for  our  voyage,  any  motive,  besides  those 
which  I  professed,  had  a  share,  I  can  scarcely, 
even  myself —  so  bewildered  were  then  my  feel- 
ings —  determine.  But  no  sooner  had  the  cur* 
rent  borne  us  away  from  all  human  dwellings, 
and  we  were  alone  on  the  waters,  with  not  a 
suul  near,  than  I  felt  how  closely  such  solituds 
draws  hearts  together,  and  how  much  more  we 
seemed  to  belong  to  each  other,  than  when  there 
were  eyes  around  lu. 

The  same  feeling,  but  without  the  same  sense 
of  its  danger,  was  mimifcst  in  every  look  and 
word  of  Alethe.  The  consciousness  of  the  out 
great  eflbrt  which  she  had  made  appeared  U 
have  satisfied  her  heart  on  the  score  of  duty  — 
while  the  devotedness  with  which  she  saw  I  at- 
tended to  every  wish,  was  felt  with  all  that  trust- 
ing gratitude  which,  in  woman,  is  the  dayspring 
of  love.  She  was,  therefore,  happy,  innocently 
happy ;  and  the  confiding,  and  even  alfection- 
ate,  unreserve  of  her  manner,  while  it  rendered 
my  trust  more  sacred,  made  it  also  far  more 
difficult. 

It  was  only,  however,  upon  subjects  uncon- 
nected with  our  situation  or  fate,  that  she  yield- 
ed to  such  interchange  of  thought,  or  that  h-il 
voice  ventured  to  answer  mine.  The  moment 
I  alluded  to  the  destiny  that  awaited  us  all  her 
cheerfulness  fled,  and  she  became  saddcneil  and 
silent.  When  I  described  to  her  the  beauty  of 
my  own  native  land  —  its  foimts  of  inspiialico 
and  fields  of  glory  —  her  eyes  sparkled  with  sy ta« 
pathy,  and  sometimes  even  softened  into  fond« 
ness.  But  when  I  ventured  to  whisi>er,  that, 
in  that  glorious  country,  a  life  full  of  love  and 
liborty  awaited  her  ;  when  I  proceeded  to  con- 
trast the  adoration  and  bliss  she  might  com 
mand,  with  the  gloomy  atuteritics  of  the  life  t« 
which  she  was  hastening  —  it  was  like  the  com* 
ing  of  a  sudden  cloud  over  a  summer  sky.  Hei 
head  sunk,  as  she  liitened;  — I  waited  in  vaia 
for  an  answer;  and  when,  half  plavfally  rt 


732 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


preaching  her  for  this  silence,  I  stooped  to  take 
her  hand,  I  could  feel  the  warm  tears  fast  falling 
over  it. 

But  even  this  —  feeble  as  was  the  hope  it  held 
out — was  still  a  glimpse  of  happiness.  Though 
it  foreboded  that  I  should  lose  her,  it  also  whis- 
pered that  I  was  loved.  Like  that  lake,  in  the 
land  of  Hoses,'  whose  waters  are  half  sweet, 
aalf  bitter,'  I  felt  my  fate  to  be  a  compound  of 
bliss  and  pain  —  but  its  very  pain  well  ;vvorth 
all  ordinary  bliss. 

Ai>d  thus  did  the  hours  of  that  night  pass 
along  ;  while  every  moment  shortened  our  hap- 
py dream,  and  the  current  seemed  to  flow  with 
a  swifter  pace  than  any  that  ever  yet  hurried  to 
the  sea.  Not  a  feature  of  the  whole  scene  but 
lives,  at  this  moment,  freshly  in  my  memory ; 
—  the  broken  starlight  on  the  water ;  —  the  rip- 
pling sound  of  the  boat,  as,  without  oar  or  sail, 
it  went,  like  a  thing  of  enchantment,  down  the 
stream  ;  —  the  scented  fire,  burning  beside  us 
upon  the  deck,  and  then  that  face,  on  which  its 
Ught  fell,  revealing,  at  every  moment,  some  new 
charm — some  blush  or  look,  more  beautiful  than 
the  last ! 

Often,  while  I  sat  gazing,  forgetful  of  all  else, 
in  this  world,  our  boat,  left  wholly  to  itself, 
would  drive  from  its  course,  and,  bearing  us 
away  to  the  bank,  get  entangled  in  the  water 
flowers,  or  be  caught  in  some  eddy,  ere  I  per- 
aeived  where  we  were.  Once,  too,  when  the 
rustling  of  my  oar  among  the  flowers  had  star- 
tled away  from  the  bank  some  wild  antelopes, 
that  had  stolen,  at  that  still  hour,  to  drink  of 
the  Nile,  what  an  emblem  did  I  think  it  of  the 
young  heart  then  beside  me  —  tasting,  for  the 
first  time,  of  hope  and  love,  and  so  soon,  alas, 
to  be  scared  from  their  sweetness  forever ! 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  night  was  now  far  advanced  —  the  bend 
jf  our  course  towards  the  left,  and  the  closing 
In  of  the  eastern  hills  upon  the  river,  gave 
warning  of  our  approach  to  the  hermit's  dwell- 
ing. Every  minute  now  appeared  like  the  last 
Df  existence  ;  and  I  felt  a  sinking  of  despair  at 
Biy  heart,  which  would  have  been  ntolerable, 
had  not  a  resolution  that  suddenly,  and  as  if  by 

1  The  province  of  ArsinDfe",  now  Fioum. 
Piul  Lucas. 
rtiere  liu  be«D  much  controversy  among  the  Arabian 


inspiration,  occurred  to  me,  presented  a  glimpsa 
of  hope  which,  in  some  degree,  calmed  my 
feelings. 

Much  as  I  had,  all  my  life,  despised  hypocri- 
sy —  the  very  sect  I  had  embraced  being  chiefly 
recommended  to  me  by  the  war  they  continued 
to  wage  upon  the  cant  of  all  others  —  it  was 
nevertheless,  in  hypocrisy  that  I  now  scrupled 
not  to  take  refuge  from  that  calamity  which  to 
me  was  far  worse  than  either  shame  or  detth, 
ray  separation  from  Alethe,  In  my  despair,  I 
adopted  the  humiliating  plan  —  deeply  humili- 
ating as  I  felt  it  to  be,  even  amid  the  joy  with 
which  I  welcomed  it  —  of  offering  myself  to 
this  hermit,  as  a  convert  to  his  faith,  and  thus 
becoming  the  fellow-disciple  of  Alethe  under 
his  care ! 

From  the  moment  I  resolved  upon  this  plan 
my  spirit  felt  lightened.  Though  having  fully 
before  my  eyes  the  mean  labyrinth  of  imposture 
into  which  it  would  lead  me,  I  thought  of  noth- 
ing but  the  chance  of  our  continuing  still  to- 
gether. In  this  hope,  all  pride,  all  philosophy 
was  forgotten,  and  every  thing  seemed  tolerabltk 
but  the  prospect  of  losing  her. 

Thus  resolved,  it  was  with  somewhat  less  re- 
luctant feelings,  that  I  now  undertook,  at  the. 
anxious  desire  of  my  companion,  to  ascertain 
the  site  of  that  well-known  mountain,  in  tha 
neighborhood  of  which  the  anchoret's  dwelling 
lay.  We  had  already  passed  one  or  two  stupen- 
dous rocks,  which  stood,  detached,  like  fortress- 
es, over  the  river's  brink,  and  which,  in  some 
degree,  corresponded  with  the  description  on  the 
leaf.  So  little  was  there  of  life  now  stirring 
along  the  shores,  that  I  had  begun  almost  to 
despair  of  any  assistance  from  inquiry,  when,  on 
looking  to  the  western  bank,  I  saw  a  boatman 
among  the  sedges,  towing  his  small  boat,  with 
some  difficulty,  up  the  current.  Hailing  him  as 
we  passed,  I  asked,  —  •'  Where  stands  the 
Mountain  of  the  Birds  ? "  '  —  and  he  had  hard- 
ly time,  as  he  pointed  above  us,  to  ar«ner 
"There,"  when  we  perceived  that  we  were  just 
then  entering  into  the  shadow,  which  this 
mighty  rock  flings  across  the  whole  of  the  flood. 

In  a  few  moments  we  had  reached  the  mouth 
of  the  ravine,  of  which  the  Mountain  of  the 
Birds  forms  one  of  the  sides,  and  througli  which 
the  scanty  canal  from  the  Nile  flows.  At  the 
sight  of  this  awful  chasm,  within  some  of  whose 

writers,  with  respect  to  the  site  of  this  mountain,  for  whiek 
see  Q,uatremire,  ton),  i.  art.  jSmoun. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


7,. 


dreary  recesses  (if  we  had  rightly  interpreted  | 
the  leaf)  the  dwelling  of  the  Solitary  was  to  be 
found,  our  voices  sunk  at  once  into  a  low  whis- 
per, while  Alethe  turned  round  to  me  with  a 
look  of  awe  and  eagerness,  as  if  doubtful  wheth- 
er ^  had  not  already  disappeared  from  her  side. 
A  quick  movement,  however,  of  her  hand 
towards  the  ravine,  told  too  plainly  that  her  pur- 
ptse  was  still  unchanged.  Immediately  check- 
ing, therefore,  with  my  oars,  the  career  of  our 
boat,  I  succeeded,  after  no  small  exertion,  in 
turning  it  out  of  the  current  of  the  river,  and 
steering  into  this  bleak  and  stagnant  canal. 

Our  transition  from  life  and  bloom  to  the  very 
depth  of  desolation  was  immediate.  While  the 
water  on  one  side  of  the  ravine  lay  buried  in 
shadow,  the  white  skeleton-like  crags  of  the 
other  stood  aloft  in  the  pale  glare  of  moonlight. 
The  sluggish  stream  through  which  we  moved 
jrieldcd  sullenly  to  the  oar,  and  the  shriek  of  a 
few  water  birds,  which  we  had  roused  from 
their  fa-xtnesses,  was  succeeded  by  a  silence,  so 
dead  and  awful,  that  our  lips  seemed  afraid  to 
disturb  it  by  a  breath  ;  and  half- whispered  ex- 
rlamations,  •'  How  dreary  !  "  —  "  How  dismal !  " 

were  almost  the  only  words  exchanged  be- 
tween us. 

We  had  proceeded  for  some  time  through  this 
gloomy  defile,  when,  at  a  short  distance  before 
us,  among  the  rocks  upon  which  the  moonlight 
fell,  we  could  perceive,  on  a  ledge  elevated  but 
a  little  above  the  canal,  a  small  hut  or  cave, 
which,  from  a  tree  or  two  planted  around  it,  had 
Fome  appearance  of  being  the  abode  of  a  human 
jeing.  "  This,  then,"  thought  I,  ♦'  is  the  home 
to  which  she  Is  destined  !  "  —  A  chill  of  despair 
came  again  over  my  heart,  and  the  oara,  as  I  sat 
gazing,  lay  motionless  in  my  hands. 

I  found  Alethe,  too,  whose  eyes  had  caught 
the  same  object,  d^a^ving  closer  to  my  side  than 
she  had  yet  ventured.  Laying  her  hand  agitat- 
"edly  upon  mine,  "We  must  here,"  said  she, 
«•  part  forever."  I  turned  to  her,  as  she  spoke  ; 
there  was  a  tenderness,  a  despondency  in  her 
CC^^ntenance,  that  at  once  saddened  and  uiflamcd 
my  sDu'i.  "  Part !  "  I  exclaimed  passionately  — 
"No  !-the  same  God  shall  receive  as  both. 
Thy  faith,  Alethe,  shall,  from  this  hour,  be  mine, 
and  I  will  live  and  die  in  this  desert  with 
♦hee  !  " 

Her  surprise,  her  delight  at  these  words,  was 
like  a  momentary  delirium.  The  wild,  anxious 
smile,  with  which  she  looked  into  my  face,  as 
If  to  ascertain  whether  she  had,  indeed,  heard 
my  words  aright,  bespoke  a  happiness  too  much 


for  reason  to  btar.  At  length  the  fulness  of  hei 
heart  found  relief  in  tears  ;  and,  murmuring 
forth  an  incoherent  blessing  on  my  name,  sh« 
let  her  head  fall  languidly  and  j>owerleaslT  or 
my  arm.  The  light  from  our  boat-tre  ahoL* 
upon  her  face.  I  saw  her  eyes,  which  she  h»/f 
closed  for  a  moment,  again  opening  upon  m* 
with  the  same  tenderness,  and  —  merciful  Pror- 
idencc,  how  I  remember  that  moment  —  was  et 
the  point  of  bending  down  my  lips  towards  krrs, 
when,  suddenly,  in  the  air  above  us,  as  if  com" 
ing  direct  from  heaven,  there  burst  forth  a 
strain  of  choral  music,  that  with  its  solemn 
sweetness  filled  the  whole  valley. 

Breaking  away  from  my  caress  at  theae  super- 
natural sounds,  the  maiden  threw  herself  trem- 
bling upon  her  knees,  and,  not  daring  to  look 
up,  exclaimed  wildly,  "My  mother,  O  my 
mother  !  " 

It  was  the  Christian's  morning  hjrmn  that  w» 
heard  ;  —  the  same,  as  I  learned  afterwards,  that; 
on  their  high  terrace  at  Memphis,  she  had  been 
taught  by  her  mother  to  sing  to  the  rising  sun. 
Scarcely  less  startled  than  my  companion,  I 
looked  up,  and  saw,  at  the  very  summit  of 
the  rock  above  us,  a  light,  appearing  to  come 
from  a  small  opening  or  window,  through  which 
those  sounds  likewise,  that  had  appeared  to  me 
so  supernatural,  issued.  There  could  be  no 
doubt,  that  we  had  now  found  —  if  not  the 
dwelling  of  the  anchoret  —  at  least,  the  haunt 
of  some  of  the  Christian  brotherhood  of  these 
rocks,  by  whose  assistance  we  could  not  fail  W 
find  the  place  of  his  retreat. 

The  agitation,  into  which  Alethe  had  been 
thrown  by  the  first  burst  of  that  psalmody,  soi  >ti 
jnelded  to  the  softening  recollections  which  ii 
brought  back  ;  and  a  calm  came  over  her  brow, 
such  as  it  had  never  before  worn,  since  we  met. 
She  seemed  to  feel  as  if  she  had  now  reached 
her  destined  haven,  and  hailed,  as  the  voice  of 
heaven  itself,  those  solemn  sounds  by  which  sbe 
was  welcomed  to  it. 

In  her  tranquillity,  however,  I  was  very  faf 
from  yet  sympathizing.  Full  of  impatience  to 
learn  all  that  awaited  her  as  well  as  myself,  I 
pushed  our  boat  close  to  the  base  of  the  rock,  §0 
as  to  bring  it  directly  under  that  lighted  windcw 
on  the  summit,  to  explore  my  way  up  to  whi  b 
was  now  my  immediate  object.  Having  hastil) 
received  my  instructions  from  Alethe,  and  madr 
her  repeat  again  the  name  of  the  Christiar 
whom  we  sought,  I  sprang  upon  the  bank,  anc* 
was  not  long  in  discovering  a  sort  of  path,  « 
stairway,  cut  mdely  out  of  the  rv;k-  and  lead 


r34 


THE   EPICUREAN. 


mg,  as  I  found,  by  easy  wiftdings,  up  the 
Btecp. 

After  ascending  for  some  time,  I  arrived  at  a 
level  space  or  ledge,  which  the  hand  of  labor 
had  succeeded  in  converting  into  a  garden,' 
and  which  was  planted,  here  and  there,  with 
fig  trees  and  palms.  Around  it,  too,  I  could 
perceive,  through  the  glimmering  light,  a  num- 
ber of  small  caves  or  grottoes,  into  some  of 
which,  human  beings  might  find  an  entrance; 
while  others  appeared  of  no  larger  dimensions 
than  those  tombs  of  the  Sacred  Birds  which 
are  seen  ranged  around  Lake  Moeris. 

I  was  still,  I  found,  but  half  way  up  the 
ascent,  nor  was  there  visible  any  further  means 
of  continuing  my  coarse,  as  the  mountain  from 
hence  rose,  almost  perpendicularly,  like  a  wall. 
At  length,  however,  on  exploring  more  closely, 
I  discovered  behind  the  shade  of  a  fig  tree  a 
large  ladder  of  wood,  resting  firmly  against  the 
rock,  and  affording  an  easy  and  safe  ascent  up 
^he  steep. 

Having  ascertained  thus  far,  I  again  descended 
to  the  boat  for  Alethe,  whom  I  found  trembling 
already  at  her  short  solitude ;  and  having  led 
her  up  the  staii'way  to  this  quiet  garden,  left  her 
lodged  there  securely,  amid  its  holj'  silence, 
while  I  pursued  my  way  upward  to  the  light 
u^jon  the  rock. 

At  the  top  of  the  long  ladder  I  found  myself 
on  another  ledge  or  platform,  somewhat  smaller 
than  the  first,  but  planted  in  the  same  mannei', 
with  trees,  and,  as  I  could  perceive  by  the  min- 
gled light  of  morning  and  the  moon,  embellished 
with  flowers.  I  was  now  near  the  summit ;  — 
tliere  remained  but  another  short  ascent,  and, 
as  a  ladder  against  the  rock  supplied,  as  before, 
the  means  of  scaling  it,  I  was  in  a  few  minutes 
at  the  opening  from  which  the  light  issued. 

I  had  ascended  gently,  as  well  from  a  feeling 
of  awe  at  the  whole  scene,  as  from  an  unwill- 
ingness to  disturb  rudely  the  rites  on  which  I 
iiitiudcd.  My  approach,  therefore,  being  un- 
Lonrd  an  opportunity  was,  for  some  moments, 
tilVr«i?d  tne  of  observing  the  group  within, 
before  my  appearance  at  the  window  was  dis- 
jovered. 

In  the  middle  of  the  apartment,  which  seemed 
to  have  been  once  a  Pagan  oratory,  there  was 

I  Tne  monks  of  Mount  Siii..i  (Shaw  says)  have  covered 
.•vr  near  four  acres  of  the  naked  rocks  with  fruitful  gar- 
len.s  atid  orcliards. 

*  There  was  usually,  Tertullian  tells  us,  the  image  of 
ffcrl-'.  on  the  communion  cups. 

*  '  We  are  rather  disposed  to  infer   '  &3.y9  the  late  Bishop 


collected  an  assembly  of  about  seven  or  eigh 
persons,  some  male,  some  female,  kneeling  in 
silence  round  a  small  altar ;  —  while,  among 
them,  as  if  presiding  over  their  solemn  cere- 
mony, stood  an  aged  man,  who,  at  the  moment 
of  my  arrival,  was  presenting  to  one  of  the 
female  worshippers  an  alabaster  cup,  which  she 
applied,  with  profound  reverence,  to  her  lipe. 
The  venerable  countenance  of  the  minister,  ai 
he  pronounced  a  short  praj-er  over  her  head 
wore  an  expression  of  profound  feeling,  that 
showed  how  wholly  he  was  absorbed  in  that 
rite ;  and  when  she  had  drank  of  the  cup  - 
which  I  saw  had  engraven  on  its  side  the  image 
of  a  head,*  with  a  glory  round  it  —  the  holy 
man  bent  down  and  kissed  her  forehead.* 

After  this  parting  salutation,  the  whole  g-oup 
rose  silently  from  their  knees  ;  and  it  was  then, 
for  the  first  time,  that,  by  a  cry  of  terror  from 
one  of  the  women,  the  appearance  of  a  stranger 
at  the  window  was  discovered.  The  whole  a6^ 
sembly  seemed  startled  and  alarmed,  except 
him,  that  superior  person,  who,  advancing  from 
the  altar,  with  an  unmoved  look,  raised  the 
latch  of  the  door  adjoining  to  the  window,  am) 
admitted  me. 

There  was,  in  this  old  man's  features,  a  mix- 
ture of  elevation  and  sweetness,  of  simplicity 
and  energy,  which  commanded  at  once  attach- 
ment and  homage ;  and  half  hoping,  half  fear- 
ing, to  find  in  him  the  destined  gt,.».rdian  of 
Alethe,  I  looked  anxiously  in  his  face,  as  I  en- 
tered, and  pronounced  the  name  "  Melanius  !  "  — 
"  Melanius  is  my  name,  young  stranger,"  he 
answered ;  "  and  whether  in  friendship  or  in 
enmity  thou  comest,  Melanius  blesses  thee." 
Thus  saying,  he  made  a  sign  with  his  right  hand 
above  my  head,  while,  with  involuntary  respect, 
I  bowed  bene.ith  the  benediction. 

•'  Let  this  volume,"  I  replied,  •'  ai.swer  for  the 
peacefulness  of  my  mission "  —  at  the  same 
time,  placing  in  his  hands  the  copy  of  the 
Scriptures  which  had  been  his  own  gift  to  tho 
mother  of  Alethe,  and  which  her  child  i.ow 
brought  as  the  credential  of  her  claims  on  hit 
protection.  At  the  sight  of  this  sacred  pledge, 
which  he  instantly  recognized,  the  solemnity 
that  had  at  first  marked  his  reception  of  me 
softened   into  tenderness.    Thoughts   of  othei 


of  Lincoln,  in  his  very  sensible  work  on  Tertullian,  "  t'»at, 
at  the  conclusion  of  all  their  meetings  for  the  purpose  V  de- 
votion, the  early  Christians  were  accustomed  to  g'"*  tot 
kiss  of  peace,  in  token  of  the  brot.*  erly  love  subeistini;  ur 
twee:  tliem." 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


lU 


times  appeared  to  pass  through  his  mind  ;  and 
as,  with  a  siijh  of  recollection,  he  took  the  book 
from  my  hands,  some  words  on  the  outer  leaf 
caught  his  eye.  They  were  few  —  but  con- 
tained, most  probably,  the  last  wishes  of  the 
dying  Theora ;  for  a.^  he  read  them  over  eagerly, 
I  saw  tears  in  hi»  aged  eyes.  ••  The  trust,"  he 
•aid,  with  a  faltering  voice,  "  is  precious  and 
•acred,  and  God  will  enable,  I  hope,  his  servant 
to  guard  it  feithfully." 

During  thin  short  dialogue,  the  other  persons 
of  the  assembly  had  departed  —  being,  as  I 
afterwards  learned,  brethren  from  the  neighbor- 
ing bank  of  the  Nile,  who  came  thus  secretly 
before  daybreak,'  to  join  in  worshipping  their 
God.  Fearful  lest  their  descent  down  the  rock 
might  alarm  Alethe,  I  hurried  briefly  over  the 
few  words  of  explanation  that  remained,  and 
leaving  the  venerable  Christian  to  follow  at  his 
loisuro,  hastened  anxiously  down  to  rejoin  the 
young  maiden 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Melaxius  was  one  of  the  first  of  those  tealous 
Christians  of  Egypt,  who,  following  the  recent 
example  of  the  hermit,  Paul,  bade  farewell  to 
all  the  comforts  of  social  exibtenco,  and  betook 
themselves  lo  a  life  of  contemplation  in  the 
desert.  Ix»s  selfish,  however,  in  his  piety,  than 
most  of  these  ascetics,  Melanius  forgot  not  the 
world,  ill  leaving  it.  He  knew  that  man  was 
not  bom  to  live  wholly  for  himself;  that  his 
relation  to  humankind  was  that  of  the  link  to 
the  chain,  and  that  even  his  solitude  should  be 
turned  to  the  advantage  of  others.  In  flying, 
therefore,  from  the  din  and  disturbance  of  life, 
he  sought  not  to  place  himself  beyond  the  reach 
of  its  sympathies,  but  selected  a  retreat  where 
he  could  combine  all  the  advantages  of  solitude 
with  those  opportunities  of  being  useful  to  his 
fellow-men,  wliich  a  neighborhood  to  their 
populous  haunts  would  afford. 

That  ttt.-tt  for  the  gloom  of  subterranean  re- 
(#Mc.-<,  whi'h  the  race  of  Misraim  inherit  from 


1  (t  was  !tm(  iig  (lie  accufiilionii  of  CeUtu  again!>t  Uie 
Cbristiaii!<,  that  tlicy  licM  their  ai>ifriiiblie!>  privately  and 
lonirary  to  h\v  ;  aii'l  one  of  the  rprakere  in  the  curious 
«ork  o(  Minit-itu  Felix  catlt  the  Cbriijtians  "  latebrosa  et 
uc'fu)!)!!  natid." 

<  .See  Macriiy''a  account  of  tbcM  valleys,  given  hy  ^Hotrt- 
mh-t,  dim.  i.  p.  4.-0. 

''  For  &  .«t.-ikin(»  (i<wcri(iti<in  of  this  region,  »ee'  Rum'su," 

*->rK  whi'  li  tiioi  gh  in  gcnermi  :oc  technica    ant'  elabo- 


their  Ethiopian  ancestors,  had  by  hollo«-in|| 
out  all  Egypt  into  caverns  and  crypts,  supplied 
these  Christian  anchorets  with  an  ample  choict 
of  retreats.  Accordingly,  some  found  a  sheltei 
in  the  grottoes  of  Elethya ;  —  others,  among  th<« 
royal  tombs  of  the  Thebald.  In  tlie  middle  of 
the  Seven  Valleys,*  where  the  sun  rarely  shines, 
a  few  have  fixed  their  dim  and  melancholy 
retreat ;  while  others  have  sought  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  red  Lakes  of  Nitria,'  and  there, 
like  those  Pagan  solitaries  of  old,  who  fix!>J 
their  dwelling  among  the  palm  trees  near  the 
Dead  Sea,  pass  their  whole  lives  in  musing 
amidst  the  sterility  of  nature,  and  seem  to  find, 
in  her  desolation,  peace. 

It  was  on  one  of  the  mountains  of  the  Said, 
to  the  cast  of  the  river,  that  Melanius,  as  we 
have  seen,  chose  his  place  of  seclusion  —  having 
all  the  life  and  fertility  of  the  Nile  on  one  side, 
and  the  lone,  dismal  barrenness  of  the  desert 
on  the  other.  Half  way  down  this  mountain, 
where  it  impends  over  the  ravine,  he  found  a 
series  of  caves  or  grottoes  dug  out  of  the  rock, 
which  had,  in  other  times,  ministered  to  some 
purpose  of  mystery,  but  whose  use  had  long 
been  forgotten,  and  their  recesses  abandoned. 

To  this  place,  after  the  banishment  of  hi» 
great  master,  Origen,  Melanius,  with  a  few 
faithful  followers,  retired,  and  there,  by  the 
example  of  his  innocent  life,  as  well  as  by  hif 
fervid  eloquence,  succeeded  in  winning  crowdi^ 
of  converts  to  his  faith.  Placed,  as  he  was,  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  rich  city,  Antinort,^ 
though  he  mingled  not  with  its  multitude,  hit 
name  and  his  fame  were  ever  among  them,  and 
to  all  who  sought  after  instruction  or  coj  .ola- 
tion,  the  cell  of  the  hermit  was  always  oj.en. 

Notwithstanding  the  rigid  abstinence  of  his 
own  habits,  he  was  yet  careful  to  prr  ride  foi 
the  comforts  of  others.  Content  witn  a  rtide 
pallet  of  straw,  himself,  he  had  always  foj  th€ 
stranger  a  less  homely  resting-place.  From  hi* 
grotto,  the  wayfaring  and  the  indigent  ncvei 
went  unrefreshed ;  and,  with  the  aid  of  somr 
of  his  brethren,  he  had  formed  gardens  iL'Uf 
the  ledges  of  the  mountain,  which  jav*  kn  ail 


rate,  abows,  in  manr  paxsage*,  to  what  |.<iiin»que  «Te«U 
Uie  acenery  and  mythology  of  Ei-'ypi  niay  lie  luadt  aub- 
■ervienL 

«  From  the  position  a*>i;rned  to  Antino«  in  thic  Hi>rh,  wa 
■iMHild  conclude  that  it  extended  much  farther  to  tlie  i.oilli 
than  the  few  niina  of  it  that  remain  wmild  m^ui  v>  iiKlM-at*, 
and  tha»  the  distance  between  the  city  and  Uje  M'MinUta 
of  the  Birds  w  is  cousideMbly  \vt*  tiMa  wtal  it  v^ft*  t> 
b*  at  pieMOt. 


736 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


of  life  and  cheerfulness  to  his  rocky  dwelling, 
and  supplied  him  with  the  chief  necessaries  of 
such  a  climate  —  fruit  and  shade. 

Though  the  acquaintance  ho  had  formed  with 
the  mother  of  Alethe,  during  the  short  period 
of  her  attendance  at  the  school  of  Origen,  was 
soon  interrupted,  and  never  afterwards  renewed, 
the  interest  which  he  had  then  taken  in  her  fate 
was  far  too  lively  to  be  forgotten.  He  had  seen 
thrt  zeal  with  which  her  young  heart  welcomed 
instruction  ;  and  the  thought  that  so  promising 
a  candidate  for  heaven  should  have  relapsed 
into  idolatry,  came  often,  with  disquieting  ap- 
prehension, over  his  mind. 

It  was,  therefore,  -with  true  pleasure,  that,  but 
a  year  or  two  before  Theora's  death,  he  had 
learned  by  a  private  commimioation  from  her, 
transmitted  through  a  Christian  embalmer  of 
Memphis,  that  "  not  only  had  her  own  heart 
taken  root  in  the  faith,  but  that  a  new  bud  had 
flowered  with  the  same  divine  hope,  and  that, 
ere  long,  he  might  see  them  both  transplanted 
to  the  desert." 

The  coming,  therefore,  of  Alethe  was  far  less 
a  surprise  to  him,  than  her  coming  thus  alone 
■was  a  shock  and  a  sorrow ;  and  the  silence  of 
their  first  meeting  showed  how  painfully  both 
remembered  that  the  tie  which  had  brought 
them  together  was  no  longer  of  this  world  — 
that  the  hand,  which  should  have  been  then 
joined  with  theirs,  was  mouldering  in  the  tomb. 
I  now  sa-v  that  even  religion  like  his  was  not 
proof  against  the  sadness  of  mortality.  For,  as 
the  old  man  put  aside  the  ringlets  from  her 
forehead,  and  contemplated  in  thai  clear  coun- 
tenance the  reflection  of  what  her  mother  had 
been,  there  mingled  a  mournfulness  with  his 
piety,  as  he  said,  "  Heaven  rest  her  soul !  " 
which  showed  how  little  even  the  certaintj'  of  a 
heaven  for  those  we  love  can  reconcile  us  to  the 
pain  of  having  lost  them  on  earth. 

The  full  light  of  day  had  now  risen  iipon  the 
desert,  and  our  host,  reminded,  by  the  faint 
.ooks  of  Alethe,  of  the  many  anxious  hours  we 
had  passed  without  sleep,  proposed  that  we 
should  seek,  in  the  chambers  of  the  rock,  such 
rest  as  a  hermit's  dwelling  could  offer.  Point- 
ing to  one  of  the  largest  of  these  openings,  as 
he  addressed  me  —  "  Thou  wilt  find,"  he  said, 
•'  in  that  grotto  a  bed  of  fresh  doum  leaves,  and 
may  the  consciousness  of  having  protected  the 
orphan  sweeten  thy  sleep  !  " 

I  felt  how  dearly  this  praise  had  been  earned, 
and  already  almost  repented  of  having  deserved 
U.    Theare  was  a  sadness  in  the  countenance  of 


Alethe,  as  I  took  leave  of  her,  to  which  th« 
forebodings  of  my  own  heart  but  too  faithfullj 
responded ;  nor  could  I  help  fearing,  as  hei 
hand  parted  lingeringly  from  mine,  that  I  had, 
by  this  sacrifice,  placed  her  beyond  my  reach 
forever. 

Having  lighted  for  me  a  lamp,  which,  in  these 
recesses,  even  at  noon,  is  necessary,  the  holy 
man  led  me  to  the  entrance  of  the  grotto.  And 
here  I  blush  to  say,  my  career  of  hypocrisy 
began.  With  the  sole  view  of  obtaining  another 
glance  at  Alethe,  I  turned  humbly  to  solicit  the 
benediction  of  the  Christian,  and,  having  con- 
veyed to  her,  while  bending  reverently  down, 
as  much  of  the  deep  feeling  of  my  soul  as  looks 
could  express,  I  then,  with  a  desponding  spirit, 
hurried  into  the  cavern. 

A  short  passage  led  me  to  the  chamber  with 
in  —  the  walls  of  which  I  found  covered,  like 
those  of  the  grottoes  of  Lycopolis,  with  paint- 
ings, which,  though  executed  long  ages  ago, 
looked  as  fi;csh  as  if  their  colors  were  but  laid 
on  yesterday.  They  were,  all  of  them,  repre- 
sentations of  rural  and  domestic  scenes ;  and, 
in  the  greater  number,  the  melancholy  imagina- 
tion of  the  artist  had  called  in,  as  usual,  the 
presence  of  Death,  to  throw  his  shadow  over 
the  picture. 

My  attention  was  particularly  drawn  to  one 
series  of  subjects,  throughout  the  whole  of 
which  the  same  group  —  consisting  of  a  youth, 
a  maiden,  and  two  aged  persons,  who  appeared 
to  be  the  father  and  mother  of  the  girl  —  were 
represented  in  all  the  details  of  their  daily  life. 
The  looks  and  attitudes  of  the  young  people 
denoted  that  they  were  lovers  ;  and,  sometimes, 
they  were  seen  sitting  under  a  canopy  of  flow- 
ers, with  their  eyes  fixed  on  each  other's  faces, 
as  though  they  could  never  loojt  away  ;  some- 
times, they  appeared  walking  along  the  banks 
of  the  Nile,  — 

— —  on  one  of  those  sweet  nights 
When  Isis,  the  pure  star  of  lovers,i  lights 
Her  bridal  crescent  o'er  the  holy  stream  — ■ 
When  wandering  youths  and  maidens  watch  hw  beam 
And  number  o'er  the  nights  she  hath  to  run, 
Ere  she  again  embrace  her  bridegroom  sun.3 

Through  all  these  scenes  of  endearment  the 
two  elder  persons  stood  by ;  —  their  calm  coun- 
tenances touched  with  a  share  of  that  bliss,  in 
whose  perfect  light  the  young  lovers  were  bas^'- 


1  Vide  Plutarch,  de  Irid. 

2  "  Conjunctio  solis  cum  luna,  quod  est  velud  utriiume 
connuhium."    JaUontki. 


ntE  EPICUREAN. 


11 


icg.  Thus  far,  all  was  happiness ;  —  but  the 
fad  lesson  of  mortality  was  yet  to  come.  In  the 
tast  picture  of  the  series,  one  of  the  figures  was 
Tiissing.  It  was  that  of  the  young  maiden, 
«fho  had  disappeared  from  among  them.  On 
v'he  brink  of  a  dark  lake  stood  the  three  who 
remained  ;  while  a  boat,  just  departing  for  the 
City  of  the  Dead,  told  too  plainly  the  end  of 
their  dream  of  happiness. 

This  memorial  of  n  sorrow  of  other  times  — 
ti  a  sorrow,  ancisnt  as  death  itself — was  not 
wanting  to  deepen  the  melancholy  of  my  mind, 
«r  to  add  to  the  weight  of  the  many  bodings 
that  pressed  upon  it. 

After  a  night,  as  it  seemed,  of  anxious  and 
unsleeping  thought,  I  rose  from  my  bed  and 
returned  to  the  garden.  I  found  the  Christian 
alone  —  seated,  under  the  shade  of  one  of  his 
trees,  at  a  smf\ll  table,  on  which  there  lay  a  vol- 
ume unrolled,  while  a  beautiful  antelope  was 
sleeping  at  his  feet.  Struck  by  the  contrast 
which  he  presented  to  those  haughty  priests, 
whom  I  had  seen  surrounded  by  the  pomp  and 
gorgoousness  of  temples,  •'  Is  this,  then,"  thought 
I,  '•  the  faith  before  which  the  world  now  trem- 
bles —  its  temple  the  desert,  its  treasury  a  book, 
and  its  High  Priest  the  solitary  dweller  of  the 
rock  ? " 

lie  had  prepared  for  me  a  simple,  but  hospi- 
table repast,  of  which  fruit'*  from  his  own  gar- 
den, the  white  bread  of  Olyra.  and  the  juice  of 
the  honey  cane,  formed  the  most  costly  luxuries. 
His  manner  to  me  was  even  more  cordial  and 
fatherly  than  before ;  but  the  absence  of  Alethe, 
and,  still  more,  the  ominous  reserve,  with  which 
he  not  only,  himself,  refrained  from  all  mention 
of  her  name,  but  eluded  the  few  inquiries,  by 
which  I  sought  to  lead  tc  it,  seemed  to  confirm 
all  th  3  apprehensions  I  had  felt  in  parting  from 
her. 

She  had  acquainted  him,  it  was  evident,  with 
the  whole  history  of  our  flight.  My  reputation 
as  a  philosnphor  —  my  desire  to  become  a  Chris- 
tian —  all  was  already  known  to  the  zealous 
•ni  horct,  end  the  subject  of  my  conversion  was 
>fjf;  very  first  on  which  he  entered.  O,  pride  of 
philosophy,  how  wert  thou  then  humbled,  and 
with  what  shame  did  I  stand  in  the  presence  of 
that  venerable  man,  not  daring  to  let  my  eyes 
encounter  his,  while,  with  unhesitating  trust  in 
the  sincerity  of  my  intention,  he  welcomed  rae 
to  a  participation  of  his  holy  hope,  and  imprint- 
ed the  Kiss  of  Charity  on  my  infidel  brow  ! 

Embarrassed  as  I  could  not  but  feel  by  the 
Lamiliating  consciousness  of  hypocrisy,  I  was 
03 


even  still  moie  perplexed  by  my  almo&t  tota' 
ignorance  of  the  real  tenets  of  the  faith  to 
which  I  professed  myself  a  convert.  ALashed 
and  confused,  and  with  a  heart  sick  at  its  ow» 
deceit,  I  listened  to  the  animated  and  eloquent 
gratulations  of  the  Christian,  as  though  they 
were  words  in  a  dream,  without  any  link  or 
meaning ;  nor  could  disguise  but  by  the  mock« 
ery  of  a  reverend  bow,  at  every  pause,  the  total 
want  of  self-possession,  and  even  of  speech, 
under  which  I  labored 

A  few  minutes  more  of  such  trial,  and  I  must 
have  avowed  my  imposture.  But  the  holy  man 
perceived  my  embarnissment ;  —  and,  whether 
mistaking  it  for  awe,  or  knowing  it  to  be  igno- 
rance, relieved  me  from  my  perplexity  by,  at 
once,  changing  the  theme.  Having  gently 
awakened  his  antelope  from  its  sleep,  ••  You 
have  doubtless,"  he  said,  "  heard  of  my  brothci 
anc'hcret,  Paul,  who,  from  his  cave  in  the  mar- 
ble mountain!),  neur  the  Red  Sea,  sends  hourly 
the  blessed  •  sacrifice  of  thanksgiving '  to  heaven. 
Of  Am  walks,  they  tell  me,  a  lion  is  the  com. 
panion  ; '  but,  for  me,"  he  added  with  a  playful 
and  significant  smile,  "  who  try  my  powers  oi 
taming  but  on  the  gentler  animals,  this  feebit 
child  of  the  desert  is  a  far  fitter  plajTnate." 
Then,  taking  his  staff,  and  putting  the  time- 
worn  volume  which  he  had  been  perusing  into 
a  large  goat-skin  pouch,  that  hung  by  his  side, 
*'  I  will  now,"  saJU  he,  "  conduct  thee  over  my 
rocky  kingdom,  that  thou  mayest  see  in  what 
drear  and  barren  places  that  *  sweet  fruit  of  the 
spirit,'  Peace,  may  be  gathered." 

To  speak  of  peace  to  a  hearv  throbbing,  as 
mine  did,  at  that  moment,  was  liko  talking  of 
some  distant  harbor  to  the  mariner  sinking  a 
sea.  In  vain  did  I  look  around  for  some  sigt 
of  Alethe ;  —  in  vain  make  an  effort  even  to 
utter  her  name.  Consciousness  of  my  own  de- 
ceit, as  well  as  a  fear  of  awakening  in  the  mind 
of  Melanius  any  suspicion  that  might  tend  to 
frustrate  my  only  hope,  threw  a  fetter  over  my 
spirit  and  checked  my  tongue.  In  humblt 
silence,  therefore,  I  followed,  while  the  chcerftJ 
old  man,  with  slow,  but  firm  step,  ascended  t^* 
rock,  by  the  same  ladders  which  I  had  mountei 
on  tie  precluding  night. 

During  the  time  when  the  Decian  Persecutton 
was  raging,  many  Christians,  as  he  told  mo,  of 
the  neighborhood  had  taken  refuge  under  his 
pr<  itcction,  in  these  grottoes  ;    and   the   small 

1  M.  CheUmiriaud  i«a  inlroduMd  Paul  uxi  liii  \ii  t  ^u 
aie"jlfa-<jr»,''U»  >• 


738 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


chapel  upon  the  summit,  where  I  had  found  his 
&ock  at  prayer,  was,  in  those  aAvful  times  of 
lufferiug,  their  usual  place  of  retreat,  where,  by 
drawing  up  these  ladders,  they  were  enabled  to 
secure  themselves  from  pursuit. 

The  view,  from  the  top  of  the  rock,  extending 
on  either  side,  embraced  the  two  extremes  of 
fertility  and  desolation  ;  nor  could  the  Epicu- 
rean and  the  Anchoret,  who  now  stood  gazing 
£r»m  that  height,  be  at  any  loss  to  indulge  their 
letpcctive  tastes,  between  the  living  luxuriance 
of  the  world  on  one  side,  and  the  dead,  pulse- 
less repose  of  the  desert  on  the  other.  When 
we  turned  to  the  river,  what  a  picture  of  ani- 
mation presented  itself !  Near  us  to  the  south, 
were  the  graceful  colonnades  of  AntinoC,  its 
proud,  populous  streets,  and  triumphal  monu- 
ments. On  the  opposite  shore,  rich  plains,  all 
teeming  with  cultivation  to  the  water's  edge, 
seemed  to  offer  up,  as  from  verdant  altars,  their 
fruits  to  the  sun  ;  white  beneath  us,  the  Nile,  — 

the  glorious  stream, 

That  late  between  its  banks  was  seen  to  glide  — 
With  shrines  and  marble  cities,  on  each  side. 
Glittering,  like  jewels  strung  along  a  cha-in  — 
Had  now  sent  forth  its  waters,  and  o'er  plain 
And  valley,  like  a  giant  from  bis  bed 
Rising  with  outstrctch'd  limbs,  superbly  spread. 

From  this  scene,  on  one  side  of  the  mountain, 
we  had  but  to  turn  round  our  eyes  to  the  other, 
and  it  was  as  if  Nature  herself  had  become  sud- 
denly extinct ;  —  a  wide  waste  of  sands,  bleak 
and  interminable,  wearying  out  the  sun  with  its 
sameness  of  desolation  ;  —  black,  burnt-up  rocks, 
that  stood  as  barriers,  at  which  life  stopped ;  — 
while  the  only  signs  of  animation,  past  or 
present,  were  the  footprints,  here  and  there,  of 
an  antelope  or  ostrich,  or  the  bones  of  dead 
camels,  as  they  lay  whitening  at  a  distance, 
marking  out  the  track  of  the  caravans  over  the 
waste. 

After  listening,  while  he  contrasted,  in  a  few 
eloquent  words,  the  two  regions  of  life  and  death 
■»n  whose  con-fines  we  stood,  I  again  descended 
■vith  my  guide  to  the  garden  we  had  left. 
From  thence,  turning  into  a  path  along  the 
mountain  side,  he  led  me  to  another  row  of 
grottoes,  facing  the  desert,  which  had  been  once, 
he  said,  the  abode  of  those  brethren  in  Christ, 
who  had  lied  with  him  to  this  solitude  from  the 
crowded  world  —  but  which  death  had,  within 
t  few  short  months,  rendered  tenantless.  A 
»j3ss  of  red  stone,  and  a  fei'  faded  trees,  were 


the  only  traces  these  solitaries  had  left  be 
hind. 

A  silence  of  some  minutes  8uceeeae&«  whilt 
we  descended  to  the  edge  of  the  canal ;  and  1 
saw  opposite,  among  the  rocks,  that  solitary 
cave,  which  had  so  chilled  me  with  its  aspect 
on  the  preceding  night.  Beside  the  bank  wo 
found  one  of  those  rustic  boats,  which  th» 
Egyptians  construct  of  planks  of  wild  tliorn 
bound  rudely  together  with  bands  of  pai)yrua 
Placing  ourselves  in  this  boat,  and  rather  im- 
pelling than  rowing  it  across,  we  made  our  way 
through  the  foul  and  shallow  flood,  and  landed 
directly  under  the  site  of  the  cave. 

This  dwelling  was  situated,  as  I  have  already 
mentioned,  on  a  ledge  of  the  rock ;  and,  being 
provided  with  a  sort  of  window  or  aperture  tc 
admit  the  light  of  heaven,  was  accounted,  I 
found,  far  more  cheerful  than  the  grottoes  on  the 
other  side  of  the  ravine.  But  there  was  a  dreari- 
ness in  the  whole  region  around,  to  which  light 
only  lent  additional  horror.  The  dead  white- 
ness of  the  rocks,  as  they  stood,  like  ghosts,  in 
the  sunshine  ;  —  that  melancholy  pool,  half  lost 
in  the  sands ;  —  all  gave  to  my  mind  the  idea 
of  a  wasting  world.  To  dwell  in  a  place  so 
desolate  seemed  to  me  a  living  death ;  and 
when  the  Christian,  as  we  entered  the  cave,  said, 
"Here  is  to  be  thy  home,"  prepared  as  I  had 
been  for  the  worst,  all  my  resolution  gave 
way; — every  feeling  of  disappointed  passion 
and  humbled  pride,  which  had  been  gathering 
round  my  heart  for  the  last  few  hours,  found  a 
vent  at  once,  and  I  burst  into  tears. 

Accustomed  to  human  Aveakness,  and  perhaps 
guessing  at  some  of  the  sources  of  mme,  the  good 
Hermit,  without  appearing  to  take  any  notice  of 
this  emotion,  proceeded  to  expatiate,  with  a 
cheerful  air,  on,  what  he  called,  the  comforts  of 
my  dwelling.  Sheltered  from  the  dry,  burning 
wind  of  the  south,  my  porch  would  inhale,  he 
said,  the  fresh  breeze  of  the  Dogstar.  Fruits 
from  his  own  mountain  garden  should  furnish 
my  repast.  The  well  of  the  neighboring  rock 
would  supply  my  beverage ;  and  •'  here,"  La 
continued  —  lowering  his  voice  into  a  more 
solemn  tone,  as  he  placed  upon  the  table  the 
volume  which  ho  had  brought  —  "  here,  my 
son,  is  that  •  well  of  living  waters,'  in  which 
alone  thou  wilt  find  lasting  refreshment  oi 
peace  !  "  Thus  saying,  he  descended  the  rock 
to  his  boat,  and  after  a  few  plashes  of  his  oat 
had  died  upon  my  ear,  the  solitude  and  silenc* 
that  reigred  around  me  was  coir>plete. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


m 


CHAPTER  X\1I. 

What  a  fate  was  mine  !  —  but  a  few  weeks 
•ince,  presiding  over  that  gay  Festival  of  the 
Uardcn,  with  all  the  luxuries  of  existence  tribu- 
■lary  in  my  train  ;  and  now  —  self-humbled  into 
K  solitary  outcast  —  the  hypocritical  pupil  of  a 
Christian  anchoret  —  without  even  the  excuse 
rf  leligious  fanaticism,  or  any  other  madness, 
3Ut  that  of  love,  wild  love,  to  er' — uate  my 
iall !  Were  there  a  hope  that,  by  this  huraili- 
•ting  waste  of  existence,  I  might  purchase  now 
and  then  a  momentary  glimpse  of  Alethe,  even 
the  depths  of  the  desert,  with  such  a  chance, 
would  be  welcome.  But  to  live  —  and  live 
thus — without  her,  was  a  misery  which  I  neither 
foresaw  nor  could  endure. 

Ilating  even  to  look  upon  the  den  to  which  I 
was  doomed,  I  hurried  out  into  the  air,  and 
found  my  way,  along  the  rocks,  to  the  desert. 
The  sun  was  going  down,  with  that  blood-red 
".itie,  which  he  so  often  wears,  in  this  climate, 
It  his  setting.  I  saw  the  sands,  stretching  out, 
like  a  sea  to  the  horizon,  as  if  their  waste  ex- 
tended to  the  very  verge  of  the  world  —  and, 
in  the  bitterness  of  my  feelings,  rejoiced  "to  see 
so  largo  a  portion  of  creation  rescued,  even  by 
this  barren  liberty,  from  the  encroaching  grasp 
of  man.  The  thought  seemed  to  relieve  my 
wounded  pride,  and,  as  I  wandered  over  the 
dim  and  boundless  solitude,  to  be  thus  free, 
even  amidst  blight  and  desolation,  appeared  to 
me  a  blessing. 

The  only  living  thing  I  saw  was  a  restless 
kwallow,  whose  wings  were  of  the  same  hue 
with  the  gray  sands  over  which  he  U  I'^red.' 
"Why  (thought  I)  may  not  the  mind,  like  this 
bird,  partake  of  the  color  of  the  desert,  and 
•ympathizc  in  its  austerity,  its  freedom,  and 
Its  calm  ?  "  —  thus  vainly  endeavoring,  between 
despondence  and  defiance,  to  encounter  with 
lome  degree  of  fortitude  what  j'et  my  heart 
•iciened  to  contemplate.  But  the  effort  was 
an  availing.  Overceme  by  that  vast  solitude, 
whose  repose  was  not  the  slumber  of  peace,  but 
rather  the  sullen  and  burning  silence  of  hate,  I 


1  "Je  VM  daoi  le  desert  dM  hirondellea  d'lin  grit  cUir 
Mnme  le  xable  siir  lequel  ellea  voIeiiL"     Denon. 

*  In  alluding  to  Wliiston'a  Idea  or  a  comet  having  cauied 
the  deluge,  ^f.  Girard,  having  remarked  that  the  word  Ty- 
nhon  V'eans  a  deluge,  adds,  "  On  ne  peut  entendre  par  le 
ems  CiU  rigne  d*  Ty^iioii  tmt  r«^m  pendain  lequel  le  «M- 


felt  my  spirit  gire  way,  and  eren  lore  ita«U 
yielded  to  despair. 

Taking  my  seat  on  a  fragment  of  a  rock«  an^ 
covering  my  eyes  with  my  har.ds,  I  made  an 
effort  to  shut  out  the  overwhelming  prospect. 
But  all  in  vain  —  it  was  still  before  me,  with 
every  additional  horror  that  fancy  could  suggeet; 
and  when,  again  looking  forth,  I  beheld  the  laM 
red  ray  of  the  sun,  shooting  across  the  melan~ 
choly  and  lifeless  waste,  it  appeared  to  me  Kkt 
the  light  of  that  comet  which  once  desolated 
this  world,*  and  thus  luridly  shone  out  oyer  the 
ruin  that  it  had  made  ! 

Appalled  by  my  own  gloomy  imaginationa,  I 
turned  towards  the  ravine  ;  and,  notwithstand> 
ing  the  disgust  with  which  I  had  fled  txom  my 
dwelling,  was  not  ill  pleased  to  find  my  way 
over  the  rocks,  to  it  again.  On  approaching 
the  cave,  to  my  astonishment,  I  saw  a  light  with* 
in.  At  such  a  moment,  any  vestige  of  life  was 
welcome,  and  I  htiiled  the  unexpected  appeaz  ■ 
ance  with  pleasure.  On  entering,  however,  1 
found  the  chamber  all  as  lonely  as  I  had  left  it. 
The  light  I  had  seen  came  from  a  lamp  that 
burned  brightly  on  the  table  ;  beside  it  was  un- 
folded the  volume  which  Melanius  had  brought, 
and  upon  the  open  leaves  —  O,  joy  and  surprise 
—  lay  the  well-known  cross  of  Alethe  ! 

What  hand,  but  her  own,  could  have  pre- 
pared this  reception  for  me  ?  —  The  very  thought 
sent  a  hope  into  my  heart,  before  which  all  de- 
spondency fled.  Even  the  gloom  of  the  desert 
was  forgotten,  and  my  rude  cave  at  once  bright- 
ened into  a  bower.  She  had  here  reminded  me, 
by  this  sacred  memorial,  of  the  vow  which  I 
had  pledged  to  her  under  the  Hermit's  rock ; 
and  I  now  scrupled  not  to  reiterate  the  same 
daring  promise,  though  conscious  that  through 
hypocrisy  alone  could  I  fulfil  it. 

Eager  to  prepare  myself  for  my  task  of  im- 
posture, I  sat  down  to  the  volume,  which  I  now 
found  to  be  the  Hebrew  Scriptures ;  and  the 
first  sentence,  on  which  my  eyes  fell,  was  — 
"  The  Lord  huth  commanded  the  blessing,  cTes 
Life  forevermore  !  "  Startled  ay  these  worla, 
in  which  it  appeared  to  me  as  if  the  Spirit  of 
my  dream  had  again  pronounced  his  assurinf 


luge  Inonda  la  terre,  tems  pendant  lequel  on  oOt  obeerrer  la 
comite  qui  I'occaiiionna,  et  dont  rapparitioa  fUl,  non  wal» 
mcDt  p-rir  lea  peuplee  de  I'Eo'pW,  M  <>•  I'EltlkHrfe,  maia  m 
core  pour  loua  lea  peupiea  to  prfaigs  fiuMat*  4«  laor  ilaMH 
tion  pr«M|ii«  louto."    DuiwifliM  i$  fa  r«JUi  *i  tMfm* 


tiO 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


prediction,"  I  raised  my  eyes  from  the  page,  and  | 
repeated  the  sentence  over  and  over,  as  if  to  try  j 
whether  in  these  sounds  there  lay  any  charm  or  i 
apell,   to  reawaken  that  faded  illusion  in  my 
(oul.     But  no  —  the  rank   frauds  of  the  Mem-  | 
phian  priesthood  had  dispelled  all  my  triist  in  j 
the  promises  of  religion.     My  heart  had  again 
relapsed  into  its  gloom  of  scepticism,  and,  to 
*he  word  of  "Life,"  the  only  answer  it  sent 
Se^k  was  "  Death  !  " 

Being  impatient,  however,  to  possess  myself 
of  the  elements  of  a  faith,  upon  which  —  what- 
^ver  it  might  promise  for  hereafter  —  I  felt  that 
all  my  happiness  here  depended,  I  turned  orer 
the  pages  with  an  earnestness  and  avidity,  such 
as  never  even  the  most  favorite  of  my  studies 
had  awakened  in  me.  Though,  like  all  who 
seek  but  the  surface  of  learning,  I  flew  desulto- 
rily over  the  leaves,  lighting  only  on  the  more 
prominent  and  shining  points,  I  yet  found  my- 
self, even  in  this  undisciplined  career,  arrested, 
at  every  page,  by  the  awful,  the  supernatural 
sublimity,  the  alternate  melancholy  and  gran- 
deur of  the  images  that  crowded  upon  me. 

I  had,  til]  now,  known  the  Hebrew  theology 
hut  through  the  platonizing  refinement  of  Phi- 
X.0  ;  —  as,  in  like  manner,  for  my  knowledge  of 
the  Christian  doctrine  I  was  indebted  to  my 
brother  Epicureans,  Lucian  and  Cclsus.  Little, 
therefore,  was  my  mind  prepared  for  the  simple 
jaajestj',  the  high  tone  of  inspiration  —  the  po- 
etry, in  short,  of  heaven  that  breathed  through- 
out these  oracles.  Could  admiration  have  kin- 
dled faith,  I  should,  that  night,  have  been  a 
believer ;  so  elevated,  so  awed  was  my  imagi- 
nation by  that  wonderful  book  —  its  warnings 
of  woe,  its  announcements  of  glory,  and  its  un- 
rivalled strains  of  adoration  and  sorrow. 

Hour  after  hour,  with  the  same  eager  and  des- 
ultory curiosity,  did  I  turn  over  the  leaves  ;  — 
and  when,  at  length,  I  lay  down  to  rest,  my 
fancy  was  still  haunted  by  the  impressions  it 
had  received.  I  went  again  through  the  various 
scenes  of  which  I  had  read  ;  again  called  up,  in 
sleep,  the  bright  images  that  had  passed  before 
me,  and  when  awakened  at  early  dawn  by  the 
Bclemn  Hymn  from  the  chapel,  imagined  that  I 
was  still  listening  to  the  sound  of  the  winds. 


I  "  Many  people,"  said  Driven,  "  have  been  broiiorht  over 
k  Christianity  by  the  Spirit  of  God  giving  a  sudden  turn  to 
Jieir  minds,  and  offering  visions  to  them  either  by  day  or 
night."  On  this  Jortin  remarks :  — "  Why  should  it  be 
Jiought  improbable  that  Pagans  of  good  dispositions,  but  not 
ftse  from  r'-ejudices,  should  have  been  called  by  divine  ad- 


sighing  mournfully  through  the  harps  of  Israe 
on  the  willows. 

Starting  from  my  bed,  I  hurried  out  upon  th« 
rock,  with  a  hope  that,  among  the  tones  of  that 
morning  choir,  I  might  be  able  to  distinguish 
the  sweet  voice  of  Alethe.  But  the  strain  had 
ceased;  —  I  "caught  only  the  last  notes  of  the 
Hymn,  as,  echoing  up  that  lonely  valley,  they 
died  away  into  the  silence  of  the  desert. 

With  the  first  glimpse  of  light  I  was  again 
early  at  my  study,  and,  notwithstanding  tiie 
frequent  distraction  both  of  my  thoughts  and 
looks  towards  the  distant,  half-seen  grottoes  of 
the  Anchoret,  continued  mj'  task  with  unabat- 
ing  perseverance  through  the  day.  Still  alire, 
however,  but  to  the  eloquence,  the  poetry  of 
what  I  studied,  of  its  claims  to  authoritj',  as  a 
history,  I  never  o-nce  paused  to  consider.  My 
fancy  alone  being  interested  by  it,  to  fancy  only 
I  referred  all  that  it  contained  ;  and,  passing 
rapidly  from  annals  to  prophecy,  from  narration 
to  song,  regarded  the  whole  but  as  a  tissue  of 
oriental  allegories,  in  which  the  deep  melan- 
choly of  Egyptian  associations  was  interwoven 
with  the  rich  and  sensual  imagery  of  the  East. 

Towards  sunset  I  saw  the  venerable  Hermit,  on 
his  way,  across  the  canal,  to  my  cave.  Though 
he  was  accompanied  only  by  his  graceful  ante 
lope,  which  came  snuffing  the  wild  air  of  the 
desert,  as  if  scenting  its  home,  I  felt  his  visit, 
even  thus,  to  be  a  most  welcome  relief.  It  was 
the  hour,  he  said,  of  his  evening  ramble  up  the 
mountain —  of  his  accustomed  visit  to  those  cis- 
terns of  the  rock,  from  which  he  drew  nightly 
his  most  precious  beverage.  While  he  spoke,  I 
observed  in  his  hand  one  of  those  earthen  cups," 
in  which  it  is  the'custom  of  the  inhabitants  of 
the  wilderness  to  collect  the  fresh  dew  among 
the  rocks.  Having  proposed  that  I  should  ac- 
company him  in  his  walk,  he  proceeded  to  lead 
me,  in  the  direction  of  the  desert,  up  the  side 
of  the  mountain  that  rose  above  my  dwelling, 
and  which  formed  the  southern  wall  or  screen 
of  the  defile. 

Near  the  summit  we  found  a  seat,  where  the 
old  man  paused  to  rest.  It  commanded  a  full 
view  over  the  desert,  and  was  by  the  side  of 
one  of  those  hollows  in  the  rock,  those  natural 


monitions,  by  dreams  or  visions,  winch  might  be  a  support 
to  Christianitj'  in  those  days  of  distress.'" 

2  Palladius,  who  lived  some  time  in  Egypt,  describes  thi 
monk  Ptolemaeus,  who  inhabited  rhe  desert  of  Scete,  as  col 
lecting  in  earthen  cjips  the  abundant  dew  from  Iho  rocka  ' 
Bibliotkec.  Pat.  torn,  xiii 


ITIE  EPICUREANS. 


tt 


tioervoirs,  L.  NUvh  are  treasured  the  dews  of 
night  for  thv  i«iru  liment  of  the  dwellers  in  the 
tkilderness.  Ilh^i.  g  learned  from  me  how  far  I 
aad  advanced  in  ai/  study  —  ''In  yonder  light," 
caid  he,  pointing  to  a  small  cloud  in  the  cast, 
which  had  been  fonaed  on  the  horizon  by  the 
Lnze  of  the  desert,  t  .id  was  now  faintly  reflect- 
ing the  splendors  of  lunset  —  "  in  the  midst  of 
I  that  light  stands  Mv  unt  Sinai,  of  whose  glory 
\  th'^u  hast  lead;  upt  a  whose  summit  was  the 
•cone  of  one  of  those  iwful  revelations,  in  which 
the  Almighty  has  rt  newed  from  time  to  time 
his  communication  ^'ith  Man,  and  kept  alive 
the  remembrance  of  1  is  own  Providence  in  this 
world." 

After  tt  pause,  as  if  absorbed  in  the  immen- 
sity of  the  oubjoct-,  the  holy  man  continued  his 
■ublime  theme.  Looking  back  to  the  earliest 
annals  of  time,  he  showed  how  constantly  every 
relapse  of  the  human  race  into  idolatry  has  been 
followed  by  some  mdiufestation  of  Divine  power, 
chastening  the  stroiig  v.nd  proud  by  punishment, 
and  winning  back  the  iiumblc  by  love.  It  was 
to  preserve,  he  said,  Uii  jxtinguished  upon  earth, 
that  great  and  vital  tru.  h  —  the  Creation  of  the 
world  by  one  Supreme  IJeing  —  that  God  chose, 
from  among  the  nations,  a  humble  and  enslaved 
race  —  that  he  brought  them  out  of  their  cap- 
tivity "  on  eagles*  wings,"  and,  still  surrounding 
every  step  of  their  course  with  miracles,  has 
placed  them  before  the  eyes  of  all  succeeding 
generations,  as  the  dei)ositarics  of  his  will,  and 
the  ever-during  memorials  of  his  power.' 

Passing,  then,  in  review  the  long  train  of 
inspired  interpreters,  whose  pens  and  whose 
tongues  were  made  the  echoes  of  the  Divine 
voice,*  he  traced  throughout  the  events  of  suc- 
cessive ages,  the  gradual  unfolding  of  the  dark 
scheme  of  Providence  —  darkness  without,  but 
all  light  and  glory  within.  The  glimpses  of  a 
coming  redemption,  visible  even  through  the 
wrath  of  Heaven  ;  — the  long  series  of  prophe- 
cy through  which  this  hope  runs,  burning  and 
tl:72,  like  a  spark  along  a  chain;  —  the  slow 
aud  mercil'ul  preparation  of  the  hearts  of  man- 
kind for  the  great  trial  of  their  faith  and  obe- 
dience that  was  at  hand,  not  only  by  miracles 

»  The  brief  sktftch  here  given  of  the  Jewinh  dispensation 
(greej  very  ir.iich  with  the  view  taken  of  it  by  Dr.  Sumner, 
31  the  lint  chapters  uf  hij  eloquent  work,  the  "  Records  of 
the  Creation." 

*  (n  the  original,  the  discouiKes  of  the  Hermit  are  given 
nucn  mure  at  length 

»  "  It  i<  impossible  te  -eny,"  say*  Dr.  Sumner,  "  tJiat  the 
•auctions  <{  the  .Monaic  law  are  altogether  trm|Niral  .... 
I  IS,  w  .•*!.  jne  of  the  i^cu  that  con  only  be  MtUainad  bv 


that  appealed  to  the  living,  but  ay  prophecies 
launched  into  the  future  to  carry  couTicLon  to 
the  yet  unborn ;  —  "  through  all  these  glorious 
and  beneficent  gradations  we  may  track,"  said 
he,  "  the  manifest  footsteps  of  a  Creator,  ad- 
vancing to  his  grand,  ultimate  end,  the  M.vsti« 
of  his  creatures." 

After  somo  hours  devoted  to  these  holy  in 
structions,  we  returned  to  the  ravine,  and  31*. 
lanius  left  me  at  my  cave ;  praying,  as  he  parteo 
from  me  —  with  a  benevolence  which  I  but  iil, 
alas  !  deserved  —  that  my  soul  might,  undet 
these  lessons,  be  "  as  a  watered  garden,"  and, 
ore  long,  "  bear  fruit  unto  life  eternal." 

Next  morning,  I  was  again  at  my  study,  and 
even  more  eager  in  the  awakcnii  ^  tasx  han 
before.  With  the  commentary  of  the  Hermit 
freshly  in  my  memory,  I  again  read  through, 
with  attention,  the  Book  of  the  Law,  But  in 
vain  did  I  seek  the  promise  of  immortality  in 
its  pages.'  "It  tells  me,"  said  I,  "of  a  God 
coming  down  to  earth,  but  of  the  ascent  of  Man 
to  heaven  it  speaks  not.  ITic  rewards,  the  pun- 
ishments it  announces,  lie  all  on  this  side  of  the 
grave  ;  nor  did  even  the  Omnipotent  offer  to  his 
own  chosen  servants  a  hope  beyond  the  impass- 
able limits  of  this  world.  Where,  then,  is  the 
salvation  of  which  the  Christian  spoke  ?  or,  if 
Death  be  at  the  root  of  the  faith,  can  Life  spring 
out  of  it  r " 

Again,  in  the  bitterness  of  discppointment, 
did  I  mock  at  my  own  willing  self-delusion  — 
again  rail  at  the  arts  of  that  traitress.  Fancy, 
ever  ready,  like  the  Delilah  of  this  wondrous 
book,  to  stool  upon  the  slumbers  of  Reason,  and 
deliver  him  up,  shorn  and  powerless,  to  his  foes. 
If  deception,  thought  I,  be  necessary,  at  least 
let  me  not  practise  it  on  myself;  —  in  the  des* 
perate  alternative  before  me,  let  mo  rather  bo 
even  hypocrite  than  dupe. 

These  self-accusing  reflections,  cheeiless  w 
they  rendered  my  task,  did  not  abate,  for  •  sin- 
gle moment,  my  industry  in  pursuing  it.  I  read 
on  and  on,  with  a  sort  of  sullen  apathy,  nuthei 
charmed  by  style,  nor  transported  by  imagery  — 
the  fatal  blight  in  my  heart  having  communi- 
cated itself  to  my  imagination  and  taste.     Th« 

acknowledging  that  he  really  acr  -d  under  a  Divin*  con-.mis 
sion,  promulgating  a  lem|iorary  liw  for  a  peculiar  (MirfuM 
—  a  much  more  candid  and  ■er.aiUs  way  of  trasling  Ml 
very  difficult  point,  than  by  •ithsr  sodaavxring,  lik*  Waff 
burton,  to  esca|i«  from  a  inio  a  parados,  or,  still  wocm,  co« 
triring,  like  Dr.  Graves,  to  iiicroaae  It*  difficulty  by  e>pla 
r.a-.<on.  Vide  "(H  Uu  PtmtUmtk.'*  8m  also  Utrnt'i  h- 
tr«4Mttiem,  ttc,  vol.  I.  p.  900. 


M2 


TIIE  EPICUREAN. 


curses  and  the  blessings,  the  glory  and  the  ruin, 
which  the  historian  recorded  and  the  prophet 
had  predicted,  seemed  all  of  this  world  —  all 
temporal  and  earthly.  That  mortality,  of  which 
the  fountain  head  had  tasted,  tinged  the  whole 
•tream  ;  and  when  I  read  the  words,  "  all  are 
of  the  dust,  and  all  turn  to  dust  again,"  '  a  feel- 
ing, like  the  wind  of  the  desert,  came  wither- 
ingly  over  me.  Love,  Beauty,  Glory,  every 
tiling  most  bright  and  worshipped  upon  earth, 
tppcared  to  be  sinking  before  my  eyes,  under 
this  dreadful  doom,  into  one  general  mass  of 
corruption  and  silence. 

Possessed  by  the  image  of  desolation  I  had 
thus  called  up,  I  laid  my  head  upon  the  book, 
in  a  paroxysm  of  despair.  Death,  in  all  his 
most  ghastly  varieties,  passed  before  me  ;  and  I 
had  continued  thus  for  some  time,  as  under  the 
influence  of  a  fearful  vision,  when  the  touch  of 
a  hand  upon  my  shoulder  roused  me.  Looking 
up,  I  saw  the  Arfchoret  standing  by  my  side  ;  — 
his  countenance  beaming  with  that  sublime 
tranquillity,  which  a  hope,  beyond  this  earth, 
alone  can  bestow.     How  I  did  envy  hira  ! 

We  again  took  our  way  to  the  seat  upon  the 
mountain  —  the  gloom  within  my  own  mind 
making  every  thing  around  me  more  gloomy, 
forgetting  my  hypocrisy  in  my  feelings,  I  pro- 
ceeded at  once  to  make  an  avowal  to  him  of  all 
the  doubts  and  fears  which  my  study  of  the 
Uiorning  had  awakened. 

"  Thou  art  yet,  my  son,"  he  answered,  "  but 
oh  the  threshold  of  our  faith.  Thou  hast  seen 
Dut  the  first  rudiments  of  the  Divine  plan  ;  — 
Its  full  and  consummate  perfection  h::th  not  yet 
opened  upon  thy  mind.  However  glorious  that 
manifestation  of  Divinity  on  Mount  Sinai,  it  was 
but  the  forerunner  of  another,  still  more  glori- 
ous, which,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  was  to  burst 


1  While  Voltaire,  Volney,  &c.,  refer  to  the  Ecclesiastea, 
■8  abounding  with  tenets  of  materiaii.sni  and  Epicurism,  Mr. 
Des  Vceux  and  others  find  in  it  strong  proofsi  of  belief  in  a 
future  state.  The  chief  difficulty  lies  in  the  chapter  from 
.  which  this  text  is  quoted  ;  and  the  mode  of  construction  by 
which  some  writers  attempt  to  get  rid  of  it  —  namely,  by 
putting  these  texts  into  the  moutli  of  a  foolish  reasoner  — 
spjiears  forced  and  gratuitous.     Vide  Dr  Hale's  Analysis. 

>  This  opinion  of  the  Heruilt  may  be  supposed  to  have 
Been  derived  from  his  master,  Origen  ;  but  it  is  not  easy  to 
*acertain  the  exact  doctrine  ot'  Origen  on  this  subject.  In 
itie  Treatise  on  Prayer  attributed  tc  him,iie  asserts  that  God 
jis  Father  alone  should  be  invoked—  .'liich,  says  Bayle,  is 
'O  "ench^rir  sur  les  Heresies  des  Poii.niens."  Notvvith- 
■landing  this,  however,  and  some  other  mdications  of,  what 
was  afterwards  called,  Arianism,  (such  as  the  opinion  of  the 
iivmity  being  received  by  comtnunicatinn,  which  Mitnrr  us- 
*f»u  ti  have  bern  held  by  this  Father,)  Origen  was  one  cf 


upon  the  world ;  when  hU,  t.at  before  had  seemo j 
dim  and  incomplete,  wi'S  to  be  perfected,  ant? 
the  promises,  shadowed  out  by  the  '  spirit  of 
prophecy,'  realized  ;  when  the  seal  of  silence, 
under  which  the  Future  had  so  long  lain,  was 
to  be  broken,  and  the  glad  tidings  of  life  and 
immortality  proclaimed  to  the  world  !  " 

Observing  my  features  brighten  at  these  words, 
the  pious  man  continued.  Anticipating  some 
of  the  holy  knowledge  that  was  in  store  for  me, 
he  traced,  through  all  its  wonders  and  mercies, 
the  great  work  of  Redemption,  dwelling  in  de- 
tail upon  every  miraculous  circumstance  con- 
nected with  it  —  the  exalted  nature  of  the  Being, 
by  whose  ministry  it  was  accomplished,  the  no- 
blest and  first  created  of  the  Sons  of  God,*  in- 
ferior only,  to  the  one,  self-existent,  Father ;  — 
the  mysterious  incarnation  of  this  heavenly  mes- 
senger ;  —  the  miracles  that  authenticated  his 
divine  mission  ;  —  the  example  of  obedience  to 
God  and  love  to  man,  which  he  set,  as  a  shining 
light,  before  the  world  forever  ;  —  and,  lastly 
and  chiefly,  his  death  and  resurrection,  by  which 
the  covenant  of  mercy  was  sealed,  and  ♦'  life 
and  immortality  brought  to  light." 

"  Such,"  continued  the  Hermit,  «'  was  the  Me- 
diator, promised  through  all  time,  to  '  make 
reconciliation  for  iniquity,'  to  change  death  into 
life,  and  bring  « healing  on  his  wings '  to  a  dark- 
ened world.  Such  was  the  last  crowning  dis- 
pensation of  that  God  of  benevolence,  in  whoss 
hands  sin  and  death  are  but  instruments  of  ever- 
lasting good,  and  who,  through  apparent  evil 
and  temporary  retribution,  bringing  all  things 
'  out  of  darkness  into  his  marvellous  light,'  pro- 
ceeds watchfully  and  unchangingly  to  the  great, 
final  object  of  his  providence — the  restoration 
of  the  whole  human  race  to  purity  and  happi- 
ness !  "  ^ 


the  authorities  quoted  by  Athaiiasius  in  support  of  his  higii 
doctrines  of  co-eternity  and  co-essentiality.  What  Priestley 
says  is,  perhaps,  the  best  solution  of  these  inconsistencies  :- 
"Origen,  as  well  as  Clemens  Alexandriniis,  has  bcca 
thought  to  favor  the  Arian  principles  ;  but  he  did  it  only  \i 
words,  and  not  in  ideas." — Earli/  Opinions,  fyc.  Whatevel 
uncertainty,  however,  there  may  exWt  with  respect  /o  (1.1 
opinion  of  Origen  liimself  on  this  subject,  there  is  no  doijb 
that  the  doctrines  of  his  immediate  followers  were,  at  bast, 
Anti-Athanasian.  "So  many  Bishops  ot  Africa,"  saya 
Priestley,  "  were,  at  this  period  (between  the  year  25i  and 
258),  Unitarians,  that  Athanasius  says, '  The  Son  of  God ' 
meaning  his  divinity  —  'was  scarcely  any  longer  preachoj 
in  the  churches.' " 

s  This  benevolent  doctrine—  *hich  not  only  goes  fart; 
solve  the  great  problem  of  mors  and  physical  evil,  bul 
which  would,  if  received  more  generally,  tend  to  soften  tht 
spin:  of  uncharitableness,  so  fatally  prevalent  amo.ns  CLr<< 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


7^4 


i 


With  a  mind  astonished,  if  not  touched,  by 
thest-  discourses,  I  returned  to  my  cave,  and 
found  the  lamp,  as  before,  ready  lighted  to  re- 
ceive me.  The  volume  which  I  had  been  hith- 
erto studying,  was  replaced  by  another,  which 
lay  open  upon  the  table,  with  a  branch  of  fresh 
palrc  between  its  leaves.  Though  I  could  not 
doubt  to  whose  gentle  and  guardian  hand  I  was 
indebted  for  this  invisible  watchfulness  over  my 
itudies,  there  was  yet  a  something  in  it,  so  like 
ipiritual  interposition,  that  it  struck  me  with 
awe  ;  —  and  never  more  than  at  this  moment, 
when,  on  approaching  the  volume,  I  saw,  as  the 
light  glistened  over  its  silver  letters,'  that  it 
was  the  very  Book  of  Life  of  which  the  Her- 
mit had  spoken  ! 

The  midnight  hymn  of  the  Christians  had 
•ounded  through  the  valley,  before  I  had  yet 
raised  my  eyes  from  that  sacred  volume  ;  and 
.he  second  hour  of  the  sun  found  me  again  over 
its  pages. 


CHAPTER  XVni. 

is  this  mode  of  existence  I  had  now  passed 
•ome  dnys ;  —  my  mornings  devoted  to  readuig, 
my  nights  to  listening,  under  the  wide  canopy 
»f  heaven,  to  the  holy  eloquence  of  Melanius. 
The  perseverance  with  which  I  inquired,  and 
the  quickness  with  which  I  learned,  soon  suc- 
ceeded in  deceiving  my  benevolent  instructor, 
who  mistook  curiosity  for  zeal,  and  knowledge 
for  belief.  Alas  1  cold,  and  barren,  and  earthly 
was  that  knowledge  —  the  word  without  the 
epirit,  the  shape  without  the  life.  Even  when, 
as  a  relief  from  hypocrisy,  I  persuaded  myself 
that  I  believed,  it  was  but  a  brief  delusion,  a 
faith,  whose  hope  crumbled  at  the  touch  —  like 
the  fruit  of  the  desert  shrub,*  shining  and 
empty ! 

Rut,  though  my  8o\il  was  still  dark,  the  good 


tUn  socts  —  was  maintained  by  that  great  light  of  the  early 
"^urch,  Origen,  and  lias  nut  wanted  supporters  among  more 
ari'Jern  1'Ueoi(igiani<.  That  Tillotson  was  inclined  to  the 
<l,)i"Uon  ap|x;ars  from  his  sermon  preached  before  the  queen. 
Plley  is  su|i[x»'ed  to  have  held  the  same  amiable  doctrine; 
and  New  Ion  the  autlior  of  the  work  on  the  Prophecien)  is 
Aso  among  the  siipfiorters  of  it.  For  a  full  account  of  the 
irgument.'i  in  favor  of  this  opinion,  derived  both  from  ren- 
«on  ami  tho  express  language  of  Scripture,  see  Dr.  Sovth- 
mood  Smith's  very  interesting  work,  "  On  the  Divine  Gov- 
«mmeiit."  See  also  Magee  on  Jltmumenty  where  the  doc- 
trim  of  the  advtxates  of  Universal  Restoration  is  thus  brief- 
ly and,  I  bilievc,  fairly  explained :  — "  Beginning  with  the 
•j.aie;^ce  oC  an  infinitely  powerful,  wise,  and  good  ming. 


Hermit  saw  not  into  its  depths.  Tho  very  f» 
cility  of  my  belief;  which  might  have  suggestM 
some  doubt  of  its  sincerity,  was  but  rcgardedi 
by  his  innocent  ical,  as  a  more  signal  triumpl 
of  the  truth.  His  own  ingenuousness  led  hin. 
to  a  ready  trust  in  others  ;  and  the  examples  ot 
such  conversion  as  that  of  the  philosopher,  Jus- 
tin, who,  during  a  walk  by  the  sea  shore,  re 
ceived  tho  light  into  his  soul,  had  prepare  J  hina 
for  illuminations  of  tho  spirit,  even  more  rapid 
than  mine. 

During  all  this  time,  I  neither  saw  nor  heard 
of  Alethe ;  —  nor  could  my  patience  hava 
endured  through  so  long  a  privation,  had  not 
those  mute  vestiges  of  her  presence,  that  wel- 
comed me  every  night  on  my  return,  made  me 
fiel  that  I  was  etill  living  under  her  gentU 
influence,  and  that  her  sympathy  hung  rounc 
every  step  of  my  progress.  Once,  too,  when  1 
ventured  to  speak  her  name  to  Melanius,  though 
he  answered  not  my  inquiry,  there  was  a  smile, 
I  thought,  of  promise  upon  his  countenance, 
which  love,  far  more  alive  than  faith,  was  ready 
to  interpret  as  it  desired. 

At  length  —  it  was  on  the  sixth  or  sercntL 
evening  of  my  solitude,  when  I  lay  resting  at 
the  door  of  my  cave,  after  the  study  of  the  day 
—  I  was  startled  by  hearing  my  name  called 
loudly  from  the  opposite  rocks ;  and  looking  up, 
saw,  upon  the  cliff  near  the  deserted  grottoes, 
Melanius  and  —  O,  I  could  not  doubt  —  my 
Alethe  by  his  side  ! 

Though  I  had  never,  since  the  first  right  of 
my  return  from  the  desert,  ceased  to  flatter 
myself  with  tho  fancy  that  I  was  still  living  in 
her  presence,  tho  actual  sight  of  her  once  more 
made  me  feel  for  what  a  long  age  we  had  berc 
separated.  She  was  clothed  all  in  white,  and, 
as  she  stood  in  the  last  remains  of  the  stinshine, 
appeared  to  my  too  prophetic  fancy  like  a  part- 
ing spirit,  whqse  last  footsteps  on  earth  that 
pure  glory  encircled. 


as  the  A  ret  and  fundamental  principle  of  rational  leUghia, 
they  pronounce  the  essence  of  this  Betaf  to  be  lure,  aatf 
from  this  infer,  as  a  demonstraltle  coneeqBunce,  Uial  noM 
of  the  creatures  formed  by  such  a  Being  will  ever  ite  maf* 

eternally  miserable Since  God  (tbry  say)  wduM  M 

unjustly  in  inflicting  eternal  roiseiy  for  temporary  ciibmci 
the  suflerings  of  the  wicked  can  be  but  remedial,  aud  vO) 
terminate  in  a  complete  puriflcalion  (hwn  moral  dtsnrd'? 
and  in  their  ultimate  restoration  to  virtue  and  bappiueas  " 

»  The  Codex  Ct  nonianus  of  the  New  Tesiammit  la  mr' 
ten  in  silver  letters  on  a  purple  ground.  The  Ctidel  0» 
lonianus  of  the  Sepluagint  ver»lon  of  the  Old  Testaiae  U  'i 
supposed  to  be  the  identical  copy  thai  tllo«as<  to  Ot>«H 

<  Vide  UamiUf»*$  JEfffUacM. 


\4 


THE  jiPICJREAN 


With  a  delight  only  to  be  imagined,  I  saw 
fliem  descend  the  rocks,  and,  placing  themselves 
in  the  boat,  proceed  directly  towards  my  cave. 
To  disgU'-se  from  Melanius  the  mutual  delight 
'  with  which  ws  again  met  was  impossible ;  —  nor 
did  Alethfi  even  attempt  to  make  a  secret  of 
her  joj-.  Though  blushing  at  her  own  happi- 
aess,  as  little  could  her  frank  nature  conceal  it, 
Is  the  clear  waters  of  Ethiopia  can  hide  their 
gold.  Every  look,  every  word,  bespoke  a  ful- 
ness of  affection,  to  which,  doubtful  as  I  was 
of  our  tenure  of  happiness,  I  knew  not  how  to 
respond. 

I  was  not  long,  however,  left  ignorant  of  the 
I  right  fate  that  awaited  me;  but,  as  we  wan- 
dered or  rcs«nd  among  the  rocks,  learned  every 
thing  that  had  been  arranged  since  our  parting. 
She  had  made  the  Hermit,  I  found,  acquainted 
with  all  that  had  passed  between  us  ;  had  told 
him,  withou'  reserve,  every  incident  of  Our 
voyage  —  th»j  avowals,  the  demonstrations  of 
affection  on  one  side,  and  the  deep  sentiment 
that  gratitude  had  awakened  on  the  other.  Too 
wise  fo  regard  affections  so  natural  with  sever- 
ty  —  knowing  that  they  were  of  heaven,  and 
out  made  evil  by  man  —  the  good  Hermit  had 
heard  of  our  attachment  with  pleasure ;  and, 
fully  satisfied,  as  to  the  honor  and  purity  of  my 
views,  by  the  fidelity  with  which  I  had  delivered 
my  trust  into  his  hands,  saw,  in  my  affection 
for  the  young  orphan,  but  a  providential  re- 
source against  that  friendless  solitude  in  which 
liis  death  must  soon  leave  her. 

As,  listening  eagerly,  I  collected  these  par- 
ticulars from  their  discourse,  I  could  hardly 
trust  my  ears.  It  seemed  a  happiness  too  great 
to  be  true,  to  be  real ;  nor  can  words  convey 
any  idea  of  the  joy,  the  shame,  the  wonder  with 
which  I  listened  while  the  holy  man  himself 
declared  that  he  awaited  but  the  moment,  when 
he  should  find  me  worthy  of  becoming  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Christian  Church,  to  give  me  also  the 
hand  of  Alethe  in  that  sacred  union,  which 
ilone  sanctifies  love,  and  makes  the  faith,  which 
it  pledges,  holy.  It  was  but  yesterday,  he 
added,  that  his  young  charge,  herself,  after  a 
preparation  of  prayer  and  repentance,  such  as 
even  her  pure  spirit  required,  had  been  admit- 
ted, by  the  sacred  ordinance  of  bapUsm,  into 
the  bosom  of  the  faith ;  —  and  the  white  gar- 
ment she  wore,  and  the  ilng  of  gold  on  her 

1  See,  for  the  custom  among  the  early  Christians  of  wear- 
ing wliite  for  a  few  days  after  baptism,  Amin-os.  de  Myst.  — 
With  respect  to  the  ring,  the  Bishop  of  Lincoln  says,  in  liis 
■'ork  on  Teitull  in.  "  The  natural   inferch^'j  from  these 


finger,'  "were  symbols,"  he  added,  "of  tint 
New  Life  into  which  she  had  oeen  iiiiliated." 

I  raised  my  eyes  to  hers  as  ne  spoke,  cuf 
withdrew  them  again,  dazzled  and  confused 
Even  her  beauty,  to 'my  imagination,  seemed  tc 
have  undergone  some  brightening  change  :  anQ 
the  contrast  between  that  open  and  Itappy  coun- 
tenance, and  the  unMcst  brow  of  the  infidd 
that  stood  before  her,  abashed  me  into  a  sens« 
of  unworthiness,  and  almost  theckcd  my  rap- 
ture. 

To  that  night,  howcvex,  I  look  back,  as  a& 
epoch  in  my  existeacfc.  It  proved  that  sorrow 
is  not  the  only  a-H  dkt-ner  of  devotion,  but  that 
joy  may  sometimes  quicken  the  holy  spark  into 
life.  Returmng  to  my  cave,  with  a  heart  fulT, 
even  to  oppression,  of  its  happiness,  I  could  find 
no  other  reiief  to  my  overcharged  feelings,  than 
that  of  throwing  myself  on  my  knees,  and  ut- 
tering, for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  a  heartfelt 
prayer,  that  if,  indeed,  there  were  a  Being  who 
watched  over  mankind,  he  would  send  down 
one  ray  of  his  truth  into  my  darkened  soul,  and 
make  it  worthy  of  the  blessings,  both  here  and 
hereafter,  proffered  to  it ! 

My  days  now  rolled  on  in  a  perfect  dream  of 
happiness.  Every  hour  of  the  morning  waa 
welcomed  as  bringing  nearer  and  nearer  tha 
blest  time  of  sunset,  when  the  Hermit  and 
Alethe  never  failed  to  visit  my  now  charmed 
cave,  where  her  smile  left,  at  each  parting,  a 
light  that  lasted  till  her  return.  Then,  our 
rambles,  together,  by  starlight,  over  the  moun- 
tain ;  our  pauses,  from  time  to  time,  to  contem- 
plate the  wonders  of  the  bright  heaven  above 
us ;  our  repose  by  the  cistern  of  the  rock,  and 
our  silent  listening,  through  hours  that  seemed 
minutes,  to  the  holy  eloquence  of  our  teach- 
er ;  all,  all  was  happiness  of  the  most  heartfelt 
kind,  and  such  as  even  the  doubts,  the  cold 
lingering  doubts,  that  still  hung,  like  a  mist, 
around  my  heart,  could  neither  cluud  noi  chilL 

As  soon  as  the  moonlight  nights  returned,  we 
used  to  venture  into  the  desert ;  and  those 
sands,  which  had  lately  looked  so  desolate,  in 
my  eyes,  now  assumed  even  a  cheerful  and 
smiling  aspect.  To  the  light,  innocent  heart  of 
Alethe,  every  thing  was  a  source  of  enjoyment. 
For  her,  even  the  desert  had  its  jewels  and 
flowers ;  and,  sometimes,  her  delight  was  to 
search  among  the  sands  for  those  beautiful  peb. 

worda  (TertuU.  de  PudicUiSl)  appears  to  be,  tliat  a  ring  u*M 
to  be  given  in  bapitism ;  but  I  have  found  no  otner  mc«  at 
such  a  custom." 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


4U 


olea  of  jasper  '  that  abound  in  them  ;  —  some- 
tiznes  her  eyes  would  sparkle  with  pleasure  on 
finding,  perhaps,  a  stunted  marigold,  or  one  of 
those  bitter,  scarlet  flowers,*  that  lend  their  dry 
mockery  of  ornament  to  the  desert.  In  all  these 
pursuits  and  pleasures  the  good  Hermit  took  a 
share  —  mingling  occasionally  with  them  the 
reflections  of  a  benevolent  piety,  that  lent  its 
own  cheerful  hue  to  all  the  works  of  creation, 
and  saw  the  consoling  truth,  "  God  is  Love," 
written  legibly  every  where. 

Such  was,  for  a  few  weeks,  my  blissful  life. 
O,  mornings  of  hope,  O,  nights  of  happiness, 
with  what  melancholy  pleasure  do  I  retrace 
your  flight,  and  how  reluctantly  pass  to  the  sad 
events  that  followed  ! 

During  this  time,  in  compliance  with  the 
wishes  of  Mclanius,  who  seemed  unwilling  that 
I  should  become  wholly  estranged  from  the 
world,  I  used  occasionally  to  pay  a  visit  to  the 
neighboring  city,  AntinoC,*  which,  being  the 
capital  of  the  Thebald,  is  the  centre  of  all  the 
luxury  of  Upper  Egypt.  But  hero,  so  changed 
was  my  every  feeling  by  the  all-absorbing  pas- 
sion which  now  possessed  me,  that  I  sauntered 
along,  wholly  uninterested  by  either  the  scenes 
or  the  people  that  surrounded  mc,  and,  sigh- 
ing for  that  rocky  solitude  whore  my  Aletho 
breathed,  felt  this  to  be  the  wilderness,  and  that 
the  world. 

Even  the  thoughts  of  my  own  native  Athens, 
that  at  every  step  were  ceilled  up,  by  the  light 
Grecian  architecture  of  this  imperial  city,  did 
not  awaken  one  single  regret  in  my  heart —  one 
wish  to  exchange  even  an  hour  of  my  desert 
for  the  best  luxuries  and  honors  that  awaited 
me  in  the  Garden.  I  saw  the  arches  of  tri- 
umph ;  —  I  walked  under  the  superb  portico, 
which  encircles  the  whole  city  with  its  marble 
shade  ;  —  I  stood  in  the  Circus  of  the  Sun,  by 
w)  ose  rose-colored  pillars  the  mysterious  move- 
ments of  the  Nile  are  measured  ;  —  on  all  these 
Droud  monuments  of  glory  and  art,  as  well  as 
in  the  gay  multitude  that  enlivened  them,  I 
ooked  with  an  unheeding  eye.  If  they  awa- 
kened in  me  any  thought,  it  was  the  mournful 
Idea,  that,  one  day,  like  Thebes  and  Ilcliopolis, 
this  pageant  would  pass  away,  leaving  nothing 
behind  but  a  few  mouldering  ruins  —  like  sea 
shells  found  where  the  ocean  has  been  —  to  tell 
that  the  great  tide  of  Life  was  once  there  I 


1  Vide  Clarke. 

i  "  Lea  Jtaembryanlhemum  nodiJUrum  et  ZfjtfkfBmm  «M- 
MMM,  I  (anlM  gra«8«s  doii  diaeru  rejct^ei ,  4  caufe  da  laor 
04 


But,  though  indiflerent  thus  to  oil  that  had 
formerly  attracted  me,  there  were  subjec**,  ono« 
alien  to  my  heart,  on  which  it  was  now  most 
tremblingly  alive  ;  and  some  rumor*  which  had 
reached  me,  in  one  of  my  visits  to  the  city,  of 
an  expected  change  in  the  iwlicy  of  the  Em- 
peror towards  the  Christians,  filled  my  mind 
with  apprehensions  as  now  as  they  were  dread- 
ful to  me. 

The  toleration  and  even  favor  wliich  the  Chrio- 
tians  enjoyed,  during  the  first  four  years  of  the 
reign  of  Valerian,  had  removed  from  them  all 
fear  of  a  rencM-al  of  those  horrors,  which  thev 
had  experienced  under  the  rule  of  his  prede- 
cessor, Decius.  Of  late,  however,  some  leas 
friendly  dispositions  had  manifested  themsclvM 
The  bigots  of  the  court,  taking  alarm  at  the 
rapid  spread  of  the  new  faith,  1  ad  succeeded  in 
filling  the  mind  of  the  raom.rch  with  that  re« 
ligious  jealousy,  which  is  tl.e  ever-ready  parent 
of  cruelty  and  injustice.  Among  these  coun- 
sellors of  evil  was  Macrianus,  the  Pnetoriac 
Prefect,  who  was,  by  birth,  an  Egyptian,  and 
had  long  made  himself  notorious  —  so  akin  is 
superstition  to  intolerance  —  by  his  addiction 
to  the  dark  practices  of  demon  worship  and 
magic. 

From  this  minister,  who  was  now  high  in  the 
favor  of  Valerian,  the  new  measures  of  severity 
against  the  Christians  were  expected  to  emanate. 
All  tongues,  in  all  quarters,  were  busy  with  the 
news.  In  the  streets,  in  the  public  gardens,  oi 
the  steps  of  the  temples,  I  saw,  every  where, 
groups  of  inquirers  collected,  and  heard  the 
name  of  Macrianus  upon  every  tongue.  It  was 
dreadful,  too,  to  observe,  in  the  countenanced 
of  those  who  spoke,  the  variety  of  feeling  with 
which  the  rumor  was  discussed,  according  aa 
they  feared  or  desired  its  truth  —  according  as 
they  were  likely  to  be  among  the  torturers  or 
the  victims. 

Alarmed,  though  still  ignorant  of  the  whole 
extent  of  the  danger,  I  hurried  back  to  the  ro* 
vine,  and,  going  at  once  to  the  grotto  of  Mela* 
nius,  detailed  to  him  every  particular  of  the  in- 
telligence I  had  collected.  He  listened  to  me 
with  a  composure,  which  I  mistook,  alns  !  fot 
confidence  in  his  own  security ;  and,  naming 
the  hour  for  our  evening  walk,  retired  into  hii 
grotto. 

At  the   acciutomcd    time,   accompanied  b} 


icrefi,  par  Im  chain«au>,  las  cMvMs,  •(  l« 
DtliU  ufO»  tlu  PlamU  ^£fj^ 
*  Vide  aatjry  and  <ittrmUn 


H6 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


AJethe,  he  came  to  my  care.  It  was  evident 
that  he  had  not  communica;ed  to  her  the  intel- 
ligence which  I  had  brought,  for  never  hath 
brow  worn  such  happiness  as  that  which  now 
clayed  around  hers :  —  it  Avas,  alas  !  not  of  this 
earth.  Melanius,  himself,  though  composed, 
was  thoughtful  ;  and  the  solemnity,  almost  ap- 
proaching to  melancholy,  with  which  he  placed 
the  hand  of  Alethe  in  mine  —  in  the  perform- 
Rnce,  too,  of  a  ceremony  that  ou^ht  to  have 
tilled  my  heart  with  joy —  saddened  and  alarmed 
me.  This  ceremony  was  our  betrothment,  the 
»ct  of  plighting  oui  faith  to  each  other,  which 
we  now  solemnized  on  the  rock  before  the  door 
of  my  cave,  in  the  face  of  that  calm,  sunset 
heaven,  whose  one  star  stood  as  our  witness. 
After  a  blessing  froir.  the  Hermit  upon  our 
spousal  pledge,  I  placed  the  ring  —  the  earnest 
of  our  future  union  —  on  her  finger,  and,  in  the 
blush,  with  which  she  surrendered  to  me  her 
whole  heart  at  that  instant,  forgot  every  thing 
but  my  happiness,  and  felt  secure  even  against 
fate! 

We  took  our  accustomed  walk,  that  evening, 
ever  the  rocks  and  on  the  desert.  So  bright 
was  the  moon  —  more  like  the  daylight,  indeed, 
of  other  climes  —  that  we  could  plainly  see  the 
tracks  of  the  wild  antelopes  in  the  sand ;  and 
it  was  not  without  a  slight  tremble  of  feeling  in 
his  voice,  as  if  some  melancholy  analogy  oc- 
curred to  him  as  he  spoke,  that  the  good  Hermit 
said,  "I  have  observed  in  the  course  of  my 
walks,'  that  wherever  the  track  of  that  gentle 
animal  appears,  there  is,  almost  always,  found 
the  footjDrint  of  a  beast  of  prey  near  it."  He 
regained,  however,  his  usual  cheerfulness  before 
we  parted,  and  iixed  the  following  evening  for 
an  excursion  on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine,  to 
B  point  looking,  he  said,  "  towards  that  north- 
em  region  of  the  desert,  where  the  hosts  of 
the  Lord  encamped  in  their  departure  out  of 
bondage." 

Though,  when  Alethe  was  present,  all  my 
fears  even  for  herself  wore  forgotten  in  that  per- 
petual el;;ment  of  happiness,  which  encircled 
her  like  the  air  that  she  breathed,  no  sooner  was 
I  alone,  tt^an  vague  terrors  and  bodings  crowded 
upon  me.  In  vain  did  I  endeavor  to  reason 
away  my  fears,  by  dwelling  only  on  the  most 
cheering  circumstances  —  on  the  revenence  with 

1  "  Je  remarquai,  avec  une  r6flcxion  triste,  qu'un  animal 
lie  proie  acrompagno  pre^ue  toujours  les  pas  de  ce  joli  et 
frtle  individu." 

2  '<  T'hos;.  Christians  who  sacrificed  to  idols  to  save  them- 
Mlves  were  tailed  by  various  names,  ThurificaH,  SacrUicatC 


which  Melanius  was  regarded,  even  by  the  Pa« 
gans,  and  the  inviolate  security  with  which  hi 
had  lived  through  the  most  perilous  periods, 
not  only  safe  himself,  but  affording  sanctusry  in 
the  depths  of  his  grottoes  to  others.  Though 
somewhat  calmed  by  these  considerations,  ye' 
when  at  length  I  sunk  off  to  sleep,  dark,  hor- 
rible dreams  took  possession  of  my  mind- 
Scenes  of  death  and  of  torment  passed  confused- 
ly before  me  ;  and,  when  I  awoke,  it  was  with 
the  fearful  impression  that  all  these  horrors  were 
real. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

At  length,  the  day  dawned — ti  at  dreadful 
day.  Impatient  to  be  relieved  fr:m  my  sus- 
pense, I  threw  myself  into  my  boat — the  same 
in  which  we  had  performed  our  happy  voj'age  — 
and,  as  fast  as  oars  could  speed  me,  hurriei' 
away  to  the  city.  I  found  the  suburbs  silen 
and  solitary,  but,  as  I  approached  the  Forum 
loud  yells,  like  those  of  barbarians  in  combat, 
struck  on  my  ear,  and,  when  I  entered  it  — 
great  God,  what  a  spectacle  presented  itself ! 
The  imperial  edict  against  the  Christians  had 
arrived  during  the  night,  and  already  the  wild 
fury  of  bigotry  was  let  loose. 

Under  a  canopy,  in  the  middle  oi  the  Forum, 
was  the  tribunal  of  the  Governor.  Two  statues 
—  one  of  Apollo,  the  other  of  Osiris  —  stood  at 
the  bottom  of  the  steps  that  led  up  to  his  judg- 
ment seat.  Before  these  iuols  were  shrines,  to 
which  the  devoted  Chrstians  were  dragged  from 
all  quarters  by  the  soldiers  and  mob,  and  there 
compelled  to  recant,  by  throwing  incense  into 
the  flame,  or,  on  their  refusal,  hurried  away  to 
torture  and  death.  It  was  an  appalling  scene ;  — 
the  consternation,  the  cries  of  some  of  the  vic- 
tims —  the  pale,  silent  resolution  of  others  ;  — 
the  fierce  shouts  of  laughter  that  broke  frora 
the  multitude,  when  the  dropping  of  the  frank- 
incense on  the  altar  proclaimed  some  denier  of 
Christ ;  *  and  the  fiend-like  triumph  with  which 
the  courageous  Confessors,  who  avowed  thcii 
faith,  were  led  away  to  the  flames ;  —  never 
could  I  have  conceived  such  an  assemblage  of 
horrors  ! 

Though  I  gazed  but  for  a  few  minutes,  in 

Mittentes,  M'egatores,"  &c.  Baronius  mentions  a  bishop  of 
this  period  (253),  Marcellinus,  who,  yisMing  to  the  threats 
of  the  Gentiles,  threw  incense  upon  the  altar.  Vide  Ainos 
contra  OenU  lib.  vii. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


74) 


tboBti  mi^'vataa  I  felt  and  fancied  enough  for 
3rears  Already  did  the  fonn  of  Alethe  appear 
to  flit  before  me  through  that  tumult ;  —  I 
De&rd  '.t  ;m  shout  her  name  ;  —  her  shriek  fell 
on  mj  ear ;  and  the  very  thought  so  palsied  me 
wi*^  i,erroi,  ..  at  I  stood  fixed  and  statue-like  on 
!i\e  spot. 

Recollfr?ting,  however,  the  fearful  preciousness 
'if  every  moment,  and  that  —  perhaps,  at  this 
Tery  instant  —  some  emissaries  of  blood  might 
be  on  thc>r  way  to  the  Grottoes,  I  rushed  wildly 
out  ci  the  Forum,  and  made  my  way  to  the 
quay. 

The  streets  were  now  crowded;  but  I  ran 
headlong  through  the  multitude,  and  w»  al- 
ready under  the  portico  leading  down  t  the 
river  —  already  eaw  the  boat  that  was  to  bear  me 
to  Alethe  —  when  a  Centurion  stood  sternly  in 
my  path,  and  I  was  surrounded  and  arrested  by 
soldiers  !  It  was  in  vain  that  I  implored,  that  I 
struggled  with  them  as  for  life,  assuring  them 
that  I  was  a  stranger  —  that  I  was  an  Atheruan 
—  that  I  was  —  not  a  Christian.  The  precipita- 
tion of  my  flight  was  sufficient  evidence  against 
me,  and  unrelentingly,  and  by  force,  they  bore 
me  away  to  the  quarters  of  their  Chief. 

It  was  enough  to  drive  me  at  once  to  mad- 
ness !  Two  hours,  two  frightful  houra,  was  I 
kept  waiting  the  arrival  of  the  Tribune  of  their 
Legion '  —  my  brain  burning  with  a  thousand 
fears  and  imaginations,  which  every  passing 
minute  made  but  more  likely  to  be  realized. 
All  I  could  collect,  too,  from  the  conversations 
of  those  around  me  but  added  to  the  agonizing 
apprehensions  with  which  I  was  racked.  Troops, 
it  was  said,  had  been  sent  in  all  directions 
through  the  neighborhood,  to  bring  in  the  re- 
bellious Christians,  and  make  them  bow  before 
the  Gocb  of  the  Empire.  With  horror,  too,  I 
heard  of  Orcus  —  Orcus,  the  High  Priest  of 
Memphis  —  as  one  of  the  principal  instigators 
of  thi«  ftinguinary  edict,  and  as  here  present  in 
Antinoe,  animating  and  directing  its  execution. 

In  this  state  of  torture  I  remained  till  the  ar- 
rival of  the  Tribune.  Absorbed  in  my  own 
thoughts,  I  had  not  perceived  his  entrance ;  — 
tj!.,  hearing  a  voice,  in  a  tone  of  friendly  sur- 
prise, exiiaim,  "  Alciphron  !  "  I  looked  up,  and 
in  this  legionary  Chief  recognized  a  young 
Koman  of  rank,  who  had  held  a  military  com- 
mand, the  year  before,  at  Athens,  and  was  one 
of  the  most  distinguished  visitors  of  the  Gar- 
den.    It  was  no  time,  however,  lor  courtesies :  — 

I  A  rank,  re^iembling  that  of  ColooaL 


he  was  proceeding  with  all  cordiality  to  greaf 
me,  but,  having  heard  him  order  my  instant  r» 
lease,  I  could  wait  for  no  more.  Acknowl- 
edging his  kindness  but  by  a  grasp  of  the  hantl 
I  flew  ofi",  like  one  frantic,  through  the  street^ 
and,  in  a  few  minutes,  was  on  the  river. 

My  sole  hope  had  been  to  reach  the  Grottoct 
before  any  of  the  detached  parties  should  ar* 
rive,  and,  by  a  timely  flight  across  the  desert, 
rescue,  at  least,  Alethe  from  their  fur}.  The 
ill-fated  delay  that  had  occurred  rendered  this 
hope  almost  desperate ;  but  the  tranquillity  I 
found  every  where  as  I  proceeded  tlown  th« 
river,  and  my  fond  confidence  in  the  Meradnau 
of  the  Hermit's  retreat,  kept  my  heart  from 
sinking  altogether  under  its  terrors. 

Between  the  current  and  my  oars,  the  boat 
flew,  with  the  speed  of  wind,  along  the  waters; 
and  I  was  already  near  the  rocks  of  the  ravine, 
when  I  saw,  turning  out  of  the  canal  into  the 
river,  a  barge  crowded  with  people,  and  glitter- 
ing with  arms  !  How  did  I  ever  survive  the 
shock  of  that  sight  i  The  oars  dropped,  as  if 
struck  out  of  my  hands,  into  the  water,  and  I 
sat,  helplessly  gazing,  as  that  terrific  vision  ap- 
proached. In  a  few  minutes,  the  current  brought 
us  together  ;  —  and  I  saw,  on  the  deck  of  tho 
barge,  Alethe  herself  and  tho  Hermit  sur- 
rounded by  soldiers  ! 

Vn'e  were  already  passing  each  other,  when, 
with  a  desperate  effort,  I  sprang  from  my  boat 
and  lighted  upon  tho  edge  of  their  TcaaeL  I 
knew  not  what  I  did,  for  despair  was  my  only 
prompter.  Snatching  at  tho  sword  of  one  a* 
the  soldiers,  as  I  stood  tottering  on  tho  edge,  I 
had  succeeded  in  wresting  it  out  of  his  hands, 
when,  at  tho  same  moment,  I  received  a  thrtut 
of  a  lance  from  one  of  his  comrades,  and  fell 
backward  into  tho  river.  I  can  j- Jt  remember 
rising  again  and  making  a  grasp  at  the  side  of 
the  vessel ;  —  but  the  shock,  and  the  faintness 
from  my  wound,  deprived  mo  of  all  conscious- 
ness, and  a  shriek  from  Alethe,  as  I  sunk,  is  all 
I  can  recollect  of  what  followed. 

Would  I  had  then  died  !  —  Yet,  no,  Almighty 
Being  —  I  should  have  died  in  darkxuM,  and  1 
have  lived  to  know  Thee  ! 

On  returning  to  my  senses,  I  found  myself 
reclined  on  a  couch,  in  s  splendid  apartment, 
the  Avhole  api^saranco  of  which  being  Grecian. 
I,  for  a  moment,  forgot  all  that  had  passed,  and 
imagined  myself  in  my  own  homo  st  Athens 
But  too  soon  the  whole  dreadful  certainty 
flashed  upon  me;  end,  starting  wildly  — dis. 
abled  as  I  was— from  my  couch,  I  called  loud 


JiS 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


ly,  and  •with  the  shriek  of  a  maniac,  upon 
Alethe. 

I  was  in  the  house,  I  then  found,  of  my  friend 
and  disciijlc,  the  young  Tribune,  who  had  made 
the  Governor  acquainted  with  my  name  and 
condition,  and  had  received  me  under  his  roof, 
when  brought,  bleeding  and  insensible,  to  Anti- 
QoS.  From  him  I  now  learned  at  once  —  for  I 
co"al.i  not  wait  for  detiils  —  the  sum  of  all  that 
tad  happened  in  that  dreadful  interval.  Mela- 
nius  was  no  more  —  Alethe  still  alive,  but  in 
prison  ! 

'•  Take  me  to  her  "  —  I  had  but  time  to  say 
-  "  take  me  to  her  instantly,  and  let  me  die  by 
her  side  "  —  when,  nature  again  failing  under 
such  shocks,  I  relapsed  into  insensibility.  In 
this  state  I  continued  for  near  an  hour,  and,  on 
recovering,  found  the  Tribune  by  my  side.  The 
horrors,  he  said,  of  the  Forum  were,  for  that 
day,  over  —  but  what  the  morrow  might  bring, 
he  shuddered  to  contemplate.  His  nature,  it 
was  plain,  revolted  from  the  inhuman  duties  in 
which  ho  was  engaged.  Touched  by  the  ago- 
nies he  saw  me  suffer,  he,  in  some  degree,  re- 
lieved them,  by  promising  that  I  should,  at 
nightfall,  be  conveyed  to  the  prison,  and,  if 
possible,  through  his  influence,  gain  access  to 
Alethe.  She  might  yet,  he  added,  be  saved, 
could  I  succeed  in  persuading  her  to  comply 
with  the  terms  of  the  edict,  and  make  sacrifice 
to  the  Gods.  —  "  Otherwise,"  said  he,  "  there  is 
no  hope  ;  —  the  vindictive  Orcus,  who  has  re- 
sisted even  this  short  respite  of  mercy,  will,  to- 
morrow, inexorably  demand  his  prey." 

He  then  related  to  me,  at  my  own  request  — 
hough  every  word  was  torture  —  all  the  har- 
rowing details  of  the  proceeding  before  the  Tri- 
bunal. "  I  have  seen  courage,"  said  he,  "  in  its 
noblest  forms,  in  the  field ;  but  the  calm  intre- 
pidity with  which  that  aged  Hermit  endured 
torments  —  which  it  was  hardly  less  torment 
to  witness  —  surpassed  all  that  I  could  have 
conceived  of  human  fortitude  !  " 

My  poor  Alethe,  too  —  in  describing  to  me 
aer  conduct,  the  brave  man  wept  like  a  child. 
Overwhelmed,  he  said,  at  first  by  her  apprehen- 
sions for  my  safety,  she  had  given  way  to  a  full 
buis*.  of  womanly  weakness.  But  no  sooner 
w&a  she  brought  before  the  Tribunal,  and  the 


1  The  merit  of  the  confession  "  Chnstianus  sum,"  or 
Christiana  sum,"  was  considerably  enhanced  by  the  clear- 
ness ana  distmctncss  witli  wliich  it  was  pronounced.    £u- 
l«Mtu  mentions  the  martyr  Vetius  as  making  it  Xannporary 


declaration  of  her  faith  was  demanded  of  her 
than  a  spirit  almost  supernatural  seemed  to  ani  • 
mate  her  whole  form.  "  She  raised  her  eyes,' 
said  he,  "  calmly,  but  with  fervor,  to  heaven, 
while  a  blush  was  the  only  sign  of  mortal  feeling 
on  her  features  ;  —  and  the  clear,  sweet,  and  un- 
trembUng  voice,  with  which  she  pronounced  her 
own  doom,  in  the  words,  '  I  am  a  Christian  ! ' 
sent  a  thrill  of  admiration  and  pity  throughout 
the  multitude.  Her  youth,  her  loveliness,  af- 
fected all  hearts,  and  a  cry  of  '  Save  the  young 
maiden  ! '  was  heard  in  all  directions." 

The  implacable  Orcus,  however,  would  not 
hear  of  mercy.  Resenting,  as  it  appeared,  with 
all  his  deadliest  rancor,  not  only  her  own  escape 
from  his  toils,  but  the  aid  with  which  she  had, 
so  fatally  to  his  views,  assisted  mine,  he  de- 
manded loudly  and  in  the  name  of  the  insulted 
sar.ctuary  of  Isis,  her  instant  death.  It  was  but 
by  the  firm  intervention  of  the  Governor,  who 
shared  the  general  sympathy  in  her  fate,  that 
the  delay  of  another  day  was  granted  to  give 
a  chance  to  the  young  maiden  of  yet  recalling 
her  confession,  and  thus  affording  some  pretext 
for  saving  her. 

Even  in  yielding,  with  evident  reluctance,  to 
this  respite,  the  inhuman  Priest  would  yet  ac- 
company it  with  some  mark  of  his  vengeance. 
Whether  for  the  pleasure  (observed  the  Trib- 
une) of  mingling  mockery  with  his  cruelty,  or 
as  a  warning  to  her  of  the  doom  she  must  ulti- 
mately expect,  he  gave  orders  that  there  should 
be  tied  round  her  brow  one  of  those  chaplets  of 
coral,'  with  which  it  is  the  custom  of  young 
Christian  maidens  to  array  themselves  on  the 
day  of  their  martyrdom  ;  —  "  and,  thus  fearful- 
ly adorned,"  said  he,  "  she  was  led  away,  amidst 
the  gaze  of  the  pitying  multitude,  to  prison." 

With  these  harrowing  details  the  short  in- 
terval till  nightfall  —  every  minute  of  which 
seemed  an  age  —  was  occupied.  As  soon  as  it 
grew  dark,  I  was  placed  upon  a  littor  —  my 
wound,  though  not  dangerous,  requiring  such 
a  conveyance  —  and,  under  the  guidance  of  my 
friend,  I  was  conducted  to  the  prison  Through 
his  interest  with  the  guard,  we  were  without 
ditficulty  admitted,  and  I  was  borne  into  the 
chamber  where  the  maiden  lay  immured.  Even 
the    veteran    guardian    of   the    place    seemed 


s  Une  "  de  ces  couronnes  de  grain  de  corail,  doiit  les  vi 
erges  martyres  ore  ient  leurs  ctaeveux  en  allant  i,  la  morL' 
Les  Martyri. 


THE  EPICUREAN. 


u* 


touched  with  compassion  for  his  prisoner,  and 
supposing  her  to  be  asleep,  had  the  litter  placed 
ICntly  near  her. 

She  was  half  reclining,  with  her  face  hid  be- 
neath her  hands,  upon  a  couch  —  at  the  foot 
of  which  stood  an  idol,  over  whose  hideous  fea- 
tures a  lamp  of  naphtha,  that  hung  from  the 
ceiling,  shed  a  wild  and  ghastly  glare.  On  a 
tBblc  before  he  image  stood  a  censer,  with  a 
ima'.l  vessel  of  incense  beside  it  —  one  grain  of 
which,  thrown  voluntarily  into  the  flame,  would, 
even  now,  save  that  precious  life.  So  strange, 
BO  fearful  was  the  whole  scene,  that  I  almost 
doubted  its  reality.  Alcthe  !  my  own,  happy 
Alethe  !  cati  it,  I  thought,  be  thou  that  I  look 
upon  ? 

She  now,  slowly,  and  with  difficulty,  raised 
her  head  from  the  couch,  on  obser^'ing  which, 
the  kind  Tribune  withdrew,  and  wo  were  left 
alone.  There  was  a  paleness,  as  of  death,  over 
ner  features  ;  and  those  eyes,  which,  when  last 
I  saw  them,  were  but  too  bright,  too  happy  for 
this  world,  looked  dim  and  sunken.  In  raising 
herself  up,  she  put  her  hand,  as  if  from  pain,  to 
her  forehead,  whose  marble  hue  but  appeared 
more  deathlike  from  those  red  bands  that  lay  so 
awfully  across  it. 

After  wandering  for  a  minute  vaguely,  her 
eyes  at  length  rested  upon  me  —  and,  vnth  a 
shriek,  half  terror,  half  joy,  she  sprung  from 
the  couch,  and  sunk  upon  her  knees  by  my 
side.  She  had  believed  me  dead;  and,  even 
now,  scarcely  trusted  her  senses.  "  My  hus- 
band !  my  love !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  •*  O,  if  thou 
comest  to  call  me  from  this  world,  behold  I  am 
ready  ! "  In  sajring  thus,  she  pointed  wildly 
to  that  ominous  wreath,  and  then  dropped  her 
head  down  upon  my  knee,  as  if  an  arrow  had 
pierced  it. 

"Alethe!"  I  cried  —  terrified  to  the  very 
Bcul  by  that  mysterious  pang  —  and,  as  if  the 
sound  of  my  voice  had  reanimated  her,  she 
looked  up,  with  a  faint  smile,  in  my  face.  Her 
thoughts,  which  had  evidently  been  wandering, 
became  collected ;  and  in  her  joy  at  my  safety, 
her  sorrow  at  my  suffering,  she  forgot  entirely 
the  fate  that  impended  over  herself.  Love,  in- 
nocent love,  alone  occupied  all  her  thoughts ; 
ind  tlie  warmth,  the  affection,  the  dcvotedness, 
with  which  she  spoke  —  O,  how,  at  any  other 
moment,  I  would  have  blessed,  have  lingered 
upon  every  word  ! 

But  the  time  flew  fast  —  that  dreadful  morrow 
was  approaching.  Already  I  saw  her  writhing 
>D  the  bandi>  uf  the  torturer  —  the  flames,  the 


racks,  the  wheels  were  before  my  eyes !  Half 
frantic  with  the  fear  that  her  resolution  wa« 
fixed,  I  flung  myself  from  the  litter  in  an  agony 
of  weeping,  and  supplicated  her,  by  the  lore  she 
bore  me,  by  the  happiness  that  awaited  us,  by 
her  own  merciful  God,  who  was  too  good  to 
require  such  a  sacrifice  — by  all  that  the  moat 
passionate  anxiety  could  dictate,  I  implored  that 
she  would  avert  from  as  the  doom  *^»t  wtt 
coming,  and  —  but  for  once  —  comply  with  the 
vain  ceremony  demanded  of  her. 

Shrinking  from  me,  nn  I  spoke  —  but  with  • 
look  more  of  sorrow  than  reproach  —  ••  What, 
thou,  too  !  "  she  said  mournfully  —  ••  thou,  int/» 
whlose  inmost  spirit  I  had  fondly  hoped  the 
same  light  had  entered  as  into  my  own !  No, 
never  be  thou  leagued  with  them  who  would 
tempt  me  to  •  make  shipwreck  of  my  faith ! ' 
Thou,  who  couldst  alone  bind  me  to  life,  use 
not,  I  entreat  thee,  thy  power ;  but  let  me 
die,  as  He  I  serve  hath  commanded  —  die  for 
the  Truth.  Remember  the  holy  Ic8M>ns  we 
heard  together  on  those  nights,  those  happy 
nights,  when  both  the  present  and  future  smiled 
upon  us  —  when  even  the  gift  of  eternal  life 
came  more  welcome  to  my  srul,  from  the  glad 
conviction  that  thou  wert  to  be  a  sharer  in  its 
blessings  ;  —  shall  I  forfeit  now  that  divine  priv- 
ilege r  shall  I  deny  the  true  Qod,  whom  we  ther 
learned  to  love  ? 

"  No,  my  own  betrothed,"  she  continued  - 
pointing  to  the  two  rings  on  her  finger  —  *•  be- 
hold these  pledges  —  they  arc  both  sacred.  I 
should  have  been  as  true  to  thee  as  I  am  now  to 
heaven,  —  nor  in  that  life  to  which  I  am  hasten- 
ing shall  our  love  be  forgotten.  Should  the 
baptism  of  fire,  through  which  I  shall  pars  to- 
morrow, make  me  worthy  to  be  heard  before  the 
throne  of  Grace,  I  will  intercede  for  thy  soul  — 
I  will  pray  that  it  may  yet  share  with  mine  that 
•inheritance,  immortal  and  undetilcd,*  which 
Mercy  offers,  and  that  thou  — and  my  deer  ' 
mother  —  and  I " 

bhi-  111  re  dropped  her  voice;  the  roomrntarj 
animation,  with  which  devotion  and  affcotioa 
had  inspired  her,  vanished  ;  —  and  there  cam*  a 
darkness  over  all  her  features,  a  livid  dark- 
ness —  .ke  the  approach  of  death  —  that  mad* 
me  shudder  through  every  limb.  Seising  my 
hand  convulsively,  and  looking  at  me  with  a 
fearful  eagerness,  as  if  anxious  to  hear  some 
consoling  assurance  from  my  own  lips  — "Be- 
lieve me,"  she  continued,  •*  not  all  the  tonatnts 
they  are  preparing  for  me  —  not  even  this  deep^ 
burning  pain  in  my  Hrow,  to  whfeb  they  wit 


'50 


ALCIPHRON. 


aardly  find  an  equal  —  could  be  half  so  dreadful 
to  me,  as  the  thought  that  I  leave  thee,  with- 
out   " 

Here  her  voice  again  faile^l ;  her  head  sunk 
apon  my  arm,  and  —  merciful  God,  let  me  for- 
get what  I  then  felt  —  I  saw  that  she  was  dying  ! 
Whether  I  uttered  any  cry,  I  know  not ;  —  but 
the  Tribune  came  rushing  into  my  chamber, 
jiid,  looking  on  the  maiden,  said,  with  a  face 
full  of  horror,  "  It  is  but  too  true  '  " 

He  then  told  me  in  a  low  voice,  what  he  had 
just  learned  from  the  guardian  of  the  prison, 
that  the  band  round  the  young  Christian's 
brow  *  was  —  O  horrible  !  —  a  compound  of  the 
most  deadly  poison  —  the  hellish  invention  of 
Orcus,  to  satiate  his  vengeance,  and  make  the 
fate  of  his  poor  victim  secure.  My  first  move- 
ment was  to  untie  that  fatal  wreath  —  but  it 
would  not  come  away  —  it  would  not  come 
away  ! 

Roused  by  the  pain,  she  again  looked  in  my 
face ;  but,  unable  to  speak,  took  hastily  from 
her  bosom  the  small  silver  cross  which  she  had 
brought  with  her  from  my  cave.  Having  pressed 
it  to  her  own  lips,  she  held  it  anxiously  to  mine, 
and  seeing  me  kiss  the  holy  symbol  with  fervor, 
.ooked  happy,  and  smiled.  The  agony  of  death 
seemed  to  hav^  passed  away  ;  —  there  came  sud- 
denly over  hei»  features  a  heavenly  light,  some 
share  of  which  I  felt  descending  into  my  own 


1  We  find  poisonous  crowns  mentioned  by  Pliny,  under 
the  designation  of  "  corontc  ferales."  Paschalius,  too,  gives 
3ie  following  account  of  these  "  deadly  garlands,"  as  he 
taIIs  them ;  —  "  Sed  inirum  est  tam  salutare  inventum  hu- 
■nanani  nequitiara  reperisse,  quoinodo  ad  nefarios  usus  tra- 


soul,  and,  in  a  few  minutes  more,  she  expired 
in  my  arms. 

Here  eiids  the  Manuscript ;  but,  on  the  outer  cover 
is  found,  in  the  handwriting  of  a  much  later  pe- 
riod, tJie following  Notice,  extracted,  as  it  appea  rt- 
from  some  Egyptian  martyrology  :  — 

"  Alciphron  —  an  Epicurean  philosoph  :'r, 
converted  to  Christianity  A.  D.  257,  by  a  j^oung 
Egyptian  maiden,  who  suff'ered  martyrdom  in 
that  year.  Immediately  upon  her  death  he  be- 
took himself  to  the  desert,  and  lived  a  life,  it  is 
said,  of  much  holiness  and  penitence.  During 
the  persecution  under  Diocletian,  his  sufferings 
for  the  faith  were  most  exemplary  ;  and  being 
at  length,  at  an  advanced  age,  condemned  to 
hard  labor,  for  refusing  to  comply  with  an  Im- 
perial edict,  he  died  at  the  Brass  Mines  of  Pales- 
tine, A.  D.  297. — 

"  As  Alciphron  held  the  opinions  maintained 
since  by  Arius,  his  memory  has  not  been  spared 
by  Athanasian  writers,  who,  among  other 
charges,  accuse  hi»  of  having  been  addicted  to 
the  superstitions  of  Egypt.  For  this  calumny, 
however,  there  appears  to  be  no  better  founda- 
tion than  a  circumstance,  recorded  by  one  of  hia 
brother  monks,  that  there  was  found,  after  his 
death,  a  small  metal  mirror,  like  those  used  in  the 
ceremonies  of  Isis,  suspended  around  his  neck.' 


ducent.  Nempe,  reperts  sunt  nefanda  corone  b.^runi,quaf 
dixi,  tam  salubrium  per  nomen  quidem  et  !>peciem  iiiiita- 
trices,  at  re  et  efTcctu  ferales,  atque  ade<  capitis,  cui  impo 
nuntur,  interfectrices."    D".  Coronis. 


ALCIPHRON: 


A  FRAGMENT. 


LETTER  I. 

rHOM    ALCIPHROH   AT  ALEXANDRIA  TO   CLEON   AT 
ATHENS. 

Well  may  you  wonder  at  my  flight 

From  those  fair  Gardens,  in  whose  bowers 
Lingers  whate'er  of  wise  and  bright, 
!>f  Beauty's  smile  or  Wisdom's  light, 
Is  left  to  grace  this  world  of  ours. 


Well  may  my  comrades,  as  they  roam. 
On  such  sweet  eves  as  this,  inquire 

Why  I  have  left  that  happy  home 
Where  all  is  found  that  all  desire. 
And  Time  hath  wings  that  never  tire  ; 

Where  bliss,  in  all  the  countless  shapes 
That  Fancy's  self  to  bliss  hath  given, 

Comes  clustering  round,  like  rr-adsicle  grape* 
That  woo  the  traveller's  lip,  at  even  •. 


ALCIPHRON. 


7fi 


^Miere  Wisdom  flings  not  joy  away  — 
AlS  Pallas  in  the  stream,  they  say, 
Once  flung  her  flute  —  but  smiling  owns 
That  woman's  lip  can  send  forth  tones 
Worth  all  the  music  of  those  spheres 
So  many  dream  of,  but  none  hears  ; 
Where  Virtue's  self  puts  on  so  well 

Her  sister  Pleasure's  smile  that,  loath 
From  either  nymph  apart  to  dwell. 

We  tinish  by  embracing  both. 

Yes,  such  the  place  of  bliss,  I  own, 

From  all  whose  charms  I  just  have  flown ; 

And  ov'n  wliile  thus  to  thee  I  write. 

And  by  the  Nile's  dark  flood  recline, 
Fondly,  in  thought,  I  wing  my  flight 
back  to  those  groves  and  gardens  bright, 
And  often  think,  by  this  sweet  light. 

How  lovelily  they  all  must  shine  ; 
Can  sec  that  graceful  temple  throw 

Down  the  green  slope  its  Icngthen'd  shade, 
While,  on  the  marble  steps  below. 

There  sits  some  fair  Athenian  maid, 
'  )ver  some  favorite  volume  beading ; 

And,  by  her  side,  a  youthful  sage 
Holds  back  the  ringlets  that,  descending, 

Would  else  o'ershadow  all  the  page. 
But  hence  such  thoughts  !  —  nor  let  me  grieye 
O'er  scenes  of  joy  that  I  but  leave, 
As  the  bird  quits  a  while  its  nest 
I'o  come  again  with  livelier  zrst. 

And  now  to  tell  thee  —  what  I  fear 
I'hou'lt  gravely  smile  at  —  tchy  I'm  here. 
Though  through  ray  life's  short,  sunny  dream, 

I've  floated  without  pain  or  care, 
F.ike  a  light  leaf,  down  pleasure's  stream, 

Caught  in  each  sparkling  eddy  there  ; 
Though  never  Mirth  awaked  a  strain 
That  my  heart  echoed  not  again  ; 
Ytt  have  I  felt,  when  ev'n  most  gay. 

Sad  thoughts  —  I  knew  not  whence  or  why  — 

Suddenly  o'er  my  spirit  fly, 
I  ikfl  cloud.*,  that,  ere  we've  time  to  say 

'*  ilow   bright    the    sky    is  !  "  —  shade    the 
sky. 
b'jmetimcs  so  vague,  so  undefln'd 
Were  these  strange  dark'nings  of  my  mind  — 
Wliile  nought  but  joy  around  me  beara'd  — 

So  causelessly  they've  come  and  flown, 
fhat  not  of  life  or  earth  they  seem'd. 

But  shadows  from  some  world  unknown. 
More  oft,  however,  'twas  the  thought 

How  soon  that  scene,  with  all  its  play 

Of  life  and  gladness  m  jst  de"^y^ 


Those  lips  I  prcss'd,  the  hands  I  caugh* 

Myself —  the  crowd  that  mirth  had  brought 
Around  me  —  swept  like  weeds  away  1 

This  thought  it  was  that  came  to  shed 

O'er  rapture's  hour  iU  worst  alloys  ; 
And,  close  as  shade  with  sunshine,  wed 

Its  sadness  with  my  happiest  joys. 
O,  but  for  this  disheart'riing  voice 

Stealing  amid  our  mirth  to  say 
That  all,  in  which  we  most  rejoice. 

Ere  night  may  be  the  earthworm  s  pr«y 
But  for  this  bitter  —  only  this  — 
Full  as  the  world  is  hrimm'd  with  blisi^ 
And  capable  as  feels  my  soul 
Of  draining  to  its  dregs  the  whole, 
I  should  turn  earth  to  heav'n,  (uid  be^ 
If  bliss  made  Gods,  a  Deity  ! 

Thou  know'st  that  night  —  the  very  ImI 
That  'mong  ray  Garden  friends  I  paaa'd'— 
When  the  School  held  its  fcast  of  mirth 
To  celebrate  our  founder's  birth. 
And  all  that  He  in  dreams  but  saw 

When  he  set  Pleasure  on  the  throne 
Of  this  bright  world,  and  wrote  her  law 

In  human  hearts,  was  felt  and  known 
Not  in  unreal  dreams,  but  true. 
Substantial  joy  as  pulse  e'er  knew— 
By  hearts  and  bosoms,  that  each  felt 
Itself  the  realm  where  Pleasure  dwelt. 

That  night,  when  all  our  mirth  was  o'tK% 

The  minstrels  silent,  and  the  feet 
Of  the  young  maidens  heard  no  mora 

So  stilly  was  the  time,  so  sweet, 
And  such  a  calm  carae  o'er  that  scenes 
Where  life  and  revel  late  had  been  — 
Lone  as  the  quiet  of  some  bay, 
From  which  the  sea  hath  ebb'd  awaj  — 
That  still  I  linger'd,  lost  in  thought. 

Gazing  upon  the  stars  of  night, 
Sad  and  intent,  as  if  I  sought 

Some  mournful  secret  in  their  light ; 
And  ask'd  them,  'mid  that  silence,  why 
Man,  glorious  man,  alone  mwfX  die. 
While  they,  less  wonderful  than  ha. 
Shine  on  through  all  eternity. 

That  night  —  thou  haply  mayst  fori^ 
Its  loveliness  —  but  'twas  a  night 

To  make  earth's  meanest  alare  regrti 
Leaving  a  world  so  soft  and  bright 

On  one  side,  in  the  dark-bluo  skj* 

Lonely  and  radiant,  waa  the  tj* 


7/52                                                               ALCIPHEON. 

Of  Jove  himself,  while,  on  the  other, 

And  spirits,  on  whose  wings  the  hue 

'Mong  stars  that  came  out  one  by  one, 

Of  heav'n  still  linger' d,  round  me  flew, 

The  young  moon  —  like  the  Roman  mother 

Till  from  all  sides  such  splendors  broke, 

Among  htr  living  jewels  —  shone. 

That  with  the  excess  of  light,  1  woke  ! 

'«  0  that  from  yonder  orbs,"  I  thought, 

•'  Pure  and  eternal  as  they  are, 

Such  was  my  dream  ;  —  and,  I  confess, 

« There  could  to  earth  some  power  be  brought, 

Though  none  of  all  our  creedless  school 

••  Some  chann,  with  their  own  essence  fraught, 

E'er  conn'd,  believ'd,  or  reverenc'd  less 

"  Tc  mp-kc  man  deathless  as  a  star. 

The  fables  of  the  priest-led  fool, 

"  And  open  to  his  vast  desires 

Who  tells  us  of  a  soul,  a  mind. 

"  A  course,  .as  boundless  and  sublime 

Separate  and  pure,  within  us  shrin'd, 

••  As  that  which  waits  those  comet  fires, 

Which  is  to  live  — ah,  hope  too  bright !  — 

"That    burn    and    roam,    throughout     all 

Forever  in  yon  fields  of  light ; 

time  ! " 

Who  fondly  thinks  the  guardian  eyes 

Of  Gods  are  on  him  —  as  if,  blest 

While  thoughts  like  these  absorb'd  my  mind, 

And  blooming  in  their  own  blue  skies. 

That  weariness  which  earthly  bliss, 

Th'  eternal  Gods  were  not  too  wise 

However  sweet,  still  leaves  behind. 

To  let  weak  man  disturb  their  rest !  — 

As  if  to  show  how  earthly  'tis. 

Though  *.hinking  of  such  creeds  as  thou 

Came  lulling  o'er  me,  and  I  laid 

And  ^11  our  Garden  sages  think, 

My  limbs  at  that  fair  statue's  base  — 

Yet  is  t)  ere  something,  I  allow, 

That  miracle,  which  Art  hath  made 

In  drfe  \ms  like  this  —  a  sort  of  link 

Of  aU  the  choice  of  Nature's  grace  — 

With  wo. Ids  unseen,  which,  from  the  hour 

To  which  so  oft  I've  knelt  and  sworn. 

I  first  c  juld  lisp  my  thoughts  till  now, 

That,  could  a  living  maid  like  her 

Hath  ma/.ter'd  me  with  spell-like  power. 

Unto  this  wondering  world  be  bom, 

I  would,  myself,  turn  worflhipper. 

And  wbj  can  tell,  as  we're  combin'd 

Of  various  atoms  —  some  refin'd. 

Sleep  came  then  o'er  me  —  and  I  seem'd 

Tiike  tl  ose  that  scintillate  and  play 

To  be  transported  far  away 

In  the  fix'd  stars  —  some,  gross  as  they 

To  a  bleak  desert  plain,  where  gleam'd 

That  '■f own  in  clouds  or  sleep  in  clay  — 

One  single,  melancholy  ray, 

Who  can  be  sure,  but  'tis  the  best 

Throughout  that  darkness  dimly  shed 

AnJ  brightest  atoms  of  our  frame, 

From  a  small  taper  in  the  hand 

Tl-Gse  most  akin  to  stellar  flame. 

Of  one,  who,  pale  as  are  the  dead, 

That  shine  out  thus,  when  we're  at  rest ;  — 

Before  me  took  his  spectral  stand. 

Ev'ti  as  the  stars  themselves,  whose  light 

And  said,  while,  awfully,  a  smUe 

Comes  out  but  in  the  silent  night. 

Came  o'er  the  wanness  of  his  cheek  — 

Or  \s  it  that  there  lurks,  indeed. 

"  Go,  ,and,  beside  the  sacred  Nile, 

Soiue  truth  in  Man's  prevailing  creed. 

«•  You'U  find  th'  Eternal  Life  you  seek."^ 

And  that  our  Guardians,  from  on  high, 

Come,  in  that  pause  from  toil  and  sin. 

Soon  as  he  spoke  these  words,  the  hue 

To  put  the  senses'  curtain  by, 

Of  death  o'er  all  his  features  grew 

And  on  the  wakeful  soul  look  in ! 

Like  the  pale  morning,  when  o'er  night 

She  gains  the  victory,  full  of  light ; 

Vain  thought !  —  but  yet,  howe'er  it  be. 

While  the  small  torch  he  held  became 

Dreams  —  more   than   once  —  have   prov'd   tc 

A  glory  in  his  hand,  whose  flame 

me 

Brighten'd  the  desert  suddenly. 

Oracles,  truer  far  than  Oak, 

Ev'n  to  the  far  horizon's  Une  — 

Or  Dove,  or  Tripod  ever  spoke. 

Along  whose  level  I  could  see 

And  'twas  the  words  —  thou'lt  hear  and  smue  • 

Gardens  and  groves,  that  seem'd  to  shine, 

The  words  that  phantom  seem'd  to  speak  — 

As  if  then  o'er  them  freshly  play'd 

"  Go,  and  beside  the  sacred  Nile 

A  vernal  rainbow's  rich  cascade  ; 

"  You'll  find  th'  Eternal  Life  you  seek  —  " 

And  music  floated  every  where. 

That,  haunting  me  by  night,  by  day. 

Circling:,  as  'twere  itse  f  the  air. 

At  length,  as  with  the  unseen  hand 

ALCIPIiRON. 


TM 


l)f  Fate  itselfi  urg'd  me  away 
From  Athens  to  this  Holy  Land  ; 

Where,  'mong  the  secrets,  still  untaught. 
The  myst'ries  that,  as  yet,  nor  sun 

Nor  eye  hath  reach'd  —  O,  blessed  thought ! 
May  sleep  this  everlasting  one. 

Farewell  —  when  to  our  Garden  friends 
Thou  talk'st  of  the  wild  dream  that  sends 
The  gayest  of  their  school  thus  far, 
Wandering  beneath  Canopus'  star, 
Tcll^  them  that,  wander  where  he  will. 

Or,  howsoe'er  thpy  now  condemn 
His  vague  and  vain  pursuit,  he  still 

Is  worthy  of  the  School  and  them ;  — 
Still,  all  their  own  —  nor  e'er  forgets, 

Ev'n  while  his  heart  and  soul  pursue 
I'h'  Eternal  Light  which  never  sets. 

The  many  meteor  joys  that  do, 
But  seeks  them,  hails  them  with  delight 
Where'er  they  meet  his  longing  sight. 
And,  if  his  life  must  wane  away. 
Like  other  lives,  at  least  the  day, 
The  hour  it  lasts  shall,  like  a  fire 
With  incense  fed,  in  sweets  expire. 


LETTER  n. 

yrtOM    THE    SAME   TO   THE    8AMB. 

Memfkis. 
Tis  true,  alas  —  the  mysteries  and  the  lore 
I  came  to  study  on  this  wondrous  shore. 
Are  all  forgotten  in  the  new  delights. 
The  strange,  wild  joys  that  fill  my  days  and 

nights. 
Listead  of  dark,  dull  oracles  that  speak 
From  subterranean  temples,  those  /  seek 
Come  from  the  breathing  shrines  where  Beauty 

lives. 
And  Love,  her  priest,  the  soft  responses  gives. 
Instead  of  honoring  Isis  in  those  rites 
At  Coptos  hold,  I  hail  her,  when  she  lights 
Her  first  young  crescent  en  the  holy  stream  — 
When  wandering  youths  and  maidens  watch  her 

beam 
And  number  o'er  th<)  nights  she  hath  to  run, 
Bre  she  again  embrace  her  bridegroom  sun. 
While  o'er  some  mystic  leat  that  dimly  lends 
A  clrw  into  past  times,  the  student  bends. 
And  by  its  glimmering  guidance  learns  to  tread 
Back   through  the  shadowy  knowledge  of  the 

dead  — 
The  only  skill,  alas;  I  yet  can  claim 
Lies  in  defiphcring  some  new  lov'd  one's  name  — 
06 


Some  gentle  missive,  hinting  time  and  pUce, 
In  language,  soft  as  Memphian  reed  can  traoe. 

And  where  —  O  where's  the  heart  that  emiul 

withstand 
Th'  unnumber'd  witcheriee  of  this  sun-bnn 

land. 
Where  first  yoong  Pleasure's  burner  ww  un 

furl'd. 
And  lx>ve  hath  temples  ancient  as  the  worid ' 
Where  mystery,  like  the  veil  by  Beauty  worn, 
Hides  but  to  win,  and  shades  but  to  adorn  ; 
Where  that  luxurious  melancholy,  bom 
Of  passion  and  of  genius,  sheds  a  gUom 
Making  joy  holy  ;  —  where  the  bower  and  tomb 
Stand  side  by  side,  and  Pleasure  learns  from 

Death 
The  Instant  value  of  each  moment's  breath. 

Couldst  thou  but  see  how  like  a  poet's  dream 
This  lovely  land    now  looks !  —  the   glorioui 

stream. 
That  late,  between  its  banks,  was  seen  to  glide 
'Mong  shrines  and  marble  cities,  on  each  side 
Glittering  like  jewels  strung  along  a  chain. 
Hath  now  sent  forth  its  waters,  and  o'er  plain 
And  valley,  like  a  giant  from  his  bed 
Rising   with  outstretch'd  limbs,  hath  grandly 

spread. 
While  far  as  sight  can  reach,  beneath  as  clear 
And  blue  a  heav'n  as  ever  bless'd  our  sphere. 
Gardens,   and    pillar'd    streets,  and  porphyrr 

domes. 
And  high-built  temples,  fit  to  be  the  homes 
Of  mighty  Godit,  and  pyramids,  whoso  hour 
Outlasts  all  time,  above  the  waters  tower  I 

Then,  too,  the  scenes  of  pomp  and  joy,  that 

make 
One  tbeatre  of  this  vast,  peopled  lake, 
Where  all  that  Love.  Religion,  Commerce  girei 
Of  life  and  motion,  ever  moves  and  lives. 
Here,  up  the  steps  of  temples  from  the  war* 
Ascending,  in  procession  slow  and  grare. 
Priests  in  white  garments  go,  with  sacred  wi  cda 
And  silver  cymbals  gleaming  in  their  hands  ; 
While    there,   rich   barks  —  fresh   from    thiM 

sunny  tracts 
Far  off,  beyond  the  sounding  cataracts  — 
Glide,  w-ith  their  precious  lading  to  the  sea. 
Plumes  of  bright  birds,  rhinoceros'  ivory, 
Gems  from  the  Isle  of  Meroe,  and  those  graiai 
Of  gold,  wash'd  down  by  Abysdnian  rain*. 
Here,  where  the  waters  wind  into  a  bay 
Shadrwy  and  cool,  some  pilgrims,  on  their  war 


JM 


ALCIPHRON. 


To  Sals  or  Bubnstus,  among  beds 
Of  lotus  flowers,  that  close  above  theii  Heads, 
Pusl  their  light  barks,  and  there,  as  in  a  bower, 
Sing,  talk,  or  sleep  away  the  sultry  hour  ; 
Oft  dipping  in  the  Nile,  when  faint  with  heat. 
That  leaf,  from  which  its  waters   drink  most 

sweet.  — 
Wliile  haply,  not  far  off,  beneath  a  bank 
Of  blossoming  acacias,  many  a  prank 
Is  played  in  the  cool  current  by  a  train 
Of   laughing    nymphs,   lovely  as   she,*  whose 

chain 
Around  two  conquerors  of  the  world  was  cast, 
But,  for  a  third  too  feeble,  broke  at  last. 

For  O,  believe  not  them,  who  dare  to  brand. 
As  poor  in  charms,  the  women  of  this  land. 
Though  darken' d  by  that  sun,  whose  spirit  flows 
Through  every  vein,  and  tinges  as  it  goes, 
'Tis    but    th'  imbrowning    of   the    fruit,  that 

tells 
How  rich  within  the  soul  of  ripeness  dwells  — 
The  hue  their  own  dark  sanctuaries  wear. 
Announcing    heav'n    in    half-caught  glimpses 

there. 
And  never  yet  did  telltale  looks  set  free 
The  secret  "of  young  hearts  more  tenderly. 
Such  eyes  !  —  long,  shadowy,  with  that  languid 

fall 
Of  the  fring'd  lids,  which  may  be  seen  in  all 
Who  live  beneath  the  sun's  too  ardent  rays  — 
Lending  such  looks  as,  on  their  marriage  days. 
Young  maids  cast  down  before  a  bridegroom's 

gaze! 
Then   for  their  grace  —  mark  but  the  nymph- 
like shapes 
Of  the  young  village  girls,  when  carrying  grapes 
From  green  Anthylla,  or  light  urns  of  flowers  — 
Not  our  own  Sculpture,  in  her  happiest  hours, 
E'er  imag'd  forth,  even  at  the  touch  of  him* 
Whose  touch  Avas  life,  more  luxury  of  limb  ! 
Then,  canst  thou  wonder  if,  'mid  scenes  like 

these, 
I  BLould  forget  all  graver  mysteries, 
AlII  lore  but  Love's,  all  secrets  but  that  best 
In  heav'n  or  earth,  the  art  of  being  bless'd  ! 
Yet  are  there  times  —  though  brief,  I  own,  their 

stay, 
Like    summer   clouds    that    shine   themselves 

away  — 
Moments  of  gloom,  when  ev'n  these  pleasures 

pall 
Upon  my  sadd'ning  heart,  and  I  recall 

1  Cleopatra 
<  Aoelles. 


That  Garden  dream  —  that  promise  of  a  power 
O,  were  there   such! — to  lengthen  out  life't 

hour. 
On,  on,  as  through  a  vista,  far  away 
Opening  before  us  into  endless  day  ! 
And  chiefly  o'er  my  spirit  did  this  thought 
Come  on  that  evening  —  bright  as  ever  brought 
Light's   golden  farewell  to   the  world  —  whe> 

first 
Th'  eternal  pyramids  of  Memphis  burst 
Awfully  on  my  sight  —  standing  sublime 
'Twixt  earth  and  heav'n,   the  watchtowers  ol 

Time, 
From  whose  lone  summit,  when  his  reign  Ijith 

pass'd 
From  earth  forever,  he  will  look  his  last ! 

There  hung  a  calm  and  solemn  sunshine  round 

Those  mighty  monuments,  a  hushing  sound 

In  the  still  air  that  circled  them,  which  stole 

Like  music  of  past  times  into  my  soul. 

I  thought  what  myi'iads  of  the  wise  and  brave 

And  beautiful  had  sunk  into  the  grave. 

Since   earth  first  saw  these  wonders  —  and  I 

said, 
«'  Are  things  eternal  only  for  the  Dead? 
••  Hath  Man  no  loftier  hope  than  this,  which 

dooms 
"His  only  lasting  trophies  to  be  tombs  ? 
"But  'tis  not  so  —  earth,   heaven,   all  nattire 

shows 
"  He  may  become  immortal  —  maij  unclose 
•'  The  wings  within  him  wrapp'd,  and  proudly 

rise 
"  Redeem'd  from  earth,  a  creature  of  the  skies  i 

"  And  who  can  say,  among  the  written  spells 
"  From  Hermes'  hand,  that,  in  these  shrines  and 

cells 
"  Have,  from  the  Flood,  lay  hid,  there  may  not 

be 
"  Some  secret  clew  to  immortality, 
"  Some  amu'  et,   whose    spell    can  keep  life'i 

fire 
"  Awake  within  ivs,  never  to  expire  ! 
"  'Tis  known  that,  on  ibe  Emerald  Table,'  lid 
"  For  ages  in  yon  loftiest  j  yramid, 
"The  Thrice-Great*  did  nimself.  engrave,  of 

old, 
"  The  chemic  mystery  that  gives  endless  gold. 
"  And  why  may  not  this  mightier  secret  dwel) 
"  Within  the  same  dark  chambers  ?   who  can 

tell 

*  See  Notes  on  the  Epicurean 

*  Tlie  Hcnnea  Trismegistug 


ALCIPHRON. 


156 


•But  that  those  kings,  vrho,  by  the  written 

Bkill 
<0f  t.:    Emera.     Table,  call'd  forth  gold  at 

wiU, 
"  And  quarries  upon  quarries  heap'd  and  hurl'd, 
'*To  build  them  domes  that  might  outstand  the 

world  — 
••  Who  knows  but  that  the  heavenlirr  art,  which 

shares 
"  Ihe  life  of  Oodj  with  man,  was  also  theirs  — 
"That  they   themselves,   triumphant  o'er  the 

power 
•*  Of  fate  and  death,  are  li^dng  at  this  hour ; 
"  And  these,  the  giant  homes  they  still  possess, 
"  Not  tombs,  but  everlasting  palaces, 
"Within   whose   depths,   hid  from  the  world 

above, 
"Even  now  they  wander,  with  the  few  they 

love, 
"  Through  subterranean  gardens,  by  a  light 
"  Unknown  on  earth,  which  hath  nor  dawn  nor 

night ! 
•'Else,  why  those  deathless  structures?  why 

the  grand 
"  And  hidden  halls,  that  undermine  this  land  ) 
"  Why  else  hath  none  of  earth  e'er  dared  to  go 
•♦Through  Hhe   dark  windings  of   that  realm 

below, 
••  Nor  aught  from  heav'n  itself^  except  the  Ood 
••  Of  Silence,  through  those  endless  labyrinths 

trod  ? " 
Thus  did  I  dream  —  wild,  wandering  dreams,  I 

own. 
But  such  as  haunt  me  ever,  if  alone. 
Or  in  that  pause  'twixt  joy  and  joy  I  be, 
Like  a  ship  hush'd  between  two- waves  at  sea. 
Then  do  these  spirit  whisperings,  like  the  sound 
Of  the  Dark  Future,  come  appalling  round ; 
Nor  can  I  break  the  trance  that  holds  me  then, 
Till  high  o'er  Pleasure's  surge  I  mount  again  ! 

E>  'n  now  for  new  adventure,  new  delight. 
My  heart  is  on  the  wing ;  —  this  very  night, 
TliO  Temple  on  that  bland,  half  way  o'er 
Prom  Memphis'  gardens  to  the  eastern  shore, 
Bends  up  its  annual  rite '  to  her,  whose  beams 
Bring   the  sweet   time  of   night  flowers   and 

dreams ; 
The  nymph,  who  dips  her  nm  in  silent  lakes. 
And  turns  to  silvery  dew  each  drop  it  takes ;  — 
0,  not  our  Dian  of  the  North,  who  chains 
(c  vcsTal  ice  the  current  of  young  veins, 

1  T.  e  (rut  FMthrml  at  Iba  Mooik 


But  she  who  haunts  the  gay  Bubastian*  gror*^ 
And   owns  she  sees,  &om  her  bright  hear'n 

above. 
Nothing  on  earth   to  match  that  heav'n  bat 

Love. 
Think,  then,  what   bliss  will    be  abroad  to> 

night !  — 
Besides  those  sparkling  nymphs,  who  swt  tk« 

sight 
Day  after  day,  familiar  as  the  son. 
Coy  buds  of  beauty,  yet  unbreath'd  upon. 
And  all  the  hidden  loveliness,  that  lies,  — 
Shut  up,  as  are  the  boams  of  sleeping  eves. 
Within  these  twilight  shrines  —  to-night  shflL 

be 
Let  loose,  like  birds,  for  this  ftstiTitj  I 

And  mark,  'tis  nigh  ;  already  the  sun  bids 
His  evening  farewell  to  the  Pyramids, 
As  he  hath  donb,  age  after  age,  till  they 
Alone  on  earth  seem  ancient  as  his  ray  ; 
While  their  great  shadows,  stretching  from  th« 

Ught, 
Look  like  the  first  collossal  steps  of  Night, 
Stretching  across  the  valley,  to  invade 
The  distant  hills  of  porphyry  with  their  shade 
Around,  as  signals  of  the  setting  beam. 
Gay,  gilded  flags  on  every  house  top  gleam  : 
While,   hark !  —  from  all  the  temples  a  rick 

swell 
Of  music  to  the  Moon  —  farewell  —  farewell. 


LETTER  IIL 

reOV  THB  SAMB  TO  THB  SAMB. 


Thkrb  is  some  star  —  or  it  may  be 

That  moon  we  saw  so  near  last  night  — 
Which  comes  athwart  my  destiny 

Forever,  with  misleading  light. 
If  for  a  moment,  pure  and  wise 

And  calm  I  feel,  there  quick  doth  fsU 
A  spark  from  some  disturbing  eyes. 
That  through  my  heart,  soul^  being  flies, 

And  makes  a  wildflre  of  it  alL 
I've  seen  —  O,  Cleon.  that  this  earth 
Should  e'er  have  giv'n  such  beauty  birth  !  — 
lliat  man  —  but.  hold  —  hear  all  that  psas'd 
Since  yesternight,  from  flrst  to  last. 


•  BiAartii,  or  U^ 
tkolofir. 


WM  lb*  DfsM  of  dM  Bfypttaa  Bf 


JS6 


ALCIPHRON 


The  rising  of  the  Moon,  calm,  slow, 

And  beautiful,  as  if  she  came 
Presh  from  the  Elysian  bowers  below, 

Was,  with  a  loud  and  sweet  acclaim, 
Weliom'd  irom  every  breezy  height, 
Where  crowds  stood  waiting  for  her  light. 
And  well  might  they  who  view'd  the  scene 

Ti^en  lit  up  all  around  them,  say, 
Ihat  never  yet  had  Nature  been 

Caught  sleeping  in  a  lovelier  ray. 
Or  rival!' d  her  o-vvn  noontide  face, 
With  purer  show  of  moonlight  grace. 

Memphis  —  still  grand,  though  not  the  same 

"Unrivall'd  Memphis,  that  could  seize 
From  ancient  Thebes  the  crown  of  Fame, 

And  wear  it  bright  through  centuries  — 
NoAV,  m  the  moonshine,  that  came  down 
Like  a  last  smile  upon  that  crown, 
Memphis,  still  grand,  among  her  lakes. 

Her  pyramids  and  shrines  of  fire, 
Rose,  like  a  vision,  that  half  breaks 
On  one  who,  dreaming  still,  awakes 

To  music  from  some  midnight  choir  : 
WhUe  to  the  west — where  gradual  sinks 

In  the  red  sands,  from  Libya  roll'd, 
rfome  mighty  column,  or  fair  spliinx 

That  stoiW  in  kingly  courts,  of  old  — 
It  seem'd  as,  'mid  the  pomps  that  shone 
Thus  gayly  round  him,  Time  look'd  on. 
Wailing  till  all,  now  bright  and  blest. 
Should  sink  beneath  him  like  the  rest. 

So  sooner  had  the  setting  sun 
Proclaim'd  the  festal  rite  begun. 
And,  'mid  their  idol's  fullest  beams. 

The  Egyptian  world  was  all  afloat, 
Than  I,  who  live  upon  these  streams 

Like  n  young  Nile  bird,  turn'd  my  boat 
To  the  f  lir  island,  on  whose  shores, 
Througii  leafy  palms  and  sycamores, 
Already  shone. the  moving  lights 
Of  pilgi.'ms,  hastening  to  the  rites. 
While,  fm  aiound,  like  ruby  sparks 
Upon  the  water,  lighted  barks, 
Of  every  form  and  kind  —  from  those 

That  down  Syene's  cataract  shoots. 
To  the  grand,  gilded  barge,  that  rows 

To  lambor'e  beat  and  breath  of  flutes, 
And  wears  at  night,  in  words  of  flame. 
On  the  rich  prow,  its  master's  name  ;  — 
A.11  were  alive,  and  made  this  sea 

Of  cities  busy  as  a  hill 
Jf  summer  ants,  caught  suddenly 

In  thf  overflowing  of  a  rill. 


Landed  upon  the  isle,  I  soon 

Through  marble  alleys  and  small  grore* 

Of  that  mysterious  palm  she  loves, 
Reach'd  the  fair  Temple  of  the  Moon  ; 
And  there  —  as  slowly  through  the  last 
Dim-lighted  vestibule  I  pass'd  — 
Between  the  porphyry  pillars,  twin'd 

With  palm  and  ivy,  I  could  see 
A  band  of  youthful  maidens  wind. 

In  measur'd  walk,  half  dancingly, 
Round  a  small  shrine,  on  which  was  plac'd 

That    bird,'    whose    plumes    of   black    sat 
white 
Wear  in  their  hue,  by  Nature  trac'd, 

A  type  of  the  moon's  shadow'd  light. 

In  drapery,  like  woven  snow. 

These  nymphs  were  clad  ;  and  each,  below 

The  rounded  bosom,  loosely  wore 

A  dark-blue  zone,  or  bandelet. 
With  little  silver  stars  aU  o'er, 

As  are  the  skies  at  midnight,  set. 
While  in  their  tresses,  braided  through, 

Sparkled  that  flower  of  Egypt's  lakes, 
The  silvery  lotus,  in  whose  hue 

As  much  delight  the  young  moon  takes, 
As  doth  the  Day- God  to  behold 
The  lofty  bean  flower's  buds  of  gold. 
And,  as  they  gracefully  went  round 

The  worshipp'd  bird,  some  to  the  beat 
Of  castanets,  some  to  the  sound 

Of  the  shrill  sistrum  tim'd  their  fee'  . 
While  others,  at  each  step  they  took, 
A  tinkling  chain  of  silver  shook.   . 

They  seem'd  all  fair  —  but  there  wf,s  one 
On  whom  the  light  had  not  yet  shone. 
Or  shone  but  partly  —  so  downcast 
She  held  her  brow,  as  slow  she  pass'd. 
And  yet  to  me,  there  seem'd  to  dwell 

A  charm  about  that  unseen  face  — 
A  something,  in  the  shsde  that  fell 

Over  that  brow's  imagin'd  grace, 
Which  won  me  more  than  all  the  best 
Outshining  beauties  of  the  rest. 
And  her  alone  my  eyes  could  see, 
Enchain'd  by  this  sweet  mystery  ; 
And  her  alone  I  watch'd,  as  round 
She  glided  o'er  that  marble  ground. 
Stirring  not  more  th'  unconscious  air 
Than  if  a  Spirit  were  moving  there. 
Till  suddenly,  wide  open  flew 
The  Temple's  folding  gates,  and  thre'V 

1  The  Ibu. 


ALCIPHRON. 


W 


k  splendor  from  within,  a  flood 

Of  glory  where  these  maidens  stood. 

While,  with  that  light  —  as  if  the  same 

Rich  source  gave  birth  to  both  —  there  came 

A.  swell  of  harmony,  as  grand 

As  e'er  was  born  of  voice  and  hand, 

Filling  the  gorgeous  aisles  around 

A'ith  luxury  of  light  and  sound. 

fhsn  was  it,  by  the  flash  that  blaz'd 

Full  o'er  her  features  —  O  'twas  then, 
As  Btartingly  her  eyes  she  rais'd. 

But  quick  let  fall  their  lids  again, 
I  saw  —  not  Psyche's  self,  when  first 

Upon  the  threshold  of  the  skies 
She  paus'd,  while  heaven's  glory  burst 

Newly  upon  her  downcast  eyes. 
Could  look  more  beautiful  or  blush 

With  holier  shame  than  did  this  maid. 
Whom  now  I  saw,  in  all  that  gush 

Of  splendor  from  the  aisles,  display'd. 
Never  —  though  well  thou  know'st  how  much 

I've  felt  the  sway  of  Beauty's  star  — 
Never  did  her  bright  influence  touch 

My  soul  into  its  depths  so  far  ; 
And  had  that  vision  linger'd  there 

One  minute  more,  I  should  have  flown. 
Forgetful  who  I  was  and  where. 

And,  at  her  feet  in  worship  thrown, 

Proffer'd  my  soul  through  life  her  own. 

But,  scarcely  had  that  burst  «f  light 
And  music  broke  on  ear  and  sight, 
rhan  up  the  aisle  the  bird  took  wing. 

As  if  on  heavenly  mission  sent. 
While  after  him,  Mith  graceful  spring. 

Like  some  unearthly  creatures,  meant 

To  live  in  that  mix'd  clement 

Of  light  and  song,  the  young  maids  went ; 
And  she,  who  in  my  heart  had  thrown 
A  spark  to  bum  for  life,  was  flown. 

tn  vain  I  tried  to  follow ;  —  bands 

Of  reverend  chanters  till'd  the  aisle  : 
Where'er  I  sought  to  pass,  their  wands 
Motion'd  me  back,  while  many  a  file 
Of  sacred  nymphs  —  but  ah,  not  they 
Whom    my    eyes    look'd    for  —  throng'd    the 

way. 
Ferplex'd,  impatient,  'mid  this  crowd 
Of  faces,  lights  —  the  o'erwhclming  cloud 
Of  incense  round  me,  and  my  blood 
Full  of  its  new-born  flre  —  I  stood. 
Nor  mov'd,  nor  breath' d,  but  when  I  caught 
A  glicQpM  of  some  blue,  spangled  zonet 


Or  wreath  of  lotxis,  which,  I  thought. 
Like  those  she  wore  at  distance  shone. 

But  no,  'twas  vain  —  hour  after  hour, 
Till    m}    heart's   throbbing    tum'd    to 
pain, 
And  my  strain'd  eyesight  lost  its  powv, 

I  sought  her  thus,  but  all  ir  rain. 
At  length,  hot  —  wilder'd  —  in  deapairi 
I  rush'd  into  the  cool  night  air, 
And  hurrying  (though  with  man)  a  look 
Back  to  the  busy  Temple)  took 
My  way  along  the  moonlight  shore, 
And  sprung  into  my  boat  once  more. 

There  is  a  Lake,  that  to  the  north 
Of  Memphis  stretches  grandly  forth, 
Upon  whose  silent  shore  the  Dead 

Have  a  proud  City  of  their  own,' 
With  shrines  and  pyramids  o'crspread" 
Where  many  an  ancient  kingly  head 

Slumbers,  immortaliz'd  in  stone  ; 
And  where,  through  marble  grots  beneath, 

The  lifeless,  rang'd  like  sacred  things, 
Nor  wanting  aught  of  life  but  breath. 

Lie  in  their  painted  coverings. 
And  on  each  new  successive  race. 

That  visit  their  dim  haunts  below. 
Look  with  the  same  unwithering  Caoe, 

They  wore  three  thousand  years  ago. 
There,  Silence,  thoughtful  God,  who  lore* 
The  neighborhood  of  death,  in  groves 
Of  asphodel  lies  hid,  and  weaves 
His  hushing  spell  among  the  leaves 
Nor  ever  noise  disturbs  the  air. 

Save  the  lo^%-,  humming,  mournful  sound 
Of  priests,  within  their  shrines,  at  prayer 

For  the  fresh  Dead  intomb'd  around. 

'Twas  towards  this  place  of  death  —  in  mood 

Made    up    of   thoughts,   half   bright,   hall 
dark  — 
I  now  across  the  shining  flood 

Unconscious  tum'd  my  light-wing'd  baik. 
The  form  of  that  young  moid,  in  all 

Its  beauty,  was  before  me  still ; 
And  oft  I  thought,  if  thus  to  call 

Her  image  to  my  mind  at  will. 
If  but  the  memory  of  that  one 
Bright  look  of  hers,  forever  gone. 
Was  to  my  heart  worth  all  the  rest 
Of  womankind,  beheld,  posscas'd— 

1  NwropoUs  or  dM  Ciqr  of  tte  DMtf,  lo  ito  aowfe  « 


IbS                                                              ALCrPHRON. 

WTial  -vvouU  it  be,  if  wholly  mine, 

"While  past  me,  —  through    the    moonlight  - 

Witlun  these  arms,  as  in  a  shrine, 

sail'd 

Hallow'd  by  Love,  I  saw  her  shine  — 

A  little  gilded  bark,  that  bore 

An  idol,  worshipp'd  by  the  light 

Two  female  figures,  closely  veil'd 

Of  her  own  beauties,  day  and  night  — 

And  mantled,  towards  that  funeral  shore. 

If  'twas  a  blessing  but  to  see 

They  landed  —  and  the  boat  again 

And  lose  again,  what  would  this  be  ? 

Put  off"  across  the  watery  plain. 

In  thoughts  like  these  —  but  often  cross'd 

Shall  I  confess  —  to  thee  I  may  — 

By  darker  threads  —  my  mind  was  lost. 

That  never  yet  hath  come  the  charce 

rill,  near  that  City  of  the  Dead, 

Of  a  new  music,  a  new  ray 

Wak'd  from  my  trance,  I  saw  o'crhead  — 

From  woman's  voice,  from  woman's  glanca 

A.S  if  by  some  enchanter  bid 

"Which  —  let  it  find  me  how  it  might, 

Suddenly  from  the  wave  to  rise  — 

In  joy  or  grief — I  did  not  bless, 

Pyramid  over  pyramid 

And  wander  after,  as  a  light 

Tower  in  succession  to  the  skies  ; 

Leading  to  undreamt  happiness. 

While  one,  aspiring,  as  if  soon 

And  chiefly  now,  when  hopes  so  vain 

'Twould  touch  the  heavens,  rose  o'er  all : 

Were  stirring  in  my  heart  and  brain, 

And,  on  its  summit,  the  white  moon 

When  Fancy  had  allur'd  my  soul 

Rested,  as  on  a  pedestal ! 

Into  a  chase,  as  vague  and  far 

As  would  be  his,  who  fix'd  his  goal 

The  silence  of  the  lonely  tombs 

In  the  horizon,  or  some  star- 

And    temples    round,    where    nought   was 

Any  bewilderment,  that  brought 

heard 

More  near  to  earth  my  high-flown  thought 

/Jut  the  high  palm-tree's  tufted  plumes. 

The  faintest  glimpse  of  joy,  less  pure. 

Shaken  at  times,  by  breeze  or  bird. 

Less  high  and  heavenly,  but  more  sure. 

Form'd  a  deep  contrast  to  the  scene 

Came  welcome  —  and  was  then  to  mo 

Of  revel,  where  I  late  had  been  ; 

What  the  first  flowery  isle  must  be 

To  those  gay  sounds,  that  still  came  o'er, 

To  vagrant  birds,  blown  out  to  sea. 

Faintly,  from  many  a  distant  shore. 

And  th'  unnumber'd  lights,  that  shone 

Quick  to  the  shore  I  urg'd  my  bark. 

Far  o'er  the  flood,  from  Memphis  on 

And,  by  the  bursts  of  moonlight,  shed 

To  the  Moon's  Isle  and  Babylon. 

Between  the  lofty  tombs,  could  mark 

Those  figures,  as  with  hasty  tread 

My  oars  wore  lifted,  and  my  boat 

They  glided  on  —  till  in  the  shade 

Lay  rock'd  upon  the  rippling  stream ; 

Of  a  small  pyramid,  which  through 

While  my  vague  thoughts,  alike  afloat. 

Some  boughs  of  palm  its  peak  display' d. 

Drifted  through  many  an  idle  dreamj 

They  vanish'd  instant  from  my  view. 

With  all  of  which,  wild  and  unfix'd 

As  was  their  aim,  that  vision  mix'd. 

I  hurried  to  the  spot  —  no  trace 

That  bright  nymph  of  the  Temple  —  now, 

Of  life  was  in  that  lonely  place ; 

With  tne  same  innocence  of  brow 

And,  had  the  creed  I  hold  by  taught 

She  vore  witliin  the  lighted  fane  — 

Of  other  worlds,  I  might  have  thought 

Now  kincl.iiig,  through  each  pulse  and  vein, 

Some  mocking  spirits  had  from  thence 

With  passion  of  such  deepfelt  fire 

Come  in  this  guise  to  cheat  my  sense. 

Ab  Gods  migi.t  glory  to  inspire  ;  — 

And  now  —  0  Darkness  of  the  tomb, 

At  length,  exploring  darkly  round 

Tl.  at  must  eclipse  ev'n  light  like  hers  ! 

The  Pyramid's  smooth  sides,  I  found 

Cold,  dead,  and  blackening  'mid  the  gloom 

An  iron  portal  —  opening  high 

Of  those  eternal  sepulchres. 

'Twixt  peak  and  base  —  and,  with  a  pray*! 

To  the  bliss-loving  Moon,  whose  eye 

Scarce  had  I  turn'd  my  eyes  away 

Alone  beheld  me,  sprung  in  there. 

From  that  dark  death-place,  at  the  thought, 

Downward  the  narrow  stairway  led 

When  by  the  sound  of  dashing  spray 

Through  many  a  duct  obscure  and  dread. 

From  a  light  car  my  ear  was  caught. 

A  labyrinth  for  mystery  made. 

ALCIPEQION.                                                             fin 

With  wanderings  onward,  backward,  round. 

Of  her  who  on  that  alUr  slept ; 

Ajid  gathering  still,  where'er  it  wound. 

And  near  it  stood,  when  first  I  cam*  — 

But  deeper  density  of  shade. 

Bending  her  brow,  as  if  she  kept 

Sad  waU-h  uiion  its  sdcnt  flame  — 

8  arce  had  I  ask'd  myself,  "  Can  aught 

A  female  form,  as  yet  so  plac'd 

"  ITiat  man  delights  in  sojourn  here  ? "  — 

Between  the  lamp's  strong  glow  and  m% 

VSTien,  suddenly,  far  off,  I  caught 

That  I  but  saw,  in  outline  trac'd. 

A  glimpse  of  light,  remote,  but  clear  — 

The  shadow  of  her  sjTnmetry. 

Whose  welcome  glimmer  srem'd  to  pour 

Yet  did  my  heart  —  I  scarce  knew  why  - 

From  some  alcove  or  cell,  that  ended 

Ev'n  at  that  shadow'd  shape  beat  high. 

rhe  long,  steep,  marble  corridor. 

Nor  was  it  long,  ere  full  in  sight 

Through  which  I  now,  all  hope,  descended. 

The  figure  tum'd  ;  and  by  the  light 

Never  did  Spartan  to  his  bride 

That  touch'd  her  features,  as  she  bent 

With  warier  foot  at  midnight  glide. 

Over  the  crystal  monument. 

It  seem'd  as  e  ^ho's  self  were  dead 

I  saw  'twas  she  —  the  same  —  the  same  — 

In  this  dark  jilace,  so  mute  my  tread. 

That  lately  stood  before  me,  bright' ning 

Reaching,  at  length,  that  light,  I  saw  — 

The  holy  spot,  where  she  but  came 

0  listen  to  the  scene,  now  rais'd 

And  went  again,  like  summer  lightning  1 

Before  my  eyes  —  tlien  guess  the  awe, 

The  still,  rapt  awe  with  which  I  gaz'd. 

Upon  the  crj-stal,  o'er  the  breast 

'Twas  a  small  chapel,  lin'd  around 

Of  her  who  took  that  silent  rest. 

With  the  fair,  spangling  marble,  found 

There  was  a  cross  of  silver  lying  — 

In  many  a  ruin'd  shrine  that  stands 

Another  type  of  that  blest  home. 

Hiilf  seen  above  the  Libyan  sands. 

Which  hope,  and  pride,  and  fear  of  dying 

The  walls  were  richly  sciilptur'd  o'er. 

Build  for  us  in  a  world  to  come  :  - 

And  character'd  with  that  dark  lore 

This  silver  cross  the  maiden  rais'd 

Jf  times  before  the  Flood,  Avhose  key 

To  her  pure  lips  :  —  then,  having  gu'd 

Was  lost  in  th'  "Universal  Sea."  — 

Some  minutes  on  that  tranquil  face. 

While  on  the  roof  was  pictur'd  bright 

Sleeping  in  all  death's  mournful  grace, 

The  Thcban  beetle,  as  he  shines, 

Upward  she  tum'd  her  brow  aerene« 

When  the  Nile's  mighty  flow  dcclin««« 

As  if,  intent  on  hcav'n,  those  ovtie 

And  forth  the  creature  springs  to  light. 

Saw  then  nor  roof  nor  cloud  between 

With  life  regenerate  in  his  wings :  — 

Their  own  pure  orbits  and  the  skies  j 

Emblem  of  vain  imaginir.gs  ! 

And,  though  her  lips  no  motion  made. 

Of  a  new  world,  when  this  is  gone, 

And  that  fix'd  look  was  all  her  speech. 

In  whi-jh  the  spirit  still  lives  on  ! 

I  saw  that  the  rapt  sp  ri-  prav'd 

Deeper  vtithin  than  words  could  reach. 

Direct  beneath  this  type,  reclin'd 

On  a  black  fraziite  altar,  l&y 

Strange  pow'r  of  Innocence,  to  turn 

A  female  inm,  'Ji  crystal  slirin'd. 

To  its  own  hue  whatc'cr  comes  near. 

And  locV.ng  f.oah  2s  if  the  my 

And  make  ev'n  vagrant  Passion  burn 

Of  soJil  had  fled  but  yesterday. 

With  purer  warmth  within  its  sphere  1 

While  in  relief,  of  silv'ry  hue. 

She  who,  but  one  short  hour  before. 

Giav'd  on  the  altar's  front  were  seen 

Had  come,  like  sudden  wildfire,  o'er 

\  branch  of  lotus,  brok'n  in  two, 

My  heart  and  brain  —  whom  gladly,  even 

\a  that  fair  creature's  life  had  been 

From  that  bright  Temple,  in  the  Csoe 

And  a  small  bird  that  from  .ts  spray 

Of  those  proud  ministers  of  heav'n, 

Was  winging,  like  her  soul,  away. 

I  would  have  borne,  in  «-ild  cnibrace 

And  risk'd  all  punishment,  divine 

Hut  nri<?f  the  glimpse  I  now  could  spare 

And  human,  but  to  make  her  mine  ;  — 

To  the  wild,  mystic  wonders  round ; 

She,  she  was  now  before  me,  thrown 

For  there  was  ytt  one  wonder  there, 

By  fate  itself  into-my  arms  — 

Thai  held  me  as  by  witch'ry  bound. 

There  standing,  beautiful,  alone. 

The  lamp,  that  through  the  chamber  shed 

With    nought    to    guard    her,    bnt    ha 

♦•«  vivid  Scam,  wu  at  the  head 

charms. 

/«0                                                               ALCIPHRON. 

^et  did  I  then  —  did  ev'n  a  breath 

Though  the  red  sun  for  hours  hath  bum'd, 

From  my  pnrch'd  lips,  too  parched  to  move, 

And  now,  in  his  mid  course,  hath  met 

Disturb  a  scene  where  thus,  beneath 

The  peak  of  that  eternal  pile 

Earth's  silent  covering.  Youth  and  Death 

He  pauses  still  at  noon  to  bless. 

Held  converse  through  undying  love  ? 

Standing  beneath  his  downward  smile, 

No  —  smile  and  taunt  me  as  thou  wilt  — 

Like  a  great  Spirit,  shadowless  !  — 

Though  but  to  gaze  thus  was  delight, 

Nor  yet  she  comes  —  while  here,  alone, 

y",t  seemed  it  like  a  wrong,  a  guilt, 

Saunt'ring  this  death-peopled  place, 

To  win  by  stealth  so  pure  a  sight : 

"Where  no  heart  beats  except  my  own, 

And  rather  than  a  look  profane 

Or  'neath  a  palm-tree's  shelter  thrown. 

Should  then  have  met  thoso  thoughtful  eyes, 

By  turns  I  watch,  and  rest,  and  traco 

Or  voica,  or  whisper  broke  the  chain 

These  lines,  that  are  to  waft  to  thee 

That  ilnk'd  hf.r  spirit  with  the  skies. 

My  last  night's  wondrous  history. 

I  would  have-  gladly,  in  that  place, 

From  whiuh  I  watched  her  heav'nward  face, 

Dost  thou  remember,  in  that  Isle 

Let  my  heart  break,  without  one  beat 

Of  our  own  Sea,  where  thou  and  I 

That  could  disturb  a  prayer  so  sweet. 

Linger'd  so  long,  so  happy  a  while, 

Gently,  as  if  on  every  tread. 

Till  all  the  summer  flowers  went  bj  — 

My  life,  my  more  than  life  depended, 

How  gay  it  was,  when  sunset  brought 

Back  through  the  sorridor  that  led 

To  the  cool  Well  our  favorite  maids  — 

To  this  blest  scene  I  now  ascended. 

Some  we  had  won,  and  some  we  sought 

And  with  slow  seeking,  and  some  pam. 

To  dance  within  the  fragrant  shades. 

And  many  a  winding  tried  in  vain, 

And  till  the  stars  went  down  attune 

Emerg'd  to  upper  air  again. 

Their  Fountain  HjTnns '  to  the  young  mooi 

The  sun  had  freshly  ris'n,  and  down 

That  time,  too  —  0,  'tis  like  a  dream  — 

The  marble  hills  of  Araby, 

WTien  from  Scamander's  holy  tide 

Scatter'd,  as  from  a  conqueror's  crown, 

I  sprung  as  Genius  of  the  Stream, 

His  beams  into  that  living  sea. 

And  bore  away  that  blooming  bride. 

There  seem'd  a  glory  in  his  light. 

Who  thither  came,  to  yield  her  charms 

Newly  p'lt  on  —  as  if  for  pride 

(As  Phrygian  maids  are  wont,  ere  wed) 

Of  the  high  homage  paid  this  night 

Into  the  cold  Scamander's  arms. 

To  his  own  Isis,  his  young  bride, 

But  met,  and  welcom'd  mine,  instead  — 

Now  fading  feminine  away 

"Wondering,  as  on  my  neck  she  fell, 

In  her  proud  Lord's  superior  ray. 

How  river  gods  could  love  so  well  ! 

Who  would  have  thought  that  he,  who  roVi 

My  mind's  first  impulse  was  to  fly 

Like  the  first  bees  of  summer  then. 

At  once  from  this  entangling  net  — 

Rifling  each  sweet,  nor  ever  lov'd 

New  scenes  to  range,  new  loves  to  try. 

But  the  free  hearts,  that  lov'd  again. 

Or,  in  mirth,  wine,  and  luxury 

Readily  as  the  reed  replies 

Of  every  sense,  that  night  forget. 

To  the  least  breath  that  round  it  sighs  : 

But  vain  the  effort  —  spell-bound  still. 

Is  the  same  dreamer  who,  last  night. 

I  linger'd,  without  power  or  will 

Stood  aw'd  and  breathless  at  the  sight 

To  turn  my  eyes  from  that  dark  door. 

Of  one  Egyptian  girl ;  and  now 

Which  now  enclos'd  her  'mong  the  dead  j 

Wanders  among  these  tombs,  with  oro» 

Oft  fancying,  through  the  boughs  that  o'er 

Pale,  watchful,  sad,  as  though  he  just. 

I'he  sunny  pile  their  flickering  shed. 

Himself,  had  ris'n  from  out  their  dust  I 

Twas  her  light  form  again  I  saw 

Staiting  to  earth  —  still  pure  and  bright. 

Yet  so  it  is  —  and  the  same  thirst 

Hut  wakening,  as  I  hop'd,  less  awe. 

For  something  high  and  pure,  above 

Thus  seen  by  morning's  natural  light. 

This  Avithering  world,  which,  from  the  first. 

Than  in  that  strange,  dim  cell  at  night. 

Made  me  drink  deep  of  woman's  love  — 

But  no,  alas  —  she  ne'er  retum'd : 

1  These  Songs  ot  the  Well,  as.  they  were  called  by  U« 

Nor  yet  —  though  still  I  watch  —  nor  yet. 

ancients,  are  still  commnn  in  the  Greek  Mtm. 

ALCIPHRON. 


T«l 


As  the  one  joy,  to  heav'n  most  near 
Of  all  our  hearts  can  meet  with  here  — 
Still  bums  me  up,  still  keeps  awake 
A  ferer  nought  but  death  can  slake. 

Farewell ;  whatever  may  befall  — 

Or  bright,  or  dark  -thou'lt  know  it  all. 


LETTER  IV. 

PBOM    ORCUS,    HIGH    PRIEST    OP   MEMPHIS,    TO 
DECICS,   THE    pa«TOHIAN    PREFECT. 

Rejoice,  my  friend,  rejoice :  —  the    youthful 

Chief 
Of  that  light  Sect  which  mocks  at  all  belief, 
And,  gay  and  godless,  makes  the  present  hour 
Its  only  heaven,  is  now  within  our  power. 
Smooth,  impious  school !  —  not  all  the  weapons 

aim'd. 
At  priestly  creeds,  since  first  a  creed  was  fram'd. 
E'er  struck  so  deep  as  that  sly  dart  they  wield, 
The  Bacchant's  pointed  spear  in  laughing  flowers 

cpnceal'd. 
And  O,  'twere  victory  to  this  heart,  as  sweet 
As  any  thou  canst  boast  —  ev'n  when  the  feet 
Of  thy  proud  war  steed  wade  through  Christian 

blood. 
To  wrap  this  8coff"or  in  Faith's  blinding  hood. 
And  bring  him,  tam'd  and  prostrate,  to  implore 
The  vilest  gods  ev'n  Egypt's  saints  adore. 
What !  —  do  these  sages  think,  to  them  alone 
The  key  of  this  world's  happiness  is  knoMTi  ? 
That  none  but  they,  who  make  such  proud  pa- 
rade 
Of  Pleasure's  smiling  favors,  win  the  maid. 
Or  that  Religion  keeps  no  secret  place. 
No  niche,  in  her  dark  fanes,  for  Love  to  grace  ? 
Fools  !  —  did  they  know  how  keen  the  /.est  that's 

given 
To  earthly  joy,  when  season'd  well  with  heaven ; 
How  Piety's  grave  mask  improves  the  hue 
Of   Pleasure's    laughing    features,    half    seen 

tlirough, 
Ar.i  how  the  Priest,  set  aptly  within  reach 
Of  two  ricl-  worlds,  traffics  for  bliss  with  each, 
W  ouM  they  not,  Decius  —  thou,  whom  th'  an- 
cient tie 
Twixl  Sword  and  Altar  makes  our  best  ally  — 
Would  they  not  change  their  creed,  their  craft, 

for  ours  r 
Leave   the   gross  daylight  joys  that,  in   their 

bowers, 
fjanguish  with  too  much   sun,  like  o'erblown 
flowers, 

06 


For  the  veil'd  loves,  the  bli«s€s  undi^lay".! 
That  slyly  lurk  within  the  Temple'k  shade  > 
And,   'stead   of   haunting  the   trim   Garden't 

school  — 
Where  cold  Philosophy  usurps  a  mle. 
Like  the  pale  moon's,  o'er  paraion't  Learii  n 

tide. 
Till  Pleasure's  self  is  chill'd  by  \Visdom'«  pri''c  - 
Be  taught  by  tu,  quit  shadows  for  the  true. 
Substantial  joys  we  sager  Priests  pursue. 
Who,  far  too  wise  to  theorize  on  bliss. 
Or  pleasure's  substance  for  its  shade  to  miss, 
Preach  other  worlds,  but  live  for  only  thU  ;  — 
Thanks  to  the  well-paid  Mysterj'  round  us  flung, 
Which,  like  its  type,  the  golden  cloud  that  hung 
O'er  Jupiter's  love  couch  its  shade  benign. 
Round  human  frailty  wraps  a  veil  divine. 

Still  less  should  they  presume,  weak  wits,  that 

they 
Alone  despise  the  craft  of  us  who  pray  ;  — 
Still  less  their  creeiuess  vanity  deceive  j 

With  the  fond  thought,  that  we  who  pray  be* 

lieve. 
Believe  !  —  Apis  forbid  —  forbid  it,  all 
Ye  monster  Gods,  before  wh"«e  shrinea  we  fall  — 
Deities,  fram'd  in  jest,  as  if  to  try 
How  far  gross  Man  can  vulgarize  the  sky ; 
How  far  the  same  low  fancy  that  combines 
Into  a  drove  of  brutes  yon  zodiac's  signs, 
And  turns  that  Heaven  itself  into  a  place 
Of  sainted  sin  and  deified  disgrace, 
Can  bring  Oljnnpus  ev'n  to  shame  more  deep, 
Stock  it  with  things  that  earth  itself  holds  che*j>, 
Fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  the  kitchen's  sacred  brcod, 
Which  Egypt  keeps  for  worship,  not  for  food  — 
All,  worthy  idols  of  a  Faith  that  seoa 
In  dogs,  cats,  owls,  and  apes,  divinities ! 

Believe !  —  O,  Decius,  thou,  who    fecl'st    no 

care 
For  things  divine,  beyond  the  soldier's  shaio. 
Who  tiikes  on  trust  the  faith  for  which  he  bleeds. 
A  good,  fierce  God  to  swear  by,  all  he  need*    - 
Little  canst  thou,  whose  creed  around  thee  hangi 
Loose  as  thy  summer  war  cloak,  guess  I  he  par.gt 
Of  loathing  and  self-scorn  with  which  a  Lcart, 
Stubborn  as  mine  is,  act*  tlie  zealot's  part  — 
The  deep  and  dire  disgust  with  which  I  wade 
Through  the  foul  juggling  of  this  holy  trade  •■ 
This  mud    profound  of  mystery,   where   Uh 

feet. 
At  every  step,  sink  deeper  in  deceit. 
O,  many  a  time,  when,  'mid  the  Temple's  bUsa 
O'er  prostrate  fools  the  sacked  cist  I  nim. 


762 


ALCIPHRON. 


Did  I  not  keep  still  proudly  in  my  mind 
Tbe  power  this  priestcraft  gives  me  o'er  man- 
kind— 
A  lever,  of  more  might,  in  skilful  hand, 
To    move    this    world,   than    Archimede    e'er 

plann'd  — 
I  should,  in  vengeance  of  the  shame  I  feel 
At  my  own  mockery,  crush  the  slaves  that  kneel 
Resetted  round;  and  —  like  that  kindred  breed 
Of  reverend,  well-dress'd  crocodiles  they  feed. 
At  fair.'d  ArsinoC  '  — make  my  keepers  bless, 
With  their  last  throb,  my  sharp-fang  d  Holiness. 

Say,  is  it  to  be  borne,  that  scoffers,  vain 

Of  their  own  freedom  from  the  altar's  chain, 

Should  mock  thus  all  that  thou  thy  blood  hast 

sold, 
And  I  my  truth,  pride,  freedom,  to  uphold  ? 
It  m'jst  not  be :  —  think'st  thou  that  Christian 

sect. 
Whose  followers,  quick  as  broken  waves,  erect 
Their  crests  anew,  and  swell  into  a  tide. 
That   threats   to   sweep   away  our  shrines  of 

pride  — 
Think'st  thou,  with  all  their  wondrous  spells, 

ev'n  they 
Would  triumph  thus,  had  not  the  constant  play 
Of  Wit's  resistless  archery  clear'd  their  way  ?  — 
That  mocking  spirit,  worst  of  all  the  foes, 
Our  solemn  fraud,  our  mystic  mummery  knows. 
Whose  wounding  flash  thus  ever  'mong  the  signs 
Of  a  fast-falling  creed,  prelusive  shines, 
rhreat'ning  such  change  as  do  the  awful  freaks 
Of  summer  lightning,  ere  the  tempest  breaks. 

But,  to  my  point  —  a  youth  of  this  vain  school, 
But  one,  whom  Doubt  itself  hath  fail'd  to  cool 
Down  to  that  freezing  point  where  Priests  despair 
Of  any  spark  from  th'  altar  catching  there  — 
Hath,  some  nights  since  — it  was,  methinks,  the 

night 
Tt.Al  follow'd  the  full  Moon's  great  annual  rite  — 
Through  the  dark,  winding  ducts,  that  downward 

stray 
?     :hese  earth-hidden  temples,  track'd  his  way, 
lupt  at  that  hour  when,  round  the  Shrine,  and  me, 
n  c  ohoir  of  blooming  nymphs  thou  long'st  to 

see. 
Sing  their  last  night  hymn  in  the  Sanctuary. 
The  clangor  of  the  marvellous  Gate,  that  stands 
At  the  Well's  lowest  depth — which  none  but 

hands 


«  ifot  the  trinkets  with  which  the  'acred  Crocodiles  were 
•munented,  $««  the  Epicurean,  chap.  x. 


Of  new,  untaught  adventurers,  from  above. 
Who  know  not  the  safe  path,  e'er  dare  to  move  - 
Gave  signal  that  a  foot  profane  was  nigh  :  — 
'Twas  the  Greek  youth,  who,  by  that  morning' 

sky, 
Had  been  observ'd,  curiously  wand'ring  round 
The  mighty  fanes  of  our  sepulchral  ground. 

Instant,  th'  Initiate's  Trials  were  prepar'd,  — 
The  Fire,  Air,  Water  ;  all  that  Orpheus  dar'd, 
That    Plato,    that    the    bright-hair'd   Samian 

pass'd. 
With  trembling  hope,  to  come  to  —  what,  nt  last 
Go,  ask  the  dupes  of  Priestcraft ;  question  hiiu 
Who,  'mid  terrific  sounds  and  spectres  dim, 
Walks  at  Eleusis ;  ask  of  those,  who  brave 
The  dazzling  miracles  of  Mithra's  Cave, 
With  its  seven  starry  gates  ;  ask  all  who  keep 
Those  terrible  night  myst'ries  where  they  weep 
And  howl  sad  dirges  to  the  answering  breez'v 
O'er  their  dead  Gods,  their  mortal  Deities- 
Amphibious,  hybrid  things,  that  died  as  men, 
Drown'd,    hang'd,   empal'd,    to   rise,    as    gods^ 

again  ;  — 
Ask  them,  what  mighty  secret  lurks  below 
This  sev'nfold  myst'ry —  can  they  tell  thee 

No; 
Gravely  they  keep  that  only  secret,  well 
And  fairly  kept  —  that  they  have  none  to  tell : 
And,  dup'd  themselves,  console  their  humbled 

pride 
By  duping  thencefortl)  all  mankind  beside. 

And  such  th'  advance  in  fraud  since  Orpheua' 

time  — 
That  earliest  master  of  our  craft  sublime  — 
So  many  minor  Myst'ries,  imps  of  fraud, 
From  the  great  Orphic  Egg  have  wing'd  abroad, 
That,  still  t'  uphold  our  Temple's  ancient  boaat, 
And  seem  most  holy,  we  must  cheat  the  roost  • 
Work  the  best  miracles,  wrap  nonsense  round 
In  pomp  and  darkness,  till  it  seems  profound  : 
Play  on  the  hopes,  the  terrors  of  mankind. 
With  changeful  skill ;  and  make  the  human  mind 
Like  our  own  Sanctuary,  where  no  ray, 
But  by  the  Priest's  permission,  wins  its  way  — 
Where  through  the  gloom  as  wave  our  wizard 

rod? 
Monsters,  at  will,  are  conjured  into  Gods; 
While    Reason,    like   a    grave-faced    mumm^ 

stands, 
With  her  arms  swathed  in  hieroglyphic  bands 

1  Pythagoras. 


6ut  cliiefly  m  that  skill  with  which  we  use 
&ian  s  wildest  passions  for  Religion's  views, 
Ifoking  them  to  her  car  like  fiery  steeds, 
Lies  the  main  art  in  which  our  craft  succeed*. 
A.nd  O  be  blest,  ye  men  of  yore,  whose  toil 
Hath,  for  our  use,  scoop'd  out  from  Egypt's  soil 
Tliis  hidden  Paradise,  this  mine  of  fanes, 
Gardens,  and  palaces,  where  Pleasure  reigns 
In  a  rich,  sunless  empire  of  her  o>vn. 
With    all    earth's    luxuries    lighting    up    her 

throne ; — 
A  realm  for  mystery  made,  which  undermines 
The  Nile  itself  and,  'neath  the  twelve  Great 

Shrines 
That  keep  Initiation's  holy  rite, 
Spreads  its  long  labyrinths  of  unearthly  light, 
A  light  thnt  knows  no  change  —  its  brooks  that 

run 
Too  deep  for  day,  its  gardens  without  sun, 
Where  soul  and  sense,  by  turns,  arc  chorm'd, 

surpris'd. 
And  all  that  bard  or  prophet  e'er  dovis'd 
For  man's  Elysium,  priests  have  renliz'd. 

Here,  at  this  moment  —  all  his  trials  puss'd, 

Aad  heart  and  nerve  unshrinking  to  the  last  — 

Our  new  Initiate  roves  •     as  yet  left  free 

lo  wander  through  this  realm  of  mystery  ; 

feeding  on  ouch  illusions  as  prepare 

rVit  •oui,  like  miat  o'er  wat*-»f»ll«,  to  ynta 


All  shapes  and  hues,  at  Fancy's  Tarring  will. 
Through  every  shifting  aspect,  vapor  stilJ  ;  ~ 
Vague  glimpses  of  the  Future,  vistas  shoH-n, 
By  scenic  skill,  into  that  world  unknown. 
Which  saints  and  sinners  claim  alike  their  om-n  | 
And  all  those  other  witching,  wildcring  arts. 
Illusions,  terrors,  that  make  human  hearts. 
Ay,  ev'n  the  wisest  and  the  hardiest,  quail 
To  ani/  goblin  thron'd  behind  a  veiL 

Yes  —  such  the  spells  shall  haunt  his  eye,  his 

car,    ' 
Mix  with   his  nightdreanos,   form   his  atmoa* 

phere ; 
Till,  if  our  Sago  be  not  tam'd  down,  at  length, 
Ilis  wit,  his  wisdom,  shorn  of  all  their  strength. 
Like  Phrygian  priests,  in  honor  of  the  shrine  — 
If  he  become  not  absolutely  mine. 
Body  and  soul,  and,  like  the  tame  decoy 
"Which  wary  hunters  of  wild  doves  employ, 
Draw  converts  also,  lure  his  brother  wits 
To  the  dark  cage  where  his  own  spirit  flits, 
And  give  us,  if  not  saints,  good  hypocrites  -^ 
If  I  effect  not  this,  then  be  it  said 
The  ancient  spirit  of  our  craft  hath  fled. 
Gone   with   that  serpent  god  the  Crow  hsU 

chas'd 
To  hiss  its  soul  out  in  ths  Thebao  wast«. 


INDEX. 


Aboalla,  King  of  the  Lesser  Bueharia, 
36C,  etc.     See  Lalla  Rotikti. 

Abdallab,  187.     Ili»  Gazel,  188. 

Abdul  Fazil,  455,  note. 

A  beam  uf  iratiquillity  ninil'd  in  the 
west,  133. 

\  broken  cake,  with  honey  iweet 
(Ode  LXX.  Ariacrcon),  121. 

if  gean  Sea,  the,  398,  301. 

Agnew,  Sir  Andrew,  ti03,  G05,  GG7,  H 
passim. 

Ah !'  where  are  they  who  heard,  in  for- 
mer hours,  314. 

Albemarle,  Lurd,  anecdote  of,  543. 

Album,  ide,  48.  56t>,  557. 

Alr'phron,  Athenian  phiKisopher,  an 
>nillate  in  Egyptian  .Mysteries,  737, 
728.  Ills  recujiiitidti  by  the  Roman 
trii.une,  747.  His  daring,  748.  He 
witnesses  tlie  death  of  the  Christian 
martyr  Alethe,  750.  Account  of  this 
Epicurean  philosopher,  75>'). 

Alciphrun,  a  Fragment  of  "  The  Epi- 
curean," as  originally  commenced  in 
verse,  "50-7G3.  Epistle  I.  From  Al- 
ciphn*'  at  Alexandria  to  Cleon  at 
Athens,  750.  II.  From  Alciphron  to 
Cleon,  753.  III.  Alriphron  to  Clean, 
755.  IV.  From  Orcus,  high  priest 
of  .Memphis,  to  I)eciu8,the  Prstoriaii 
prefect,  761. 

(Uethe,  Story  of  the  Martyr,  722,  747, 
et  nq. 

ilexandtr,  Bight  Hon.  H.,  IS9. 

iliris,  King,  Sn^i,  4-13,  457.  Hii  nup- 
t.ait  with  Lalla  Rookh,  457. 

All  that's  bright  must  fade,  3(16. 

4lla,name  of  God  in  .Mahometan  coun- 
tries, 371.  ( yide  Lalla  lliH.kh),  531, 
543.    The  throne  of  Alia,  !X>,  548. 

klone  in  crowds  to  wander  on,  354. 

Alps,  Bong  of  the,  361. 

America,  Poems  relating  to,  136.  Dod- 
kation  to  Francis  Earl  of  .Moim,  136. 
Preface,  131.    The  poems,  13i2. 

Animianus  gpeaking  of  Alexandria  in 
i:gypt,  689,  «. 

Amra,  tree,  453,  n. 

Amritn,  the  Immortal  tree,  354. 

Araystis,  the,  a  lingle  draught  ol  wine, 
05,11. 

wacxeon,  Odoa  of,  77. 


%*  7^  Odet  are  given  im  tJUt  tm-  ' 
itx  in  Ou  grder  qf  tk*  inititU  UUer  tf 
eocA  Odt. 

Anacreon.  Biographical  and  Critical 
Remarks,  79.  Additional  lyrics  at- 
tributed to  Anacreon,  133.  Panegj'r- 
ica  tn  the  Anthologia  on  Anacreon, 
133. 

Anacreontica,  modern,  28,  35,  38,  39, 
196,  198. 

And  dotli  not  a  meeting  like  this  make 
amends,  249. 

And  halt  thou  mark'd  the  peiuive 
■hade,  G4. 

And  now  with  all  thy  pencil*!  truth. 
(Ode  XVII.  Anacreon),  93. 

Angela  and  arcbaugeU  of  tlie  celestial 
hierarchy  of  the  primeval  Syrians, 
531,546. 

Angels,  the  ?allen,  453,  546. 

Ang:rianu8,  Latin  verses  of,  translated, 
87,  n.,  95,  n. 

Anglosea,  Marquis  of,  lord  lieutenant, 
555. 

Animal  Magnetism,  6391 

Annual  Pill,  the,  594. 

Antelope  of  Krac,  453.     Ste  aUo  746. 

Antliology,  the  Greek  :  —  Translations 
of  some  Epigrams  of,  133.  Bongs 
from  the  Greek,  354. 

Antipater,  epigram  of,  125 

Antique,  a  Study  from  the,  144. 

Antiquity,  a  Dream  of,  141. 

A|>ollo,  the  god  of  poetry,  383. 

Apollo,  tlie  High  Priest  of,  to  a-virgin 
of  Delphi,  53. 

Apricots,  the  "  Seed  of  the  Sun,"  45Q. 

Arab,  the  tyriuit,  Al  Hassan,  (ri^  Lal- 
la Uookh,  Uie  Story  of  The  Fits  Wcx- 
shippers),  413,  et  teq. 

Arab  .Maid,  Uie,  413,416,  459,  453. 

Arabia,  413,  &.c. 

Arabian  shepherd,  his  camel,  31?,  *. 

Ararat,  Mount,  414. 

Archangels,  531,  537,  546. 

Ariadne,  dance  so  named,  310. 

Ariel,  141,553,569. 

Aristippus,  to  a  Lamp  given  by  Lais, 
:)9. 

Arm'd  with  hyacinthine  rod  (Ode 
XXXL  Anacreon),  103. 

Around  the  tomb,  O  bard  divine !  (An- 
thologia), 133. 

Arranmore,  loved  Arrannore  !  SM. 


.Array  thee,  lo**.  Ml 

Art,  317. 

As  by  his  Lemnian  Corge^  last*  ('Ja 

XXVIL  Anacreon),  loa 
As  by  the  shore,  at  break  of  day,  319 
As  down  in  the  stinlees  retreats,  til. 
Ask  not  if  still  I  love,  357. 
As  late  I  sought  the  spanglad  Dowea 

(Ode  VI.  Anacre.-n).  d6. 
As  o'er  the  lake,  iu  evening's  glim 

686. 
As  o'er  her  loom  the  Lea'jjan   mald^ 

310. 
As  once  a  Grecian  naidea  wove  317 
Aspuia,6L 
Aspen  tree,  the,  449w 
As  slow  our  ship,  239. 
As  vanquish'd  Erin  wept,  W30 
Aulanlis,  island  of,  693. 
Atiiens,  and  the  Sectariee  of  the  Gar 

den,  685.    Akipbron,  733,  750-7(51 

Pyrrho,  175,  s(  ««f.    The  r  other  «* 

art,  317. 
Athol,  Duke  of,  £59. 
Atkinson,  Joseph,  BpistU  to,  aS.  Epto- 

tie  from  Bermuda  to,  145.    Tribuu 

to  his  memory,  555. 
At  the  mid  hour  of  night,  233. 
At  length  thy  golden  liourji  have  wing'd 

their  flight  (Anthologia),  135. 
At  night,  wlien  all  is  still  aniund,  679 
Atur  Gul,  or  (vulgarly)  Otto  of  Bofie* 

456. 
Augustine  to  bis  Sister,  9Ml 
Aurora  Borealis,  456. 
Aurungzebe,  Mogul  Emperor  of  DaUil 

366,443. 
Austrians,  Lheir  entry  into  Naplee,  SM 
Autumn  and  Spiinj,  383. 
Avenging  and  bright    (k!)    tbe   twifl 

■tvord  of  Erin;  333 
Awake,  arise,  !hy  •igh*.  is  come,  SVn 
Awake  to  life,  ny  sleeping  atieit  f04» 

LV.  Anacreon),  117 
Away,  away,  yj  u-«.a  m  iuIm  |Od« 

LI  I.  Anacreon),  \\% 
Awful  Event,  605. 
A  while  I  bluom'd  a  happ>  aow«r<04» 

LXX  in.  Anacreon),  131. 
Aaiin,  370.     Sn  Lalla  BocMuk.  VTA 
Azor,  idols  of,  455. 
Azrael,  Ilia  aiifel  of  ^eiHi  MH 
Arure  of  the  CbiMs*  pMMiaf  of  •■• 

celain    155,  a. 

(7U) 


fM 


INDEX. 


B. 

Babylon,  993. 

Ball  and  Gala  described,  300.    Allusion 
to  Almack's,  553.     See  Waltz,  &c.  et 
passim.    The  Romaika,  311. 
Ballads,  legendary.  325-330. 
Ballads,  miscellaneous,  334-354. 
Ballads,  occasional,  passim. 
Bank,  coquetry  of  the,  with  Govern- 
ment, 557.    JVntes,  558. 
Bard,  the  VVanderfng,  254. 
Bards,  of,  84,  215,  278,  344,  351,  353,  et 

passim. 
Battle,  after  the,  217. 
Battle,  before  the,  216. 
Battle  eve,  song  of  the,  253. 
Battle,  the  parting  before  the,  333. 
Beaujolais,  Count  de,  439. 
Beauty  and  Song,  351. 
Beauty,  of,  152,  229,  251,  254,  255,  267, 

279,  281,  298,  324,  366,  &c.  &.C. 
Beckford,  to  Miss  Susan  (now  DuA- 

ess  of  Hamilton,)  68, 
Bee,  the,  222,  277. 
Behold  the  sun,  how  bright,  289. 
Believe    me,   if    all    those    endearing 

young  charts,  214. 
Bell,  the  silver,  278. 
Benab  Hasche,  or  daughters  of  God, 

531. 
Benshee,  or   Banshe,  superstition   of 

the,  211. 
Bemsuda,  Farewell  to,  142.    Some  ac- 
count of  that  island,  145,  n. 
Big  Ben,  epistle  from  Tom  Crib  to,  460. 
Bigotry,  Triumph  of,  615. 
Bird,  let  loose  m  eastern  skies  (the), 

284. 
Birthday,  my,  521. 
Birthday,  the,  57,  521. 
Bishops,  the  dance  of,  a  dream,  610. 
niackmore.  Sir  Richard,  506. 
Blue  Love  Song,  604. 
Blue  Stocking,  the,  677,  678. 
Boat  glee,  678. 

Bohlen,  Professor  Von,  his  translation 
into  German  of  the  "  Little  Man  and 
Little  Soul,"  162. 
Bowl,  the,  209,  213,  224,  231,  249,  253, 

256,  276,  277,  279,  323,  324,  331. 
Bride  of  the  Vale,  the,  285. 
Brien  the  Brave,  207. 
Boston  Frigate,  To  the: — On  leaving 

Halifax  for  England,  159. 
rfoy  of  the  Alps,  th,?,  344. 
Boy  sitting  on  the  lotus  flower,  254, 

704,71 
tJoy  statesman,  the,  632. 
Boy  with  a  watch,  to  a,  25. 
Boyle  Farm,  the  Seat  of  Lord  Henry 
Fitzgerald,  Summer   F«te    at,  294 
W7. 
Boyne,  river,  259. 
Box,  the  song  of  the,  630. 
Bright  be  thy  dreams,  9^ 


Brighton,  the  Pavilion  at,  458. 

Bring  hither,  bring  thy  lute,  301. 

Bring  me  the  slumbering  souls  of  flow- 
ers, 669. 

Bring  tlie  bright  garlands  hither,  S79. 

Brougham,  Lord,  560. 

Bruce,  James,  Esq.,  his  journey,  507. 

Brunimel,  Beau,  196. 

Brunswick  Club,  the,  607. 

Brunswickers,"  Incantation  from  tlie 
Tragedy  of,  "  The,  599. 

Bucharia,  Abdalla,  king  of  (in  Lalla 
Rook)  ),  366,  442,  455,  456,  &;c. 

Buds  o  roses,  virgin  flowers  (Ode 
XLIV.  Anacreon),  108. 

Bull,  John,  554  J  a  pastoral  ballad,  by, 
580. 

Bunting,  Mr.,  232,  308,  n. 

Burns,  Robert,  258,  ."JOe. 

But  who  shall  see  the  glorious  day,  287. 
(Stevenson.) 

Butterflies  Aenominated  flying  leaver  in 
Chiiia,  451. 

Byron,  Lord,  his  love  of  music,  305. 
Is  visited  by  Mr.  Moore  at  Venice, 
440.  Dedication  to  him  of  Mr. 
Moore's  Fables  for  the  Holy  Alli- 
ance, 489.  On  his  autobiography, 
507.    His  "  Heaven  and  Earth,"  529. 

By  that  lake  whose  gloomy  shore,  220. 


c. 

Cage,  the  Love,  275. 

Call  the  Loves  around,  303. 

Calm  as,  beneath  its  mother's  eyes, 
320. 

Calm  be  thy  sleep  as  infants'  slumbers, 
348. 

Cambridge  Election,  Ballad  for  the, 
563. 

Canadian  Boat  Song,  155. 

Candahar,  451. 

Canonization  of  the  Saint,  570. 

Canova,  his  Venere  Vincitrice,  441. 

Cara,  to,  49. 

Care,  231/ 

Case,  a  sad,  606. 

Cashmere,  nuptials  of  Lalla  Rookh  at, 
366.  "  Cashmere,  the  vale  of,"  sung 
by  Feramorz,  444.  The  lake  of,  and 
islets,  445,  n.  Mountain  portal  to 
the  lake,  445,  n.  Roses  of,  444.  The 
unequalled  valley,  455.  Supersti- 
tions of,  455,  n.  A  holy  land,  455, 
n.  The  fountain  Tirnagh,  455,  n. 
"  Though  sunny  the  lake  of  cool 
Cashmere,"  402. 

Castalia,  the  fountain,  307,  n. 

Castlereagh,  Lord,  satirized,  458,  461, 
et  seq.  (See  The  Fudge  Family,  463, 
et  passim.)  His  departure  -for  the 
Continent,  627,  628.  See  Satirical 
Poems,  &c. 

Catholic  Question,  the,  590,  594. 

Ca.holics,  the  Roman.  574,  an. 


Catullus,  55,  522. 

Caubul,  or  Caboul,  gardens  of,  45a 

Cecilia,  Saint,  608. 

Cephahis  and  Procris,  S27. 

Ceres,   Ode    to    the    Goddess,  by    9ii 

Thomas  L.,  560. 
Chabuk,  the,  456,  457. 
Chaldeans,  astronomical  notioiia  of  tbi 

ancient,  537,  n. 
Ch^ntrey,  dir  Francis,  440.    Uis  adin> 

ration  of  Canova,  441. 
Character,  a,  C35. 
Charity,  Angol  of,  288.    (Handel.} 
Charles  X.,  king  of  France,  439     An- 
ecdote, 439. 
Chatsworth,  the  Derbyshire  ducal  aaan 

sion  oi",  337. 
Cherries,  s.  ronsorvo  in  the  East,  4^ 
ChcrrSe^).  tiiO,  £89. 
Cherubim,  5'i8. 
Child's  song:   I  have  a  garden  of  mj 

own,  360. 
China,  butterflv  of,  451. 
Chindara's  warbling  fount,  450. 
Chinese,  peculiar  porcelain  painting  of 

the,  455. 
Chinese    Bird    of    Royalty,    the,    oi 

"  Fum,"  545,  &;c. 
Christ,  the  Savior,  287,  288,  290,  292. 
Christianity,  and  the  Fathers,  689. 
Church  and  State,  494. 
Church  extension,  648.    isongs  of  tfaa 

639. 
Circassian  slaves,  the,  297. 
Clnre,  Earl  of,  235,  236. 
Cleopatra  of  Alexandria,  689. 
Clergy,  the  numbering  of  the,  a  Parodj 

600. 
Cloe  and  Susan,  275. 
Cloe,  to,  imitated  from  Martial,  63 
Cloris  and  Fanny,  31. 
Cloud,  a  summer,  540. 
Cockei  on  Church  Reform,  623. 
College  Exercises,  Fragments  of,  24. 
Come,  chase  that  starting  tear  away 
.  272. 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  by  night  and 

by  day,  453. 
Come  not,  O  Lord,  in  the  dread  rob* 

of  splendor,  287. 
Come  o'er  the  sea,  maiden,  with  me, 

227 
Come,  play  me  that  simple  air  SiUK; 

682. 
Come,  pr.iy  with  me,  my  seraph  !*?•, 

547. 
Come,   rest  in   this  bosom,  my  owa 

stricken  .ieer,  230. 
Come,  f.ciid  round  the  wine,  213. 
Come,  take  my  advice,  582. 
Come,  take  the  harp ;  'tis  vain  to  musa, 

70. 
Come,  ye  disconsolate,  where'er  yor 

languish,  290. 
Comet,  poetically  described,  537.    Tl« 

mad  Tory  and  the,'613. 
Common  Sense  aj>d  Genius,  270 


INDEX- 


7<: 


Condolence,  Epistle  of:  — From  a 
Slave  Lord  to  a  Cotton  Lord,  6oL 

Connor,  Plielira,  his  patriotic  Poetical 
J^etters,  4C?,  474,  465. 

Con<<ulta:ion,  the,  C19. 

Cookery,  art  of  domestic ;  to  the  Rev- 
erend   ,  597. 

Ooolliiirga,  or  Koolbarga,  city  of  the 
Deccan,  457. 

Ccri:  aue»ti  n,  the,  S60,  574,  591. 

Crne^^iundenca  b<>tween  a  Lady  and 
Genthinan  retpecting  Law,  309. 

Corription,  zn  Epistle,  by  an  Irisb- 
man,  1C4. 

i>>rry,  Mr.,  bin  merit  u«  an  amateur 
comedian,  443,  518.  Tu  Jamee  Cor- 
ry,  Enq.,  on  the  prew-nt  of  a  wine 
gtra'ner,  5.%2. 

Cotton  and  Com,  a  dialofrtie,  iT!\i. 

Count  me,  on  the  mnnmer  troM  ^Od« 
XIV.  Anacreon),  90. 

Coiirilr}'  Danre  and  Quadrille,  553. 

Court  Journal,  the,  670. 

Cousini),  Country,  News  for,  567. 

Crabbe,  the  Puet,  Verses  on  the  Ink- 
stand of,  534. 

Crib,  Tom,  Epistle  from,  to  Big  Ben, 

4(>a 

Critias  of  Athens,  bis  verses  on  Anac- 
reon, \Q5,  «. 
Criticism,  (he  genius  of,  536. 
Cross,  the,  an  emblem  of  future  life  in 

Ep>ptian  hieroglyphics, 696, 726,759, 

763. 
•>owe.  Rev.  William,  his  poetic  rein, 

306,306,11. 
Crown    of  virgin   martyn,   poisoned, 

750,11. 
Crystal  Huntprs,  the,  273. 
I>ipid  arm'd,  3.52. 
Cupid  once  upon  a  bed  (Ode  XXXV. 

Anarre<ui),  104. 
Cupid,  whjKe  lamp  has  lent  the  ray 

(Anacreontic),  122L 
C^apid,  poetical  alluoion!!  to,  67,74, 122, 

267,  343,  359.     yide  Love,  3.59. 
Cupid,  Sale  of,  by  .Meleager,  355. 
Cupid's  Ixittery,  678. 
?xriou»  Fact,  a,  598. 
Ciirran,  John  Philpot,  hit  pleasantry 

430. 
;arran    Miss  234 


Paeie,  Lidy,  Bpii'^gue  to  het  Ttagedy 
of  Ina,  679. 

DunaKus,  (he  Green  Mioque  at,  444.  n. 

Uan,  some  account  of  the  late  dinner 
to,  644. 

ilandic!!,  294,  299. 

•»mne^,  the,  212,  254,  257.  The  Scan- 
dinavian poetry,  503. 

tante,  his  Inferno,  imitation  of,  587. 
71ie  Oream,  6?1.  His  contrition  of 
mind,  541. 


David,  the  harp  of,  290. 
Davidson,  Lticretia,  237. 
Davy,  Sir  Humphrey,  his  lamp,  SIS, 
Dawn  is  breaking  o'er  us,  354. 
Day,  383,  396. 
Daydream,  the,  680. 
Deadman's  I»le:  —  Romance,  1S8. 
Dear  Fanny,  357. 

Dear .'    Ves,  though  mine  no  mora, 338. 

Death,  emblem  of,  t'97.    Openi«g  of 

the  Gates  of  Oblivion,  009, 700.   The 

upright  bodies  in  catacnrohs,  700. 

Death  and  the  dead,  allusions  to,  9BS, 

289,546. 
Debt,  National,  CIS. 
Deciiis,  Ptctorian  prefect,  Ortna,  bigh 

priest  of  Memphis,  to,  761. 
Delatorian  Cohort,  the,  461,  te. 
Delhi,  visit  of  Abdalla  to  Aurungzebe 
at,  366.    Splendors  of  the  court  and 
city,  366,  367.    Mogdl,  emperors  of, 
4.51,  notu. 
Delphi,  tnnspon  of  laurel  to,  36.    The 

shrine,  352.    To  a  virgin  of,  S3. 
Deluge,  tablets  saved  by  Belb  from  the, 

548. 
Deluge,  the,  superinduced  by  the  sign 

of  a  comet,  739. 
Den,  Doctor,  673,  675. 
Derby!<liire,  Mr.  Moore's  residence  in, 

538. 
Desmond's  Song,  and  tradition  relating 

to  that  chieftain,  251. 
Destiny,  the  Island  of,  3S.V 
Devil  among  the  Scholar*,  the,  84. 
Dewan  Khafs,  built  by  Shah  Allum,  Ha 

inscription,  453,  a. 
Dialogue,  a  recent,  635. 

Z'.tk ,  a  character,  611. 

Dictionary,  Revolution  in  the,  headed 

by  Mr.  Gait,  603. 
Did  not,  27. 
Dissolution  of  the  Holy  Alliance;   a 

Dream,  490. 
Doctors,  the  Three,  .VW. 
Dodsworth,  Mr.  Roger  («mi«  1826),  563. 
Donegal,   Marchioness    of.   Letter    tn, 
259.     Poetical  Epistle  from  Bermuda 
to  her  Ladyship,  136.    Dedication  u>, 
206. 
Donkey  and  his  Panniers,  573. 
Doet  thou  remember,  96& 
Dove,  the,  Sd& 

Dove  of  Mahomet,  the,  545,  571. 
Drama,  Sketch  of  the  First  Act  of  a 

new  Romantic,  629. 
Dream  of  Hindoatan,  a,  607. 
Dream  of  Home,  the,  346. 
Dream  of  the  Two  Sisters,  frooi  Danta, 

681. 
Dream  of  thoee  daya,  the,  2S7. 
Dream  of  Turtle,  kf  Sir  W.  Cmr^, 

572. 
Dream,  Sir  Andrews,  COS. 
Dream,  the  Limbo,  Slc,  S8G. 
Dreaming    forever,  vainly    drsaming, 
360. 


Dreams,  poetical  mutHam  M,  31. 119 

277,  279, 610, 611 
Drinking  8oii«s,Ax..S13.U«,aKMi 

asa,ass,878,tn. 

Drink  oTihia  cup,  Ml 

Drink  oTtbia  cap.  OsMi  rip^  7M 

Drink  to  her,  who  ka^  114. 

Druids,   and    Diuldkal   sapstadMM 

955. 
DuigeMM,  Doctor,  tS&. 
Duke  is  the  laa  to  friglMea  a  iMa.  ttt 


E. 

East,  poetical  RMuncas  of  dM  (UOt 

Rookh).  308, 449,  497. 
Ebli*.  the  evil  apirit,  37S,  S& 
Echo,  5M8, 9ap,  301, 3S7.  374,  lAl. 
Ecboas,  New^MrioMd,  908. 
Eden,  SIMM  ol  tiM  peali'  allwIaM  m 

256,  406,  CM,  831 
Edinburgh    Keviasr,  aitiela    kf   Mf 

Moore  in  the,  449. 
Egenon,  Lord  Francis,  9M. 
Egypt's  dark  eea, 981    Tk«4MalMlM 

of,  987. 
Egypiiana,  Hm  aadwM,  aM, «.    Of  tka 

coiinteoaM*  of  llM  weiw,  480,  • 

Their  hlerogljrpblei,  an. 
Eldon,  Ixrd  ChWinitr,  uuiiawiMln 

tear*  of.  963,  984.    NlfiMnp  ti,  888 

A  witard,  968.    HIa  bat  and  wiff, 

577.    Hi*  Lordship,  oaibeUMkrato 

Quaetion,  980.     Bia  caneclaatiww 

Luiiaanaiiam    (^fiar    UocMa,    <Mt 

XXn.lih.i.),900.    Bia  wig,  198,  eO 
Eloquence,  498. 
Emmett,  Robert,  t3B,  933.    Bis  el» 

qneaea,  933L    Bb  MMhMiHM,  Wk 

Hia  aAnce^9aSb 
Emmett,  Thomas  Addis,  934 
Enchanted  tree,  the,  731. 
Enigma,  983. 
Epicure'*  dream,  498L 
Epicurean,  the,  6A&. 
Epicureans,  bust*  of   the   MOM  nl^ 

brated  pbilosapbeia  oT  Iheir  aMi  m 

Athena,  90B. 
Epicuraa,  79, 141, 889,  Itt, 
Epigrama,  by  Mr.  Monra,  86,  MT,  198 

190, 909,  989: 
Epigram*  of  the  Anthotogta  la  pniM 

of  Anacreon,  133. 
Epilofua,  oceaaMM.,  spoCM  bf   Mr 

Oonry  !■  the  ehanctw  tt  VmU,  af 

ter  the  play  of  «M  ttnmmtm,  at  *» 

Kilkenny  thaatra,  918.   TuthaiiMa 

dy  of  Ina,  879L 
BrasoMta  oa  aatih,  W  CIcmo  in   l» 

abadea;  an  BpMte, 886. 
Erin,  O  Erin,  914. 
P.rin '  the  tMir  and  the  amile  la  iMMa 

evea.  917. 
Bna,  poetical  allaaiaw  la,  tW,  Mb* 

9B4.9S7,9U. 


r«3 


INDEX. 


Erin,  tome  political  iiHusions  to,  580. 
See  Ireland,  et  passim. 

Esjiex  the  late  Earl  of,  307. 

Eternal  life,  ancient  belief  of  an,  C98, 
701,  706,  759. 

Eve,  the  second  Angel  describes  her, 
538.  Alluded  to  by  the  third  Angel, 
550. 

Eveleen's  bower,  212. 

Evenings  in  Greece,  304.  First  Even- 
ing, 308.    Second  Evening,  315. 

■Ix  -t-r,  Henry  of,  to  John  of  Tiiam, 639. 

Exeier  Hall,  the  Reverends  of,  672, 675. 

Exquisites,  294,  299. 

Exile,  the,  348. 

Extinguishers,  the,  498. 


F. 

yables  for  the  Holy  Alliance,  489. 

Fadladeen,  great  Nazir  of  the  Harem 
(in  Lalla  Rookh),  his  vanity,  367,  et 
seq. ;  442,  443.     His  criticisms,  399, 

409,  454.     His  recantation,  457. 
Fairest !  put  on  a  while,  249. 
Fairy  boat,  the,  .322. 

Faith,  288,  291. 

Fall'n  is  thy  throne,  O  Israel,  284. 

Family  way.  All  in  the ;  a  pa^orul,  562. 

Fancy,  521. 

Fancy,  prismatic  dyes  of,  505. 

Pancy,  various  allusions  to,  68, 134, 298. 

Fancy  Fair,  the,  348. 

Fanny,  dearest !  522. 

Farce,  the  triumphs  of,  650. 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one,  268. 

Fare  thee  well,  perfidious  maid  (Ode 
LXXII.  Anacreon),  121. 

Farewell!  —  but  whenever  you  wel- 
come the  hour,  226. 

Farewell,  Theresa,  276. 

Fear  not  that,  while  around  thee,  281. 

Feramorz  and   the  Princess,  368,  402, 

410,  412,  442.  His  song,  444.  De- 
nouement of  the  fiction  of  his  dis- 
guise, 457. 

Ferdinand  VII.,  Ode  to  King,  577. 

File,  the,  at  Boyle  Farm,  294.  See  Sum- 
mer Fete. 

Fill  me,  boy,  as  deep  a  draught  (Ode 
LXII.  Anacreon),  118. 

Fill  the  bumper  fair,  231. 

Fin  M'Cumhal,  the  Fiiiians,  and  Fin- 
gal,  256. 

Fionnuala,  the  Song  of,  213. 

Firefly,  to  the,  146. 

Fireflies,  135,  256,  459,  545. 

Fire  worship  of  Persia  and  the  East, 
■«11.  The  persecuted  Ghebers,  412. 
Story,  "  The  Fire  worshippers,"  412- 
438.     Fide  Lalla  Rookh. 

Fitzgerald,  the  late  Lord  Henry,  294. 

Fleetly  o'er  the  moonlight  snows,  361. 

Flow  on,  thou  shining  river,  266. 

Flowers,  the  language  of,  354. 

Fiy  and  the  Bullock,  the,  493. 


Fly  from  the  world,  O  Bessy,  to  me,  43. 

Fly  not  thus,  my  brow  of  snow  (Ode 
LI.  Anacreon),  111. 

Fly  not  yet,  'tis  just  the  hour,  208. 

Fly  swift,  my  light  gazelle,  354. 

Fly  to  the  desert,  fly  with  me,  453. 

Flying  Fish,  to  the,  133. 

Follies,  tlie  book  of,  —  an  album,  41. 

Fontenelle,  M.,  consistency  of,  521. 

Fools'  Paradise  :  Dream  the  First,  622. 

For  thee  alone  I  brave  the  boundless 
deep,  34.5. 

Forbes,  Lady  Adelaide,  portrait  of,  65, 
439. 

Forbes,  to  Lord ;  from  the  city  of 
Washington,  147. 

Forget  not  the  field  where  they  per- 
ished, 242. 

Formosa,  island  of,  505. 

Fortune  Teller,  the,  24.5. 

Fox,  Right  Hon.  Charles  James,  200. 

Fragment,  a,  54,  64. 

Fragment  of  a  Character,  552. 

Freedom,  298,  338,  339. 

Friend,  on  the  death  of  a,  552,  555. 

Friends,  on  leaving  some,  C9. 

Friendship,  a  temple  to,  266. 

Friendship  and  Love,  282. 

From  dread  Leucadia's  frowning  steep 
(Anacreontic),  123. 

From  the  land  beyond  the  sea,  156. 

From  this  hour  the  pledge  is  given,  257. 

Fruit,  varieties  of  eastern,  452. 

Fudge  Family  in  Paris,  the,  4(51. 

Fudges,  the,  in  England,  being  a  Se- 
quel to  the  "  Fudge  Family  in  Par- 
is," C51. 

Fudge,  Phil.,  Esq.,  his  political  conduct 
and  penchant,  403-482.  His  Poetical 
Letter  to  Lord  C— st— r— gh,  403.  To 
Tim.  Fudge,  Esq.,  471.  To  Viscount 
C — St— r— gh,  479.  His  Journal,  ad- 
dressed to  Lord  C,  479. 

Fudge,  Mr.  Bob,  his  Letters  to  Richard 

,  Esq.,  405,  476.    To  the  Rev. 

Mortimer  O'Mulligan,  670. 

Fudge,  Miss  Biddy,  her  Poetical  Letters 
from  Paris  to  -Miss  Dorothy  — — ,  of 
Clonkilty,  in  Ireland,  401,469,482, 
486.     See  also  657,  659,  605,  667. 

Fudge,  Miss  Fanny's  Epistles,  659, 
669.    Her  uncle's  bequest,  677. 

*»*   See  Connor,  O'Branigan,  and 
O'Mulligan,  in  this  Index. 

Fum  and  Hum,  the  two  Birds  of  Roy- 
alty, 458. 

G. 

Gait,  Mr.,  and  the  Dictionary,  602. 
Galaxy,  or  Milky  Way,  73. 
Ganges,  blue  current  of  the,  452. 
Garden,  the  dream  of  the,  685,  687, 701. 

Festival  of  the,  686. 
Gayly  sounds  the  Castanet,  271. 
Gazel  and  Maami,  555. 
Gazel,  by  Abdallah,  188. 


Gazelle,  the,  278. 

Genius,  poetical  allusions  to  370. 

Genius  and  Criticism,  5.56. 

George  III.,  King,  194,  et  passim. 

George  IV.  (Prince  Regent  and  Kin^ 
See  Intercepted  Letters,  17^191.  Par 
ody  of  a  celebrated  Letter,  194.  Thi 
Prince's  Plume,  19S.  Ich  Dien,  19^ 
The  Old  Yellow  Chariot,  197.  The 
Privy  Pur-se,  197.  King  Crack  aiiti 
his  Idols,  197.  Prince  ot  Walei~'» 
Feathers,  196,  460.  The  Prince's 
Day,  219,  237.  Bird  of  Royalty,  456. 
400,  592. 

Georgian  Maid,  the,  453. 

Geramb,  Baron,  and  mustachios,  li»7. 

Ghelier,  the,  416,  et  seq. 

Ghost  .Story,  a,  636. 

Give  me  the  harp  of  epic  song  (Ode  n 
Anacreon),  8.i. 

Glees,  set  of,  332. 

Gnomes,  doctrine  of,  542. 

Go  forth  to  the  mount,  293. 

Go,  let  me  weep,  tiiere'a  bliss  in  tean 
286. 

Go,  now,  and  dream,  276. 

Go,  then,  'tis  vain  to  hover,  273. 

Go  where  glory  waits  thee^SOe. 

Gondolas  and  gondoliers,  209,  274,5?76 
299. 

Goose  of  the  River  Nile,  717. 

Goveniment,  tinancial,  557. 

Grammont,  Count  de,  74. 

Grattan,  on  the  deatli  of,  247. 

Grecian  girl's  dream  of  the  Blessed  Is)' 
ands  ;  to  her  lover,  61. 

Grecian  Maiden,  tlie  —  Song,  317. 

Grecian  Vouth,  the,  324,  el  seq 

Greece,  Isles  of,  298,  308.  Zean  maids 
308,  et  seq.  Allusions  to  Greece  in 
Lalla  Roiikh,  370,  et  seq.  Evenings 
in  Greece:  —  First  Evening,  Zea, 
308.    Second  Evening,  315. 

Greek  Ode,  prefixed  to  the  Tmnslation 
of  Anacreon,  78.  Corrections  of  thit 
Ode  by  an  eminent  Scholar,  78. 

Greeks,  The  group  that  late  in  garb  i  f, 
3  )1.     Sec  298. 

Grenada,  the  young  muleteers  of,  33o^. 

Guess,  guess  ;  —  the  lady  of  my  love, 
358. 

Guidi,  sonnet  by,  with  a  translation,  '.16 
Ode  by  Guidi  on  the  Arcadians,  4-11 

Guitar  of  India,  the  Syrindu,  453. 

Gull  language,  translation  from  tl.e 
01,5. 

Gulliver,  Captain  Lemuel  557. 

Gun,  the  Evening,  334. 

Gyna;ocracy,  pro|K)sals  for  a,  60e 


IL 

Hafiz,  the  poet,  541,  b. 
Halcyon  hangs  o'er  ocean,  the,  3i>0. 
Harem,  Jehanghir's  ;  the  Light  of  thi 
Harem.  444. 


INDEX. 

7r»v 

Hark,  the  reaper  hymn  U  atealing, 369. 

Hope  comes  again,  to  this  heart  long  a 

I  know  thru  lov'st  a  bnuiuiif  meuaiv 

(lark,  't's  (lie  breezn  of  twilight  railing, 

stranger,  981. 

(Anacreontic),  IM. 

292. 

Hope,  poetical  allusions  to,  969,  977, 

1  often  wish   ibis  languid   \jn  ((Me 

Harmony,  the  genius  of,  50. 

293,  3M,  677. 

XXIV.  Anacrwm).  Jg. 

Haroiin-al-Raschid,  the  Caliph,  444. 

Huru-e,  free  translations  of  some  Odea 

1  pray  iliee,  liy  the  gods  above !    (Ode 

fiarp,  certain  of  the  |M>etic-al  allui>iona 

of :  —  Come,   YaniM>uth.    my    boy, 

IX.  AnacnMHi),  88. 

to  that  iustniinent,  42,  239,  847, 253, 

never  trtHihle  your  brains  ;Ode  XI. 

1  pray  you,  let  us  mam  ito  moie,  l« 

955,  270. 290. 

lib.  2),  199.     The  man  who  ke«p«  ■ 

1  saw,  ftotn  yonder  siUjt  cave.  31i 

Harp  of  my  country !    in  darknea*  t 

conscience  pure  (Ode  XXII   lib.  1), 

I  saw  fmm  the  beach,  wh«M  iba  man 

found  thee,  231. 

300.    I  hate  thee,  O  Mob,  as  my  lady 

ing  was  >hining,  990. 

Harp,  iha  oriein  of  the,  218. 

hates  delf  (Ode  1.  lib.  3),  305.     Boy, 

I  saw  tlie  moon  rise  clear.  338. 

Harp    Faiewejl  to  the,  237. 

tell  the  rook  that  1  hain  all  knick- 

I  saw   the  smiling  luird  of  pleasan 

liar))  that  <>ncc   through  Tara'a  halli, 

knackeries  (0<!e  XXXVIM.  lib.  1), 

(Ode  I.  Anarrmn),  84. 

the,  2<ia 

905.     Panidy  of  "  Donee  (^tns  eram 

I  saw  ihy  fomi  in  yiMitbfiil  prime.  9*1 

Hanit  and  .Marut,  the  Angel.i,  ."534. 

titii,"or  Horace's  return  to  Lydia, 

I  stole  slung  the  tt<iMer>  bank,  143. 

Has  sorrow  thy  young  days  shaded, 227. 

300.    On  an  asaeemnent  of  revenue. 

I  tluiughi  thi«  heart  enkindls«l  lay,36k 

Hassan,  Al,  the  Pnipliet  Chief  of  Ara- 

576. 

I've  a  secret  to  tell  thee,  354. 

hia,  414.     Sre  Story  of  the  Fire  Wor- 

Horn,  the,  279. 

1  will,  1  will,  the  rondirt's  past  (Ods 

shipiiers. 

How  am  I  to  punish  thee  (Ode  X   An- 

XIII. Anacreon),  89. 

Haste  thee,  nymph,  whose  wall-aimed 

acreon),  88. 

I  wish  1  was  by  that  dim  lake.  251. 

s|war  (Ode  I-.XIV.  Anacreon),  119. 

How  dear  to  me  the  hour,  210 

IllnUie,  294.     Before  her  glaiu.  99ft. 

Hastings,  .Marquis  of  (Earl  .Moira),  and 

How  happy  once,  thougli  wing'd  with 

I'd  mourn  the  hopes  that  leave  me,  997. 

visit   to   his   mansion  at  Duningtoii, 

Hiyhs,  344 

Idols  in  the  house  of  Aeor,  455.    Of 

I.-5.  4;«8, 430.  His  Lihrary,439.  Ded- 

How   1    love    the    festive    boy    (Ode 

King   Crack.   197.     Of  Jifhemaitt, 

ication  to  Francis,  Earl  of  Alnira,  130. 

X.\XIX.  Anacreon.,  106. 

367. 

Hal,  Ode  to  a,  567. 

How  lightly  mounts  the  Muse's  wing. 

If  hoarded  gold  posssss'd  the  power 

Hat  eiTsu.i  Wig,  577. 

292. 

(Ode  XXXVI.  Anacreon),  105. 

Have  voii  not  seen  the  timid  tear,  26. 

How  shall  I  woo  f  282. 

If  I  swear  by  (hat  eye,  you'll  allow,  9B 

He  wliu   in-;tnirts   the  yniithful  crew 

How  sweetly  does  the  moonbeam  smile, 

If  I  were  j-onder  wave,  my  dear,  149 

(Ode  LVI.  .\nacreon),  115. 

415. 

If  in  loving,  singing,  night  and  day 

Hendfort,  .Marchioness  of,  Dedication 

Hudson,  Edward,  rerolleetioiis  of  hini 

900. 

to,  2»a.     • 

and  of  his  musical  taste,  333,  334, 

If  th<>u>hbeiiiine,!Ml. 

iloar  me  but  one«,  while  o'er  the  grave. 

235,237. 

If  ihou  wouldsi  have  me  sing  and  play 

272. 

Hume,  David,  History  of  England  by, 

348. 

Heard,  .Sir  Isaac,  and  the  Peerage,  566. 

178. 

If  to  see  thee  be  to  love  Ihre,  303. 

Heart  and  lute,  my,  343. 

Ht-.me,  Joseph,   Esq.,  559,  561.    m.  a 

Ill  omens :  —  Young  Kitty,  tic,  916 

Heart  to  rewt,  no,  leave  my,  279. 

pa-sim. 

Imagination,  &c.,  396. 

Heathcote,  to  I^idy  :  —  on  a  ring  found 

Hume,  to  Thomas,  Esq.,  M.  D. ;  writ- 

Imiution, fnuii  the  Frenrh,  533.     Sn 

at  Tiinhriilse  Wells,  74. 

ten  at  Washington,  149. 

alto  Anihologia,  Horace,  4ic 

Hebe,  the  fall  of:  —  a  dithyramblc  ode, 

Humorous  and   Satirical   Poems,  557, 

Immortality,  stars  the  beac4ins  of,  791. 

65. 

592-654, 

Impromptu,  Xi,  09,  158,  905,  Set. 

Henley,  I^rd,  and  St  Cecilia,  6  '9. 

Hunt,  Henry,  Esq.,  bis  spurioiu  coflbe, 

Henry  to  Lady  Emma,  614. 

HGO. 

357. 

Iler  1  ist  words  at  parting,  how  ran  I 

Hunter  boy,  the,  972,  279. 

In  the  morning  of  life,  339. 

forcct.'  34.5. 

H  iish,  hush !  —  a  Glee,  333. 

Hercules  to  Ids  daughter,  song  of,  346. 

Hush,  sweet  lute,  960. 

Ina,  by  I^ady  Daere,  G79l 

Here,  take  my  heart,  335. 

Hussiin  AManl,  valley  of,  449L    Royal 

Incantation,  an,  571. 

Here   recline  you,  gentle  maid  (Ode 

gardens  near,  444. 

Inconstancy,  34. 

XIX.  Anacreon),  95. 

ITyu>«n.  (loetical  allusions  to,  275. 

India,  poetical  alluskMM  to, 308,  «Mf 

Here   sleeiw   Anacreon,  in    this    ivied 

Hymn  of  a  Virgin  r.{  Delphi,  at  the 

44.3,  451,  453,  stetf. 

iihade  (Antholoeia),  124. 

Tomb  of  her  Mother,  36. 

Indian  b<iat,  the,  399. 

Here  sleeiis  the  Rard,  27a 

Hyperborean,  song  of  a,  352. 

Indian  maid,  the  young.  347 

Here,  while  the  moonlight  dim,  3I5k 

Indian  tree,  the,  535^ 

Ilerr's  iho  liower  she  loved  so  much, 

Inkstand,  the  poet's,  514. 

.3;t<!. 

I. 

Innbfail,  Song  of,  3S£ 

Hero  and  I.eander,  326. 

Innisfallen,  isie  of,  9481 

High-bom  1  ndye,  the,  328. 

I  care  not  for  the  idle  sote  (Ode  IX. 

Insurrection  of  the  Papeia,  a  Dn*« 

Hindi,  the  Arabian  maid.    See  the  Sto- 

Anacreon), 87. 

193. 

ry  of  the  Fire  Worshippers,  413-438. 

I  dreamt  that  in  the  Paphian  groves, 

Intercepted  Despatch,  Diabolo's,  504. 

Hither,    gentle    .Muse    of   mine    (Ode 

332. 

Inlerreptcd   I.<p((ers,  the,  of  (he  Two- 

lAXVI. Anacreon),  122. 

I  had,  last  night,  a  dream  of  thee,  .544. 

penny  Piwt  Bag,  179. 

Holland,  l.ord,  regret  for  the  death  of. 

I  fear  that  love  disturbs  my  rest,  (.Anac- 

Intolerance, a  Satire :  Acco«Btof"a«- 

592.    Translatiina  by,  592. 

reontic,)  122. 

ru|>*ion  "    and   "  liiiolerancr.''    Sm 

Holland,  to  I^dy,  on  a  legacy  by  Na- 

I found  her  not  — the  chamber  seem'tf. 

Prabce  to  vol.  ill.  p.  160 ;  Pnstea  k 

poleon.  679. 

51. 

Intolerance  and  Compiiaii  (iddMsn 

Holy  Allianre,  Fables  for  the,  489. 

I  know  that  heaven  hath  sent  me  here 

aO,  lea.    TheSMiK*.  '«^1?3     -as 

Hooker,  Bishop,  on  oi  and  mt,  570. 
07 

(Ode  XI,.  Anacreon).  107 

pm,Jix,nX 

.70 


INDEX. 


nvisihle  Girl,  the,  44. 

!r vitnliin  tr.  dinner :  adilrsased  ;o  Lord 

Laiisdowiie,  523. 
ran.  Land  uf,  4.52.     See  Lalla  Rookh, 
passtm, 

.reland  and  her  national  music,  232, 237. 

"reloiid  .  certain  traditions  and  roman- 
ces resjiectinji,  207, 213, 220, 222, 223, 
2?.";,  O'lG,  2.50,  251 ,  a.'.3,  255,  250,  0.57. 

f reland.  politics  and  |)oIitical  sensibili- 
ly  of  the  kingdom  of  (see  the  Fudge 
F3r»;iy),  4G1  -480,  079.  The  penal 
eode,  5M.  Tiie  outhreak  of  179S,  235 
-237.  Romanism  in,  547.  Thoupht.-? 
on  the  present  government  of  (1828), 
565. 

Irish  antiquities,  598. 

Irish  bed  of  roses,  an,  205,  n. 

Irishman,  Satires,  &c.,  addressed  to  an 
Englishman  by  an,  162-175. 

Irish  Melodies,  206.  Dedication  to  the 
Marchioness  Dowager  of  Donegal, 
206.  Preface,  206.  The  Melodies, 
206-2.58.  Advertisements  to  the  first 
and  second  Nos.,  258  ;  to  the  third 
No.,  259.  Letter  on  Irish  music, 
2.5y.  Advertisements  to  the  fourth, 
fifth,  sixtl),  and  seventh  Nos.,  263, 
264,  265.  Dedication  to  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Headfort,  265.  See 
National  airs,  266,  et  seq. 

Crish  patronymics,  672,  675. 

Irish  peasant  to  his  mistress,  217. 

Irish  Slave,  the,  576. 

Irving,  Washington,  528. 

Irving,  Mr.  Washington,  250. 

IS  it  not  sweet  to  think,  hereafter, 
(Haydn,)  293. 

Is  not  thy  mind  a  gentle  mind .'  28. 

Israfil,  the  angel,  453,  530. 

It  is  not  the  tear  at  this  moment  shed, 
918. 


Jeffrey,  Fntncis,  Lord ;  allusion  to  bii 
house  at  Craig  Crook,  Edinburgh, 
130,  306,  306. 

/ehan  Gheer,  or  Jehanguire,  Emperor 
of  Delhi  and  Hindostan,  443.  His 
palace,  451,  n.  Romance,  446.  His 
early  name  of  Selim,  448.  His  bride, 
451,  454. 

ierome's  love,  (St.)  284,  St.  Jerome's 
first  visit  on  earth,  617.  His  second 
Visit,  618. 

lenisalem,  the  holy  city  of,  284. 

'essica,  young,  3-12. 

lohnson.  Dr.  Samuel,  on  Mallet,  675,  n. 

loys  alone  be  remembered  now,  343. 

>oys  of  youth,  how  fleeting  !  272. 

fuan,  Don,  200. 

lubal's  shell,  alluded  to,  296. 

udgment  Day  ;  and  a  supposed  wind 
irom  Syria  Damtiscena  to  announce 

*.  Asm  *. 


Judgment,  the  day  of,  289. 

Julia,  to  ;  in  allusion  to  sonns  iilibersi 
criticisms,  28.  .Mock  me  no  tn'>rc 
with  love's  beguiling  dream,  28. 
Thouj,'h  fate,  my  girl,  may  bid  us 
part,  29.  On  her  birthday,  .30.  To 
Julia,  weeping,  31.  Inconstancy,  34. 
Elegiac  stanzas,  supposed  to  be  writ- 
ten by  Julia  on  the  dfjath  of  her 
brother,  34.  I  saw  the  peasant'L' 
hand  unkind,  36.    Sympathy,  36. 

Juvenal  on  superstition,  719. 

Juvenile  Poems,  20.  Preface  by  "  the 
late  Thomas  Little,"  22.  Dedication 
to  Joseph  Atkinson,  Esq.,  24. 


K. 

Kathleen,  221. 

Kedar  Khan  of  Turkistan,367. 

Kenmare,  Earl  of,  248. 

Kevin,  Saint,  tradition,  220. 

Khorassan,  the  Veiled  Prophtt  of,  369- 

399. 
Kilkenny  amateur  actora,  talent  of  the, 

442,  518.    Extract  from  a  prologue, 

etc.,  519. 
Killamey,  lakes  and  <T>id'tions  of,  24C>, 

248. 
King,  Lord,  an  expostulation  to,  558. 
Kishma,  wine  of,  452. 
Kiss,  the,  54, 137. 
Kublai  Khan,  453. 


L. 

Labyrinth,  in  Egypt,  699. 

Lahore,  description  of  the  city  of, 
and  the  midland  districts  of  India, 
410. 

Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp,  135. 

Lalla  Rookh,  an  Eastern  Romance ; 
Preface  to  Vol.  VI.  furnishing  the 
history  of  this  poem,  361.  Repre- 
sentation of  it  as  a  dramatic  pageant 
at  the  Chateau  Royal,  Berlin,  in 
1822,  when  the  Emperor  and  Em- 
press of  Russia  personated  Aliris  and 
Lalla  Rookh,  365.  "The  Veiled 
Prophet  of  Khorassan,"  369,  399. 
The  criticisms  by  Fadladeen  on  this 
story,  399.  Paradise  and  the  Peri, 
402.  Fadladeen  renews  his  criti- 
cism, 409.  The  Fire  Worshippers, 
412.  The  Light  of  the  Harem,  444. 
Design  of  this  poetic  undertaking 
related,  528. 

Lansdowne,  Lord,  invitation  to  dinner, 
addressed  to,  523. 

Lawrence,  Dr.,  friend  of  Edmund 
Burke,  21.  His  letter  to  Dr.  Hume 
respecting  the  version  of  Anacreon 
by  Mr.  Moore,  21. 

Lay  bis  sword  by  his  side,  256. 


Ijeaf  tnd  thf,  FountaiD.  a  btUad, 3SI* 

Learning,  61. 

L?banoni  Kount,  SSL 

Legacy,  the,  Oil. 

Leila's  lute,  677. 

Leg  homines  automates,  624. 

Lesbia,  to,  522. 

Leshia  hath  a  beaming  eye,  220 

Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old  21> 

Let  me  resign  this   wretched   broatL 

(Anacreontic,)  122. 
Let's  take  this  world  as  some   jvidt 

scene,  34.5. 
Let  us  drain  the  nectar'd  bowl,  (0' 

XXXVIIL  Anacre<  n,)  100. 
Levee  and  couchee,  the,  303. 
L'bel,  a  case  of,  574. 
Liberty,  213,  230,  256,  257,  278,  308, 

313,  678,  et  seq. 
Liberty,  the  torch  of,  493.     ' 
Life  is  waning,  do  not  say  that,  278 
Life    is    all   checker'd  with  pleasured 

and  woes,  223. 
Life  for  me  hath  joy,  etc.,  344. 
Life  without  freedom,  338. 
Light  sounds  the  harp  when  the  comltat 

is  o'er,  42. 
Like  morning,  when  her  early  breeze. 

290. 
Like  one  who  doom'd  o'er  distant  seAs, 

281. 
Like  some  wanton  filly  sporting  (Ode 

LXV.  Anacreon),  119. 
Like  the  bright  lamp  that  shone  in  Kil- 

dare's  holy  fane,  214. 
Lilis,  544. 

Lily  of  the  Nile,  the  white,  694. 
Limbo  of  lost  reputations,  586. 
Lion,  de?.d,  and  the  living  dog. 584. 
Lionardo  da  Vinci's  Mona  Lisa,  30] 
Listen   to  the  Muse's  lyre  (Ode    III 

Anacreon),  85. 
Literary  advertisement,  to  authors,  575. 
Literati,  sick,  645. 
Literature,  speed  of,  643. 
Little  Grand  Lama,  tlie,  496. 
Little  man  and  little  soul  —  a  ballad 

See  p.  162.   "  There  was  a  little  man 

and  he  had  a  little  soul,"  204. 
Lizard  {SteUio),  account  of  the,  44.3,  n 
Looking  Glasses,  the,  491. 
Lord,  who  shall  bear  that  day,  289. 
Cotus  tree,  450. 
Lotus  branch,  and  the  bird  taking  flight 

mvthi  1  of  the,  698,  760. 
Lotus  flower,  68.    Statse  of  the  winged 

boy  seatP'.  on  a,  705.    The  spell,  705 

An  emblen:  of  beauty,  413,  n. 
Louis  Philippe,   King,  439.    Accoiut 

of,  when  at  Donington  Park,  44C. 
Louis  the  Fourteenth's  wig,  499. 
Love,  a  tutor,  722. 
Jjove  alone,  283. 
Love,  all-defying  love,  414. 
Love  and  Hope,  269.    (Swiss  air  > 
Love  and  Marriage,  3^ 


INDEX. 


7)  J 


Uove  came  by,  32H 

Love  reeling  his  w'lngn,  45S2. 

Love  arid  tlie  vine,  325. 

Love  a  veiiiiuel:  Glee — tlusli,  hush, 

Love,  one  rainmer  eve,  wao  (traying, 

•M. 
Love  and  (he  Novice,  222. 
I»ve  anil  Hymen,  524. 
Lt  ve  u  a  hunter  boy,  272. 
Love  knutit,  who'll  buy  my,  S75. 
(  ove,  a  few  allusion*  to,  119,  121,  142, 

14<i,  217,  223,  224,  251,  252,  253,  268, 

2C9,  272,  275,  276,  278,  281,  292,  293, 

207,  303,  310,  317,  335,  341,  355,  357, 

S32,  :i3S,  542,  549,  552,  G77. 
^jove,  niythologiral  hymn  to,  6L 
Love  and  Learning,  6L 
Love  and  Koaaon,  69. 
Love  and  Time,  :i39. 
Love  and  llie  Sundial,  338. 
Love   wandering  through  tho  golden 

maze,  3:<9. 
I»ve,  unbind  thee,  358. 
l/ove,  who  ruled  as  admiral  o'er,  359. 
Love  thee .'  —  so  well,  so  tenderly,  340. 
Love  thee,  ilearMt .'  343. 
Ixive  but  thee,  I,  343. 
Love's  day,  341. 
Love's  light  summer  cloud,  339. 
Love's  victory,  34C 
Love's  young  dream,  219. 
Lover,  the,  282,  296,  315,  337,  413,  539, 

540,  n. 
Lover,  the  Persian,  188. 
Lover,  the  Russian,  3C1. 
Loves    of   the    Angels,    Preface,  529. 

Preface   to    the    poems,  530.     1'he 

poem,  531.    First  Angel's  Story,  5C!2. 

Second   Angel's  story,  53S.     Third 

Angel's  Story,  548. 
Loves,  the  Sale  of,  32. 
Lowe,  Sir  Hudson,  to,  557. 
Lusilanian  war  8<mg,  341. 
Lute,  the,  452,  G77. 
Lying,  39. 

L^re,  the  poet's,  281. 
Lyre,  the  telltale,  S9. 


M. 

Marhiavelian  poetry,  condemned,  SOG, 
V7. 

tlacrianuR,  prat'ot.«i  prefect,  745. 

ttagan,  Patrick,  Oq.,  his  Epistles  to 
a  Curate  in  Ireland,  655,  662,  67a. 

Magic  .Mirnir,  the,  328. 

Uagnet,  untnan  a,  542. 

MalK:nift,  religion  of  (se«  LalU  Rookh), 
371,  et  »eq. 

Uahoinet,  the  SaU  of  preceding  pro- 
phecy, 543.  The  familiar  dove  of, 
M5, 571. 

dahometan<<,  belief  of  tHe,  531,  533, 
M3,  548.  The  paradise,  535.  Tho 
thief  angeU,  531,  5J3,  536,  5^,  318. 


Mahommed  Shaw,  feast  and  throne  of,  * 

457,11. 
Maiden,  the  sleeping,  379, 
Maidens  of  Zca,  315,  tt  fastim. 
Malthus,  allusions  to,  555,  S56,  533. 
March  !   nor  heed  those  arms  that  hold 

thee,  334. 
Martyr*,  (ha,  999,  74S,  748,  et  ttf. ;  tb* 

crown  of  mulyrdoiD,  749,  750. 
Mary,  220. 

Mary,  star  of  the  sea,  315. 
Mary,  I  believ'd  thee  true,  57. 
Mathews,  Mr.  Charles,  639. 
Matriculation,  scene  from  >  pUy  acted 

at  Uxford,  called,  G3L 
Mauri-ga-Sima,  or  the  sunken  island, 

452. 
May  mix>n,  the  young,  234. 
Melanjus,  the  hermit,  737-740,  744-748. 
Meleager:  —  Here  at  tliy   tomb   these 

tears  I  shed,  354  ;  various  imitaliona 

from,  42,  355,  356. 
Melodies,   Irish,  206-3G5.     Succeeded 

by  the  National  Aira,  366,  tt  teg. 
Memorabilia  of  last  week  (March  13, 

1826),  562. 
Memory,  poetical  allusions  to,  369, 533, 

548. 
Memphis,  on  the  Nile,  694 ;  sacred  col- 
lege of,  707. 
Menage,   Anacreontic    in    Greek    by, 

with  a  translation,  101,  n. 
Merou,  city  of  Khorasnan,  369. 
Methinks  the  pictur'd  bull  we  see  (Ode 

LIV.  Anacrcon),  113. 
Miguel,  Don,  Ode  to,  585. 
Milesius  and  the  Milesians,  255. 
Millennium,  the,  —  and  the  Bev.  Mr. 

Irving,  565.    The  year  of  a,  671. 
Miltiades,  the  Ghost  of,  60L 
Minaret,  diants  from  an  illuminated, 

441,11. 
Minerva  or  Pallas,  and  Love,  331. 
Minerva's  thimble,  342. 
Ministers,  the  new  costume  of  the,  301. 

The  Sale  of  tiie  Tools,  303. 
Ministers,  wreaths  for  the,  198. 
Minstrel  Hoy,  the,  325. 
.Miriam's  Song,  386. 
Miscellaneous  Poems,  518,  551,  679. 
Mischief,  thoughts  on,  by  Lord  Si-n  - 

l-y,  his  first  attempt,  658. 
Missing,  Lord  de  •  *  *,  CIO. 
Mitlira,  heathen  observances  in  the  su- 
perstition of,  699. 
Mix  mc,  child,  a  cup  divine  (Anacre- 
ontic), 123. 
MiEris,  island  of  tlie  lake,  715. 
Mohawk  River,  lines  written   at  th« 

Cohos  or  Falls  of  the,  151. 
Mokanna,  the  propliet  chief  of  Kbo- 

raaiuin,  369,  370,  et  ttq. 
Monarch    Love,    resistless    bojr   (Od« 

LXXIV.  Anacreon),  12L 
Monopoly,  present  spirit  of,  561 
Mont  Blanc,  sublime  prospect  of,  509L 
I  Montaigne  quoted,  5U1. 


Mnntpensier,  Duke  of,  to  the,  6S. 
Moon,   poetical  mealiua  of  iIm,  )U 

315,  323,  tt  fttim. 
Muun,  that  high  in  hMT*B  an  cUalag 

36a 
Moore,  iln.,  934.    To  m/  noUiM  SM 
Mnore,  to  Miss,  from  Norfolk  ia  Vir 

■inia,l34. 
Moral  positions,  a  drMn,  C19. 
Morality,  au  epistle,  S8. 
Morgan,  0«>r|^  Esq.  (of  Norfblk,  V'M 

ginla),  epiMle  to,  horn  Bannuda,  W 
Morning,  930, 99a 
Morning  Herald,  the,  S6S. 
Morning  Pt«t,  the,  67u. 
Morris,  Capi.,  his  song,  '*  My   Muse 

too,  when  her  winp  are  dry,"  300. 
Moechus,  his  Oral  Idyl,  quoted,  98,  mi 
Moses,  98a 

Mountain  Sprite,  the,  39a 
"  Mum  "  to  the  editor  of  the  Mornini 

Chn-nide,  458. 
Murray,   Mr.,   his   contemplated   Mail 

coach  e<lition  of  Rokeby,  186 
Muse,  the,  303. 
Music  and    .Melodies,  an  account  ol 

some  of  our  modern  poetn  wlxi  had  t 

taste  lor,  and  a  knowledge  of ,  304 

3oa 

Music,  the  Prefatory  Letter  on   IrWi 

358,359. 
Music,  on :  —  Song,  318,  353. 
Music,  poetical  allusions  to,  999,  9S7 

378,  379,  551. 
Music,  a  Melologue  upon  National,  311 
Music  of  the  spheres,  538. 
Musical  Box,  the :  —  Rose  and  the  Poei 

353. 
My  gentle  harp,  339. 
My  harp  has  one  unchanging 

97a 
Mythology,  Egyptian  and  Greek, 

itpattim. 


N. 

Nama,  548,  SV). 

Naniouna,  the  enchantresa.  448.    Cnia 

down  sleep  on  .\o-imialuil,  45a 
Naples,  lines  on  tlie  entrv  of  the  Aw 

trians  into,  in  1821,  52a 
Napoleon,  the  Emperor,  consigned  H 

the  rock  of  St.  Helena,  408, 5S7.    A\ 

lusinns  U>  bis  bllen  foitane*,  19ft,  IM 

552,  C7a 
Natal  Genius,  the,  a  Dream  •  to  '—^ 

the  morning  of  her  birtlid*)',  3i 
National  Airs,  906,  Jtc 
National    Music,  a   Melolofue  npoft, 

331. 
Nature's  Labels,  a  frafment,  3a 
Nay,  do  not  weep,  my  Fanny  dear,  tt 
Nay,  look  not  titers,  ny  luva,  MS. 
Nay,  tempt  roe  not  to  love  ajraJn,  1511 
Nea,  Odes  lo :  —  Written  U  IWrmurf* 

I3»-Itf. 


772 

INDEX. 

Necropolis,  and  take  near  Memphis, 

O,  breathe  not  his  name,  208. 

696,  et  seq 

O,  banquet  not  in  those  shining  bow- 

P. 

Nets  and  Cages,  275. 

ers,  246. 

Ne'er  ask  tlie  hour,  what  is  it  to  us  ? 

O,  blame  not  the  bard,  if  b»  fly  to  the 

Paddy's  Metamorphosis,  623. 

243. 

bowers,  215. 

Painting,  13C,  317,  360,  509. 

Ne'er  talk  of  Wisdom's  gloomy  schools, 

O,  but  to  see  that  head  recline,  534. 

Palestine  and  the  river  Jordan,  407. 

^8. 

0,  call  it  by  some  better  name,  335. 

Paradise  and  the  Peri,  402-409.    Ctitt 

Never  mind  how  the  pedagogue  proses, 

O,  come  to  me  when  daylight  sets, 

cisms  of  Fadladeen  on  this  roman*.* 

33. 

268. 

409. 

Night  Dance,  the,  255^ 

O,  could  we  do  with  this  world  ol 

Paradise  of   Epicurus,  704.      Of  Mk 

Kight  thought,  a,  54. 

ours !  256. 

hornet,  534,  535. 

JTightingales    wng  of,  341,  347,  351, 

0,  days  of  youth  and  joy,  274. 

Parallel,  the,  243. 

444. 

O,  do  not  look  so  bright  and  blest,  353. 

Parliament,  the  recess  of,  a  hymn,  5<^<. 

Niglits,  such  as  Eden's  calm  recall, 

O,  doubt  me  not,  —  the  season,  226. 

Occasional  Address,  for  the  opening 

301. 

Q  fair !  O  purest !  bo  thou  the  dove,  288. 

of  the  New  Theatre  of  St.  Stephea 

Nile,  river,  718 ;  the  Isle  of  Gardens,  or 

O  for  the  swords  of  former  time  !  243. 

(Nov.  24,  1812),  202.    Satirical  notice 

Autirrhodus,  near  Alexandria,  705. 

O,  guard  our  affection,  279. 

of  some  Members  of  the  H.  of  Lords, 

Nile,  navigation  of  the,  694,  716,  720, 

O,  had  we  some  bright  little  isle  of  our 

595-606,  610,  &:c.     Report  of  Speech 

721. 

own,  225. 

es  relative  to  Maynooth  college,  611 

Nile,  the  Garden  of  the,  451.    Sources 

O,    hint  to  the   bard,  'tis   retirement 

Exhibition    of   models  of  the   two 

of  the  river,  507. 

alone,  528. 

houses  of,  642. 

No  life  is  like  the  mountaineer's,  319. 

O,  idol  of  my  dreams  !  540. 

Passion,  292,  3.35,  360. 

No,  not  more  welcome  the  fairy  num- 

O, Love,  Religion,  Music,  all,  549 

Patrick's  Purgatory,  and  mystic  iaxe 

bers,  228. 

0,  Memory,  how  coldly,  313. 

in  Donegal,  252. 

Noble  and  illustrious  authors,  595,  600. 

O,  no !  not  ev'n  when  first  we  loved. 

Patrons  and  Puffs,  &.C.,  651. 

Nonsense,  56. 

270. 

Paul  the  Silentiary,  137,  356. 

Nora  Creina,  220. 

O,  say  !  thou  best  and  brightest,  281. 

Peace,  737. 

Not  from  thee  the  wound  should  come, 

O,  soon  return,  340. 

Peace  and  glory,  59. 

a58. 

O,  stranger !   if  Anacreon's  shell  (An- 

Peace  be  around  thee,  270. 

Nourjehan,  "  the  Light  of  the  World," 

thologia),  124. 

Peace  to  the  slumberers  !  274. 

444,11. 

0,  teach  me  to  love  thee,  289. 

Peace  !  peace  to  him  that's  gone,  343. 

Nourmahal,  the  Light  of  the  Harem, 

O,  the  sight  entrancing,  247. 

Pearls,  141,  278,  542.     Mythos  as  tc 

446,  447.     Her  spells,  448,  449.    Her 

0,  think  not  my  spirits  are  always  as 

their  production,  453,  n. 

sleep,  450.    She  is  regretted  by  Se- 

light,  208. 

Pearls,  Irish,  249. 

lim,  452.      Her  disguise,  453.    The 

0  think,  when  a  hero  is  sighing,  678. 

Peer,  how  to  make  one's  self  a,  625. 

Georgian    maid's    song,  453      Suc- 

0 thou!    of  all    creation    blest   (Ode 

Peers,  bati-h  the  first,  579. 

ceeded  by  that  of  Nourmahal  herself, 

XXXIV.  Anacreon),  103. 

Perceval,  Right  Hon.  Spencer,  on  tht 

453.    Her  reconciliation  with  Selim, 

0,  thou  who  dry'st  the  mourner's  tear. 

death  of,  457. 

454. 

285. 

Perfumes  for  the  hair  and  beard,  87,  ». 

Now  Neptune's  month  our  sky  deforms 

0  tidings  of  freedom !    O  accents  of 

Peri,  Paradise  and  the,  402-409. 

(Ode  LXVm.  Anacreon),  120. 

hope,  594. 

Peris  and  fairies,  401,  505.     Vide  Lalla 

Now  the  star  of  day   is    high  (Ode 

0,  where  art  thou  dreaming  }  302. 

Rookh,  &c. 

XVril.  Anacreon),  95. 

O,  Where's  the  slave  so  lowly,  229. 

Periwinkles,  fi.scal,  o78l 

Nymph  of  a  fair  but  erring  lino,  403. 

O  woman,  if  through  sinful  will,  5d 

Periwinkles  and  Ijocusts,  57Si 

O,  ye  dead  !  245. 

Persecution,  the  Decian,  737. 

Olden  time,  the  Song  of  the,  344. 

Persia  and  the  Persians,  187, 18a     Fid* 

O. 

Olympus,  latest  accounts  from,  649. 

Lalla   Rookh,  372,  4.%,   et  passim. 

On  one  of  those  sweet  nights  that  oft. 

Superstitious  notions  of  thij  eastern 

O'Branigan,  Larry,  to  his  wife  Judy, 

301. 

people,  531,  532,  n. 

663,  (i72.    To  Murtagh  O'MuUigan, 

Once    in    each    revolving   year   (Ode 

Philadelphia  and  the  Schuylkill  river, 

633. 

XXV.  Anacreon),  99. 

151. 

O'Connell,  his  election  for  Clare,  593. 

One  bumper  at  parting,  224. 

Philhs,  to,  57. 

O'Connor,  Arthur,  Esq.,  234. 

One  day  the  Muses  twined  the  hands. 

Philodemus:  —  "My  Mopsa  is  little, '- 

O'Donohue's  Mistress,  245. 

(Ode  XX.  Anacreon),  96. 

350. 

O'Keefe's   song    for  the  character  of 

Oppression,  memory  and  record  of,  278. 

Philosophy,  a  vision  of,  70.     yi:U  th» 

fipado,  442. 

Orangemen  of  Ireland,  their  Petition, 

classical  notes  to  this  iH)ein,  70- TJ. 

O'MuUigan,  iMortimer,  his  epistle  {vide 

569. 

Philosophy  :  Poems  relative  to,  trpa:ing 

"  Fudge  Family  in  England  "),  674. 

Orcus,  the  heathen  priest,  747,  761. 

of  Philosophers,  ancient  and  modern, 

O'Ruark,  Prince  of  Breffni,  the  song  of, 

Orcus,  High  Priest,  to  the  Prefect  De- 

39,223,537.  Aristotle,  5C3, «.  Pythag. 

225. 

cius,  761. 

oras,  564.     Democritiis,  564.     Plato^ 

Oblivion,  the  fabled  gates  of,  699,  etseq 

Origen,  722,  740. 

564,  n.     Epicurus,  72,  n. ;  685  et  seq 

Observe  when  mother  earth  is  dry  (Ode 

Ormuzd,  of  the  ancient  Persians,  and 

He  recognized  a  future  life,  702,  760 

XXI.  Anacreon),  96. 

his  angels,  530. 

.Alciphron,  727,  el  erq.     Pyrrho,  175- 

•Ml  in  the  stilly  night,  269. 

Osiris,  or  Serapis,  704. 

179.      Aristippus,    39.      Zenu,    oi 

Oft    when  the   watching  stars    grow 

Ossian,  allusions  to,  256,  258. 

Maupertius.  40.  " 

r*Ie,  277. 

Ossian,  fragments  in  imitation  of,  234. 

Philostratus,  a  thought  of,  imitated  b) 

J,  .\tyssinian  tree,  731. 

Our  home  is  on  the  sea,  boy,  298. 

Ben  Jonson,  84, «. 

INDEX. 


HI 


nctureo,  (talian  g.illerieii  of,  441. 

Pigeons,  carrier,  2*1. 

Pilgrim,  Man  a, 291. 

Pilgrim,  the,  318.  Still  thus,  when 
twilight  gleam'd,  329. 

Planets,  the,  537,  n. 

Plato,  Epigram  of,  96,  n.  lie  wrote 
abed,  5U2. 

Platonic  philiitHiphy,  and  followenof 
Plato,  171,  etstq. 

Pleavure  contr.-uteil  with  Pain,  276. 

Plumonsier,  to  a  (.Anacreontii),  196. 

Poco-<;urante  Society,  tl)e,  501.  (See 
khyinex  on  (he  Road.)    Song  of,  6S1. 

Poesy,  2^,256 

Poet'ii  dream,  dinner  of  Type  and  Co., 
648 

Police  Rr|iort.<),  case  of  inipneture,  C4I. 

Political  allu<iona,  by  the  author  of 
these  voluineo  :  —  Preface  to  VoL 
III.,  and  Satirical  Poeiux,  257.  Se« 
"  The  Fudge  Family,"  461,  «t  $eq.  i 
553,  G55,  et  teq.  See  the  Satirical 
Poems,  557-590.  See  aUo  592-655,  et 
passim.  For  the  poet's  allusions  to 
the  aflairs  of  North  America  and  of 
France,  tee  131-160. 

Political  and  Satirical  Poems,  457. 

Politician,  how  to  make  a  good,  680. 

Politics,  Irish,  allusions  to,  *u  232, 
237,  592  -665,  e(  passim. 

Polycrates  of  ijainos,  79. 

Poor  bmken  flower,  336. 

Porcelain  and  china,  452,  455. 

Porte,  ode  to  the  Sublime,  573. 

Power,  .Mr.  Uichard,  442. 

Prayer  of  .Mahometans,  406. 

Preface  to  vol.  1.,  17  ;  vol.  ii.,  126  ;  vol. 
Ui.,  160  ;  vol.  iv..  232  ;  vol.  v.,  ."W4  ; 
vi'l.  vi.,  3i'l  ;  vol.  vli.,  438  ;  vol.  viii., 
527  ;  vol.  ix.,  590;  vol.  x.,683. 

Press  the  gra|>e,  and  let  it  pour,  28. 

"  Press,  the,"  newspaper,  234. 

Priestess  of  the  Moon,  the,  711. 

Prologue,  s|Miken  at  the  opening  of  the 
Kilkenny  Theatre,  Octolwr,  1809,519. 

Proxy,  how  to  write  by,  586. 

Psaphon,  liis  birds  taught  to  pronounce 
his  name,  5G7 

Psyche,  52,  64,  551,55a 

Puck,  song  of  old,  640. 

Puir,  profligate  I/ondonera,  60Si. 

Purgatory,  ."141. 

Put  off  the  vest.nl  veil,  nor,  O,  48. 

ryramids  of  Memphis,  692.  Rhodop«, 
t!ie  Lady  of  the  Pyramid,  699. 


Quadrilles,  553.     Episcopal,  610. 

Quakers,  671. 

4uanerly  Review,  the,  C03,  647.  Re- 
flections addressed  to  the  author  of 
the  article  if  "  the  Church,"  in  tbe, 
647. 

^ick  !  w«  have  bac  a  Mcond.  349. 


Raise  the  buckler,  pobe  the  lane*,  319. 
Ra|>tiael,  his  Pomarina,  509. 
lUwdon,  to  the  I.ady  Charlotte,  flroin 

the  banks  of  the  St.  Ijiwrence,  155. 

Romance  of  the  Indian  Spirit,  )5G 
Reason,  60,  226,  267,  338. 
Reason,  and  Folly,  and  Ueauty,  9C7, 

355. 
Red  Fox,  the,  33a 
Redbreast,  the,  in  December,  S67. 
Recu<r  and  his  curate,  the,  623. 
Reform,  notions  on,  6I61. 
Religion,  the  "  Sacred  SoOfi,"  Si63. 
Religion  and  trade,  646. 
Religion  in  the  Ei>st,  Brahma,  4tc  370. 

(See  Lai  la  Rookh.) 
Religious    emblems    and    type*,   988. 

"  Intolerance"  satirized,  168, M  arf. 

On  Toleration,  187,  el  passim. 
Remember  him  thou  leav'ct  behind,  25. 
Remember  the  time  in   La  Mancba's 

shades,  340. 
Remeiiil>cr  thee  !  24  1. 
Remonstmnce:  addressed  to  l.<>rd  John 

Russell,  after  a  conversjifion  in  which 

he  had  intimated  some  idea  of  giving 

up  all  political  pursuits,  520. 
Resemblance,  the :  Yes,  if  twere  any 

coinmuii  love,  43. 
Reuben  and  Rose,  26. 
Revenue,    decimating,  —  and    decimal 

arithmetic,  578. 
Reverend  Pamphleteer,  the,  634. 
Reverends,  and  Right  Reverends,  reso- 
lutions passed  at  a  meeting  of,  609. 
Reynolds,  .Mr.  Thomas,  461. 
Rhodope,  699.    Fable  of  the  Lady  of 

the  Pyramid,  699. 
Rliymes  on  the  Road,  extracted  from 

the  Journal  of  a  Travelling    .Mem- 
ber of  the  Poco-Curante  Society,  in 

1819,  501. 
Rich  and  rare  were  the  gems'she  wore, 

209. 
Rich   in  bliss,  I  proudly   ■com  (Ode 

LXVIL  Anacreon),  120. 
Ring,  the  ;  a  tale  of  Rupert,  45. 
Ring,  the :  —  The  happy  day  at  length 

arriv'd,  45. 
Ring,  the  ;  —  No,  Lady !   Lady !  keep 

the  ring,  43. 
Rings  and  ?eals,  68. 
Ripen 'd  by  the  solar  beam  (Ode  LVIU. 

Anacreon),  1 17. 
Rival  Topics  :  —  an  Extravaganza,  633. 
Roche,  Sir  Boyle,  his  blunders,  584. 
Rock,   Ca|itain,    his    epistle    to    Lord 

Lyndhurst,  6.*>3.     His  letter  to  Terry 

Alt,  Esq.,  654. 
Rogers,  Mr.,  accompanied  by  the  author 

to  Paris,  438.    See  the  Dedications  to 

Samuel  Rogers,  Esq. 
Borne,  anisu  at,  440.    The  Palatine 

Mount.  441. 


Rokeby,  alhiaioM  lo,  19S,  im 
Roniaika,  ilie,  daiicr^  in  Zee,  Sll 
Romaldkirk,  10  ibe  Cttiau  of,  ^0. 
"Sowuism    in    lnlud,»    sm   ;W 

QiUfierly  Rev^w,  M7. 
RoiMleau  i  **  Ge  jd  nigbt !  go>>a  &J«hs' 

41.49. 
Bom,  Io,  37. 

BiM,  III,  wntten  during  UIbsm,  a 
Bom,  to,  41.  49,  ML 
Ruse,  the  Al|>ine,  ttX 
Rose,  the,  and  summer  be*,  977. 
Rose  of  tiie  Deaen  ■  343. 
Rose  and  .Nightingale,  :i5l. 
Riwe,  the  young,  341. 
Ruse  tree,  the  pretty,  336. 
Ruse  in   nettles   bid,   lb*:  — Oohm 

drum,  74. 
Ruses,  the   Feast  of,  368,  445,  «.  4M 

Of  Uie  Garden  of  Ibe  Nile,  49L    At- 

Ur  Gul,  456. 
Ro>«s,  political,  905,  m. 
Rotind   the  worid  goes,  by  day  aM 

night,  3.'>2. 
Row  gently  here,  974. 
Rubi,  the  sectiod  Angel,  536.    His  Sl» 

0',536. 
Ruby,  magniAcent,  430. 
Russell,  Lord  Jobn,  remonstrance  oa 

bis  intended  iwiiMiieut  bum  poUtiee, 

590. 
Russian  Lover,  the :  —  Fleetly  o'er  Ital 

moonlit  suows,  36L 


Sacred  Songs,  283.  DedicatlaB  to  M 
ward  Tuiie  Dalton,  Esq.,  983> 

Bail  on,  s^il  on,  tiKHi  fearless  bark,Mlb 

Sailor  boy,  'tis  day,  3.57. 

Salmagundi,  578. 

Sannazaro,  his  Gallic^  nell'  Arcadtai 
quoted,  86,  «. 

Sappho,  lyre  of,  301.  Legends  ufL«^ 
cadia,  310. 

Sarpi,  Fra  Paolo,  5  )6. 

Satirical  and  IliinKirous  Poems,  193,  iM. 

Satirical  and  Political  Poems,  457,  IM. 

Say,  what  shall  be  our  sport  lu-day,S7& 

Say,  what  sliall  we  dance,  334. 

Sceptic,  the,  a  ritilosuphiral  Satiie,  I7& 
The  Preface  wn  Ancient  l'liiliisi>|iby, 
and  the  Pyrrlionisu,  175  Tlie  PU 
ire,  176-179. 

Scepticism,  .551. 

Scott,  Sir  Waller,  bis  araaieal  tasM, 
30S.  Interesting  seaM  at  <M  Eiilm- 
burgh  tbaam,  30ft.  Aaacdota  loll 
by,  to  tbe  Prince  Begent  Tba  B* 
gent's  remark,  305. 

8cri|itiires,  the  Holy,  988. 

Sculptor,  wouldsi  thou  glad  my  aemi 
(Ode  V.  Anacreon),  Ml 

Sculptures,  or  Statnaa,  TOS. 

Sea,  the  Old  Man  o(  *a,8M.  AW» 
flectkinai.W 


tn 

INDEX. 

-■—•    era   >eneath  yon  cloud  80  dark, 

26,  28,  32,  &c.     Many   early  songs 

Summer  webs  that  float  and  shine,  340 

lo8. 

occur  from  page  39-77 ;  206-227.  &.c. ; 

Sunday  Ethics,  a  Scotch  ode,  btlS. 

Bee  th   aswii  from  Reavpn,  2Ti" 

239-283,  296,  297,  298,  299,  301,  302, 

Surprise,  the,  38. 

See  the  yo-ing  tin  r —7  Sp-ng  ''.Ic 

m,  &c. 

Susan,  677. 

XLVl  Anacreon),  109. 

Sony's,  interspersed   in  the  "  Evenings 

Swallow,  the,  740. 

Seli:u  zr.i  No  .■•.  iJi,..!,  '!;V4M. 

in  Greece,"  30S-325. 

Swans,  the  Muse's,  303 

S^.ihi.-cU.s  or  i^rCen  li.::s  cf  tC9  Cabala. 

So'igs  Horn  the  Greek  Anthology,  354- 

Sweet  is  your  kiss,  my  Lais  dear,  137. 

550.  n. 

;i57. 

Sweet  lady,  look  not  thus  agaia,  30. 

Pe.ouKun.  ^.'lc'e^t  tgj-pdan  i-.cdo  of, 

Songs,  unpublished,  &c.,  357-361.    Oc- 

Sweet spirit !  if  thy  airy  sleep,  33. 

;oi. 

casional  Songs,  63a,  680,  681,  &c. 

Sweet  Innisfallen,  faro  thee  well,  24a 

Seraphim,  548. 

Songs  from  "  Ji.  P.,  or  the  Blue  Stock- 

Swings, an  Eastern  pastime  and  tier 

Serapis,  the  God,  705. 

ing,"  677,  678. 

else,  445. 

Seth,  traditions  relative  to  the  patriarch, 

Songs  of  the  Church,  No.  1,  No.  2,639. 

Sword,  the  warrior's,  243, 247, 254  256 

548. 

♦*♦  The  Sacred  Sowgs,  283-294. 

Sylph's  Ball,  the,  519. 

^haliinar  Palace,  the,  451,  456. 

TTie  SoNos  and  Melodies,  206- 

Sylphs  and  Gnomes,  542,  n. 

Shall  tlie  harp  then  be  silent,  247. 

266. 

Syra,  holy  fouiit  of,  316. 

Shamrock,  O  tlie,  223. 

The  National  Airs,  266-283. 

Sl.aniiun,  StanzTS   from  the  banks  of 

Sovereign,  a  golden,  5.53. 

the,  59.3. 

Sovereign  woman,  a  ballad,  682. 

T. 

She  is   far  from  the  land  where  her 

Soul,  the,  709. 

young  hero  sleeps,  221. 

Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er   Egypt's 

Tables  of  Stone,  the  Seven,  711. 

She  never  look'd  so  kind  before,  35. 

dark  sea,  286. 

Take  back  the  sigh,  60. 

She  Sling  of  love,  2G0. 

Southey,  to  Robert,  Esq.,  Announce- 

Take back  the  virgin  page,  210. 

She  has  beauty,  but  still  you  must  keep 

ment  of  a  new  Thalaba,  631. 

Take  hence  the  bowl,  276. 

yourheart  cool,  337. 

Spartan,  stealthy  habits  of  ia  ancient. 

Tar  barrels.  Thoughts  on,  619 

Sheridan,  Rt.  Hon.  Richard  Brinsley, 

759. 

Tara,  the  halls  of,  208. 

Lines  on  the  Deatli  of,  459.     His  char- 

Speculation, a,  524. 

Tear,  tlie,  37,  207,  218. 

acter  described,  459.    Tntendod  Life 

Speeches,  a  Corrected  Report  of  some 

Tears,  286,  2SS,  336,  354. 

of,  528. 

late,  611. 

Tears,  poetical  allusions  to,  272,  STB 

Bl.eridan,  Mrs.,  air  composed  by,  283. 

Spencer,  Hon.  W.  R.,  lines  addressed 

285,  292. 

Shield,  the,  31. 

to  him  from  Buffalo  and  Lake  Erie, 

Teflis,  or  Tiflis,  brooks  of,  4t3. 

Shine  out,  stars,  336. 

in  N.  America,  153. 

Tell  me,  gentle  youth,  I  pray  thee(Od< 

Sliipahcy!  — Song,  306. 

Spirit  of  joy,  thy  altar  lies,  677. 

XI.  Anacreon),  88. 

Ships,  and  wrecks,  1.T2,  137,  139,  230, 

Spirit,  the  Indian  (or  N.  American), 

Tell  rne  not  of  joys  above,  411. 

279,281,291. 

156. 

Tell  me  why,  my  sweetest  dove  (Ode 

Ships,  the  meeting  cf  the,  333. 

Spirit  of  love,  whose  locks  imroU'd 

XV.  Anacreon),  91. 

Shiraz  wine,  452. 

(Ode  LXXV.  Anacreon),  122. 

Thalaba,  announcement  of  a  new,  to 

Should  those  fond  hopes,  267. 

Spirit  of  the  Woods,  the  Evil :  —  Song, 

Mr.  Southey,  631. 

Shrine,  the,  29. 

152. 

That  wrinkle,  wlien  first  I  espied  it, 2'/ 

Silence,  emblem  of,  254, 704,  n. 

Spring  and  Autumn,  283,  357. 

Temple,  the,  at  Jerusalem,  288, 291. 

Silence  is  in  our  festal  halls,  257. 

St.  Lawrence,  River,  155  ;  Gulf  of,  158. 

The  bird,  let  loose  In  Eastern  skies,  2M 

Silence,  chain  of,  231,  n. 

St.  Senanus  and  the  Lady,  24.3. 

The  garland  I  send  tliee,  282. 

Bimonides,  epitaphs  on  Anacreon  by. 

Star  of  the  Waters,  Sothis,  720. 

The  more  I  view'd  this  world,  521 

124,  n.,  125,  n. 

Stars,  some  of  tlie  poet's  allusions  to 

The   Phrygian   rock,  that  braves   tbii 

Sin,  531,545. 

the,  211,  276,  277,  286,  315,  318, 321, 

storm  (Ode  XXII.  AnarreoiO,  97. 

Since  first  thy  word, 291. 

361,  537,  542,  720. 

The  sky  is  bright,  the  breeze  Is  fair,  308. 

Sing,  sweet  harp,  253. 

Steersman's  Song,  the,  146. 

The  song   that   lightens   our  languid 

Sing,  sing,  music  was  given,  252. 

Stephens,  Henry,  wrote  on  horseback. 

way,  678. 

Sinking  Fund  cried,  559. 

501. 

The  time  I've  lost  in  wooing,  229. 

Sinners,  292. 

Stevenson,  Sir  John,  poetical  tribute  to. 

The  turf  shall  be  my  fragrai.t  shrine^ 

Sirmio,  peninsula  of,  5'*i. 

257.     See  aJio  258,  285,  286,  287,  289, 

286. 

Slumber,  0,  slumber,  if  sleeping  thou 

293,  308,  n. 

The  women  tell   me  every  day  (Cq« 

mak'st,  279. 

Still,  like  dew  in  silence  falling,  356. 

VII.  Anacreon),  87. 

Slumber,  poetical  allusions  to,  269. 

Still  thou  fliest,  and  still  I  woo  thee. 

The  world  had  just  begun  to  steal,  13. 

Bmile,  one  dear,  340. 

359. 

The  world  was  husli'd,  350. 

Smoothly    flowing    through    verdant 

Still  when  daylight  o'er  the  wave,  349. 

The  wreath  you  wove,  32. 

vales,  2<Yl. 

Storm  at  Sea,  Lines  written  in  a,  139. 

Thee,  thee,  only  thee,  246. 

Snake,  the.  37. 

Stranger,  the  heart-wounded,  330. 

Then  fare  thee  well,  271. 

Pnow  Spirit,  the :  —  No,  ne'er  did  the 

Strangford,  to  Lord  ;  written  on  board 

Then  first  from  Love,  360. 

wave  in  its  element  steep,  143. 

the  Phaeton  frigate,  off  the  Azores, 

Theocritus,  in    praise    of    Ana,cieoh 

Bo  warmly  we  met,  267 

132. 

124,  n. 

Boliman,  throne  of,  was  called  tiie  Star 

Strew  me  a  fragrant  bed  of  leaves  (Ode 

Theora  of  Alexandria,  and  her  <Jaugh 

of  tlie  Genii,  371. 

XXXII.  Anacreon),  102. 

ter  Alethe,  722.    Death  of  a  nkotliar 

•tome  mortals  there  may  be,  so  wise  or 

Sublime  was  the  warning  that  Liberty 

726. 

■0  fine,  297. 

spoke,  213. 

There  are  sr  >nds  of  mirth,  25b 

tongs,  some  o<  the  occasional,  ioter- 

Sulpicia  to  Tibullus,  523. 

There  comes  a  time,  270. 

▼'oven  in  Mr.  Moore's  Poems :  —  25, 

Summer  Fete,  the,  294. 

There  is  a  bleak  desert  291 

DOiEX- 


rher«  J    something   ctia^^ga  :  —  B%fi 

Sony,  a58. 
rhey  know  not  my  Mar.,  5sCI. 
They  may  rail  al  this  !>(•;,  9-^^.. 
Tbey  met  but  once  in  youth's  sw««t 

iiur,  349. 
They  tell   hew  At>-8,  wild  with  loye 

(Ode  XH.  Anaireoii),  89. 
They  tril  us  of  an  Indian  tree,  52S. 
They  tef.  ni«  Jui'r  tlie  favor'd  guest, 

347 
Tuey  wove  the    lotus   band  to  deck 

(Oae  L.Xi.X.  .\nacreon),  120. 
rbink  on  ttiat  look  wliuae  melting  ray, 

54. 
Those  evening  belk !  9C7. 
Thou  art,  O  God,  the  life  and  light! 

283. 
Thou  art  not  dead  ;  Song,  3S0. 
Thou  lov'Kt  no  more,  260. 
I'liou,  whoxe  soft  and  rosy  hues  (Ode 

X\l.  Anarreon),  92. 
Thou  hiilti'iit  me  sing  the  lay  I  iung  to 

Ihce,  352. 
Though  humble  the  banquet  253. 
fuiuch  sacred  the  tie  that  '.ur  country 

ititwineth,  tu&. 
riiou;»h    sorrow  lonF   nas  worn    my 

hpr.rt,  34. 
Though  the  lastj'Vmpse  of  Erin,  20t). 
TlHMigh  'tis  al*  .>iit  a  dream  at  the  best, 

277. 
Through   grief   and    through   danger, 

217. 
Thutv.er  and  lichtninK  imitated,  713. 
Thu  I  have  I  charm'd  with  visionary 

■ay,  157. 
•  fcy  harp  may  sing  of  Troy**  alarms 

(Ode  XXVI.  Anacreon),  99. 
rhy  song  has  taught  my  heart  to  feel, 

57, 
Tibullus  to  Piilpicia,  523. 
righo,  to  Mrs.  Henry,  on  reading  her 

IVy.  lie,  52. 
Time,  a  jioet's  allusions  to  the  hand  of, 

2520,  224,  270,  274,  279,  280,  550. 
1  is  gone,  and    forever,  the  light  we 

saw  lirraking,  230. 
■Tis  sweet  to  think  that,  where'er  we 

rove,  217. 
'Tis  the  vine!  'tis  the  vine!"  said 

the  cu|vloving  boy,  3215. 
Ti«  trie,  my  fadine  years  decline  (Ode 

XI  VII    Amrreon),  110. 
Tis  tl.-ne,  I  fet-l,  to  leave  thee  now,  C9. 
Tts  «he  la»l  nwe  «if  Summer,  224. 
fihe  Caw,  late,  621. 
Tithe,  S.nK  of  tlie  Departing  Spirit  of, 

595 
r«  a!l  that  breathe  the  air  of  heaven 

(Ode  XXIV.  Annrreon),  98. 
Tr  lailir»'  eyes  anmnd,  241. 
I'o   Love  and    Bacchus    ever   young, 

80,  r_ 
To  I^ve,  the  soO  and  blooming  child 

(Cle  LXIII.  Anarreon),  119. 
•o  my  Shadow,  659. 


To  sigh,  yet  fee!  ro  ai'n,  c/T 

To  tliee,  :ho  <,l,^j.  <x  "^  n.'u  d*te» 

(C-le  LXVI    ^na  jeo'  •.    Jo. 
To-day,  Uearoat '  i«  o    •  %( 
To  see  thee  tvity  di/  .•        <uf»,  /?. 
To  weave  »  garland  for  I  'e  ,  :>*0   AS 
Too  plain,  alas,  my  iioom  is  tpojtMi. 

280. 
Torch  o.  Liberty,  the,  m, 
Tories,  destnictive  propodtiom  of  the, 

C3-. 
Ton  lise  shell  of  Pegu,  triple  colored, 

4.'iJ. 

Toi  /,  .Mad,  and  the  Comet,  61X 

Tw  f  Pledgee,  617. 

Tot  /,  OcKtor,  and  Dr.  Whig,  619. 

Tr-  y  pledges,  617.  The  mad  Tory  and 
the  Comet,  613. 

Translations :  — From  Catullus,  352. 
From  Tib&llu*,  523.  Dante  inii- 
Uted,  681. 

Tranijlati'<Da.  Se*  Horace,  Anthology, 
tec 

Tribune,  tfca  yc^ing,  747,  7-1^,  750 

Trinity  Col'^^,  Duhliu,  >in  examina- 
tion poiiiicai,  2.15,  !;23G. 

Tripe.,  tout  prur  la,  5d2. 

Truth,  iOO,  9fl9,  354. 

Tru'Ji  chArict<>riT*d,  278,  291,  749. 

Ti<':>.:  Ccliman,  mountain,  445,  n. 

'T-.voa  in  a  mocking  dream  of  night 
(Ode  X.XX.  Anacreon),  101. 

'Twas  night,  and  many  a  circling  bowl 
(Ode  XXXVII.  Anacre<.n),  105. 

'Twas  noon  of  niaht,  when  round  the 
pole  (Ude  XXXIIL  Anacreon),  103. 

'Twas  one  of  tliose  dreams,  348. 

'Twas  when  the  world  was  in  ila 
prime,  531. 

'Twas  but  for  a  moment,  and  yet  in 
that  time,  158. 

1'win'st  thou  with  lofty  wreatt.  thy 
brow,  356. 

Twopenny  Port  Bag,  by  Thomas 
Brown  the  Younger,  179.  Dedica- 
tion to  Stephen  VV(KilricliP,  Esq.,  179. 
Prefaces,  186.  Tlie  Intercepted  Iy!t- 
ters:  —  Prom  the  Princess  Charlotte 
of  Wales  to  I^dy  Barbara  Ashley, 
letter  I.,  181.  From  Colonel  .M'Ma- 
hon  toG.  F.  Lerkle,  li>q..  Letter  II., 
182.  Its  postscript,  183.  From  the 
Regent  to  I»rd  Vannoiilh,  Letter 
m.,  184.  From  the  Right  Hon. 
Patrick  Duigenan  u>  (he  Right  Hon. 
Sir  John  Nichol,  I>!tler  IV.,  185. 
(Enclosing  an  "  IJnansweralile  Ar- 
gument against  the  Papists  "  185.) 
Fnim  the  Countess  Dowager  ol  Cork, 
Letter  v.,  186.  Its  postacript,  187. 
From  Abdallah,  in  London,  to  Mo- 
hassan.  in  lopahan.  Letter  VI.,  187. 
Prom  Lackington  and  Co.,  to  ^— , 
Exq.Lettcr  VII.,  188.    FromCdonel 

Thomas  to  Skefflngton,  E«)., 

Letter  VIII.,  189.  Appendii  totbeM 
«SiatlM.  ie»-193. 


Tvro.e*^  feoz.^  «     i4j>rt3r.       «*rn. 
evtiy  boum  l>ounr«C,4a>. 


Vf  aa'  march:  tlu- 

318. 
Up  wli.-  iLa  ipukluii  Irimn.*!,  «&. 


"V. 

Valerian,  the  emiwror,  749. 
Valleton,    to    (^aiuliue    VtKounfm, 

wriien  at  Lacock  Abbey  ta  lb*  >«ai 

1833,525. 
Valley  cf  Vihions.  711, 
Vallev.  tlie  Unequalled,  4S&. 
Van,  the  EutltaitMi.'  aC,  oWi. 
Variety,  24. 
Venice,  tonmi  ({k«y  of,  503.     Wan 

against  the  T<ii.'ji,  SOU.    Iler  tjrrnii- 

meal  oliirarchv,  500.    Tortuna,  SO) 

Her  fall  a  retnhutiun,  .VI7. 
Venus,  poetical  allusioiu  to  lb*  fjd 

de8s,2S2. 
Venus,  the  planet,  138,  943, 60Si. 
Venus  Anadyomene,  3(10. 
Venus  Papyria,  558. 
Virgin  of  Delphi,  the,  3P 
Virtue,  133,  141. 
Vishnu,  583. 
Vision,  a,  by  the  author  of  Chiiatabal 

568. 
Voice,  the,  335. 
Voiture's  Kits,  rendered  by  Mia.  — 

41. 
Vulcan  !  hear  your  glorious  task  fOd« 

IV.  Anacreon).  85. 


w. 

Wake  thee,  mydear— tliy  dreamiac 

344. 
Wake  up,  sweet  melodx,  347. 
Wales,  Priiiceaa  Cbarlotta  ot,  Bl,  m 

Walton,  Itaak,  444,  a. 

Waltz  Duet,  300 

Waltzing,  554. 

Warning,  a,  69. 

War  against  Babylon  !  9SP 

War's  highHHMindiiig  tMip,9Bl 

WarriiT,  llie  dying,  :W. 

Washington,  rit}  of,  and  the  AaallaM 

rivers,  &.C,  147, 149,  «  sef 
Watchman,  the ;  a  (ilee  33X 
VVatertoo  roin.     Advertwameat  a<  ■ 

ffiiwing  or  k^t,  609. 
We  care  not ;  Song,  681. 
Wr  read  the  (lying  cnarMT^  maan  (Oa* 

XXVII.  Anacreon),  too. 
Weep,  children  of  Israal !  Mtl 
Weap  tun  lot  ibMT  wlMNn  the  vaM  a 

rtMMi>*>  MS 


f76 


INDEX. 


Weep  on !  weop  on  !  your  hour  is  past, 

919. 
IVeeping  for  thee,  my  love,  through 

tlie  long  day,  310. 
'(Velcoine,    sweet    bird,     through   the 

sunny  air  iviuging,  323. 
Well  !    peace   to    tliy    heart,    thoigh 

another's  it  be,  142. 
Well,  the    Holy ;    alleged   miraculous 
appearance   of  tlie  moon  night  and 

ixf  in  the,  393. 
WTeKlngto?!  Spa,  the,  635. 
Wellington,  Field    Marshal  the  Duke 

of,   preface  to  vol.    iv.,  237.    Re6n- 

forcements  for  him,  904.     His  Grace 

and  tlie  Ministers,  206,  613. 
Wellington,  Napoleon,  and  Waterloo, 

552,  583. 
Were  not  the  sinful  Mary's  tears,  287. 
What's  my  thought  like.'  198. 
What  shall  I  sing  thee .'  553. 
What  the  bee  is  to  the  floweret,  222. 
When  Bacchus,  Jove's   immortal  boy. 

(Ode  XLIX.  Anacreon),  110. 
When,  casting  many  a  look  behind, 29. 
When  cold  in  earth  lies  the  friend  thou 

hast  loved,  240. 
When   Cupid   sees  how  thickly  now 

(Ode  LXXVIII.  Anacreon),  122. 
When  evening  shades  are  falling,  315. 
'Vhen  first  that  smile,  274. 
When    first    I    met   thee    warm    and 

young,  228.    Preface  to  vol.  iv.,  237. 
When  gold,  as  fleet  as  zephyr's  pinion 

(OdeLVIII.  Anacreon),  116. 
When  he  who  adores  thee  has  left  but 

the  name,  208. 
When  I  behold  the  festive  train  (Ode 

LIII.  Anacreon),  112. 
When  I  lov'd  you,  I  can't  but  allow, 

28. 
When  Love  is  kind,  282. 
When  Love,  rock'd  by  his  mother,  252. 
When  niglit  brings  the  hour,  281. 
When  Love  was  a  child,  272. 
When   my  thirsty  soul  I  steep  (Ode 

XLVIIL  Anacreon),  110. 
When  Spring  adorns  the  dewy  scene 

(Ode  XLI.  Anacreon),  107. 
When  o'er  the  silent  seas  alone,  332. 
When  tl  r  first  summer  bee,  277. 
When   ne  wine  cup  is  smiling  before 

us.  .J77. 
When  thou  shall  wander,  274. 
When  the  sad  word,  "Adieu,"  356. 
When  thou  art  nigh,  it  seems,  351. 
When  to  sad  music  silent  you  listen, 

^53.         • 
When  on  the  lip  the  sigh  delays,  334. 
When  through   life  unblest  we  rove, 

S18. 


When  through  the  Piazzena,  270. 
When  Time,  who   steals   our   years 

away,  26. 
When  wearied  wretches  sink  to  sleep, 

37. 
When  wine  1  quafT,  before  my  eyes 

(Ode  L.  Anacreon),  111. 
Wliene'er  I  see  those  smiling  eyes,24i. 
When  twilight  dews  are  falling  soft, 

341. 
When  'midst  the  gay  I  meet,  341. 
Where  is  the  heart  that  would  not  give, 

G80. 
Where  are  the  visions,  279. 
Wliere  is  your  dwelling,  ye  sainted, 

292. 
Where  shall  we  bury  our  shame .'  278. 
Whig,  Dr.,  and  Dr.  Tory,  their  consul- 
tation, 619. 
While  gazing  on  the  moon's  light,  215. 
While  our  rosy  fillets  shed  (Ode  XHIL 

Anacreon),  108. 
Wiiile  we  mvoke  the  wreathed  spring 

(Ode  LV.  Anacreon),  113. 
Who  comes  so  gracefully,  320. 
Who  is  the  maid  my  spirit  seeks,  284. 
Who'll  buy  my  love  knots .'  275. 
Who'll  buy.'  'tis  Folly's  shop,  302. 
Whose  was  the  artist  hand  that  spread 

(Ode  LVIL  Anacreon),  115. 
Why  does  azure  deck  the  sky .'  41. 
Why  does  she  so  long  delay  .'  355. 
Wind  thy  horn,  my  hunter  boy,  279. 
Wine  cup  is  circling,  the,  256. 
Wine,  praise  of,  in  I.alla  Rookh,  452, 
455.  See  also  other  poems  and  songs, 
209,  213,  224,  231,  249,  253,  256,  276, 
277,  280,  323,  324,  332. 
Wisdom,  223,  229,  278. 
Wit,  325.    Tlie  quiver  of, 223. 
With  all  my  soul,  then,  let  us  part,  35. 
With  twenty  chords  my  lyre  is  hung 

(Ode  LXXL  Anacreon),  121. 
Within  this  goblet,  rich  and  deep  (Ode 

XLV.  Anacreon),  109. 
Woe  !  woe  unto  him  !  581. 
Woman,   151,  255,  317,  321,  531,  536, 

538,539,542,682,711. 
Woman  :  —  Away,  away  —  you're  all 

the  same,  70. 
Wonder,  the,  38. 

Woods  and  Forests,  Ode  to  the  (politi- 
cal), 592. 
Woodpecker,  the:  — I   knew  by  the 
smoke,    that   so    gracefully    curl'd, 
154. 
World    is  all  a  fleeting  show,  this, 

285. 
World,  when  abroad  in  the,  280. 
Word  awaxed  my  heart,  thy,  299. 
World,  rjie  fashionable,  296. 


Would  that  r  were  a  tuneful  lyre   'M 

LXXVll  Anacreon),  122. 
Wreathe  the  bowl,  240. 
Wreath  and  the  Chain,  the  C3 
Write  on,  write  on,  ye  Rarons  &•& 

595. 


Y th,  Earl  of,  458.  Letter  addreiMM 

to,  by  Thomas  Brown  the  Younfer, 

184.    Some  remarks  on    the  sam» 

194,  199,  201,  2(e. 
Years  have  pass'd,old  friend,  smce  we, 

360. 
Yemen,  and  the  rest  of  Arabia,  alluded 

to,  413,  et  seq. 
Yes,  be  the  glorious  revel  mine  (04» 

XLIL  Anacreon),  107. 
Yes  —  loving  is  a  painful  thrill  (Oda 

XXIX.  Anacreon),  101. 
Yes,  sad  one  of  Zion,  if  closely  resem 

bling,  244. 
Yes,  yes,  when  the  bloom  of  Love'» 

boyhood  is  o'er,  341. 
You  read  it  in  these  spell-bound  eye* 

140. 
You  bid  me  explain,  my  dear  angry 

Ma'amselle,  614. 
You   remember    Ellen,  our   hamlet'f 

pride,  226. 
You,  who  would  try  (vide  the  Epicure- 
an), 701. 
Young  Love,  282,  328. 
Young  love  lived  once   in   a  humbto 

shed,  677. 
Youth,  poetical  allusions  to,  272,  974 

299. 
Youth's  endearing  charms  are  fled  (Od« 

LXl.  Anacreon),  118. 
Youth  and  Age,  328. 
Youth  and  Death,  699 


z. 

Zaraph,  548     His  bride,  551. 

Zea,  or  Ceos,  Island  of  the  Archipefa 

go :  —  Scene  of  the  First  Evening  ia 

Greece,  308. 
Zeilan,  King  of,  his  ruby,  452,  n. 
Zelica.     See  "  The  Veiled  Prophet  • 

Khorassan, "  372,  et  seq. 
Zinge,  and  the  Zingians,  443. 
Zion,  284,  287. 
Zodiac,  the,  543,  711. 
Zone  of  bells  of  an  Indian  danetAgyy 

444. 


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